Above All Else (6 page)

chapter thirteen

“We're going to figure out who did this, Rom,” Jared was saying when we came into the restaurant. “It's about respect now. These guys are disrespecting us.”

“I know,” Rom said.

“It has to be that Doug Richards.”

“He's one of their best players,” Oz said.

“Exactly.” Jared had been standing beside the booth. He swung into it and sat down heavily. Riley and I stood at the end of the table, looking down. “He's a senior, right?
This is his last year in high school. He hasn't had a championship. Man, that happens to you, you go through school coming
that close
to a championship and never getting it? It would eat at you.”

“That doesn't mean he did it,” I said.

Jared seemed to notice me for the first time. “Why are you defending this guy all the time?”

“I'm not,” I said. “I'm just saying we should be certain we have the right guy, you know?”

Jared pounded his fist into his open palm. “It had to be him.”

“So what are we going to do about it?” Oz said. “Coach said to drop it. He said if we did anything else, we'd be benched.”

“There's not enough of us to bench anyone. And anyway, that's not what he said. He said if we
got caught
doing anything we'd be benched.”

“Same thing,” Oz said. He stood up and got out of the booth. “I'm out of here. I have other things to do. You all need to drop this.”

“We don't retaliate and these guys will be laughing at us on the field. They'll own us before we even step out there.”

“That's just in your head,” Oz said. “We need to leave all of this on the field.”

“We had,” Jared said. “They brought it off the field.”

“Whatever. Listen, I'm out. Don't tell me anything else. I don't want to hear about it.” Oz moved around a couple of tables and was out the door. I heard the tinkling of the bell as he left, and it sent me back to the night of the attack.

I hadn't noticed the bells when we entered the restaurant. It had been too noisy. But I remembered hearing them ringing the night of the attack, when Elsa and Kira and I were playing soccer on the nearby field.

Riley slid into the seat beside Jared.

“I'm out too, Jare. It's not worth it,” he said. “We get busted following these guys around or whatever, and we'll be off the team. There's too much at stake here.”

“What's at stake, Riley?”

“Being on the team? Finishing this season as champions again? I've heard there's a scout coming to the next two games. One of the farm teams for the MLS.”

Jared laughed. “What, and you think they're coming to watch you?” He glanced up at me. “We all know who the scouts are looking at.”

“You never know, Jare.”

“I know. I know exactly what's going on, Riley,” Jared said, spitting Riley's name out. “And I know my place in all of this. I won't go on that field like a coward when we play those guys again. They think they own us, and they will. Don't you see?”

“No,” Riley said. “I don't.”

“Well, then, you never will.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and there
was a text from Elsa.
You at the restaurant?
I texted back,
yes
.
A second later my phone vibrated again.
Meet me beside the field next door. I'm already here
.

“I have to go,” I said. Elsa had been so angry with me before that I seriously figured I'd never see her again.

“Where?” Jared asked. He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Just to meet up with someone. Don't worry about it.”

“I'm not worried, man,” he said. He put his fist out, and I gave it a quick bump. “No worries at all. Just be ready for the next game.”

“I'll be ready.”

I went outside quickly, the bell ringing above my head as I passed through the door.

Elsa was leaning against the side of her mother's van. It was dusk, and the sky was purple and orange above us.

“Hey,” I said. “I didn't think you wanted to talk to me anymore.”

“I was just angry,” she said.

“Did you go for a perspective-sit on the mountain?”

She laughed. “I did,” she said. “I was up there for over an hour.” She pulled her cell phone out. “Which was when this came in.” She held her phone up. I leaned in.
There were two people on the screen. One was a girl I had never seen before, the other was Doug Richards.

“Okay,” I said.

Elsa turned the phone around. She tapped at it, then turned it back. “It's date and time stamped,” she said.

I looked at the information. It was exactly the date and time when Romano had been attacked.

“That could be altered, I bet,” I said.

“It was taken two blocks from here. They were at the ice-cream parlor. That's why Riley saw Doug's car.” She put the phone in her pocket. I must have shaken my head or looked skeptical, because she immediately said, “You still think Doug did it?”

“Honestly, I don't even care anymore.”

“Seriously? After all of this, you just don't care now?” she said.

“It's too much. And in the end, it doesn't matter. We got a sub and he's really good.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.”

“So it all turned out okay,” I said. She did not look convinced. “Are you sure that picture is authentic?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Because that girl Doug's with? That's my brother's girlfriend, Jackie. Or I guess I should say
was
my brother's girlfriend.”

“Oh,” I said. Then I realized what she was saying. “Doug was with her when Romano was attacked.”

“Exactly.”

“And that's why he didn't want to tell everyone where he was,” I said.

“Exactly.” She wiped at her face.

“Are you okay?” I said. I heard the bells above the door at the restaurant ring. A moment later Jared was on the sidewalk, heading in the other direction.

“No, not really. I thought she was a really nice girl. So did Evan. And Doug, well…”

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe he's not the great guy you thought he was.” The bells rang again.
Riley hit the sidewalk and looked our way first. I guess we were in enough shadow that he didn't see us standing there. He looked in the direction Jared had gone, then jacked his collar up around his face and kind of slumped off.

“What's that all about?” she asked.

“I don't know,” I said. The bells had reminded me of something though. At first I wasn't sure
what
they'd reminded me of, but standing out by the field, the smell of wet grass in the air, it came back to me.

Riley had said the door to the restaurant was locked the night Romano was attacked. But I'd heard the bells ring twice that night. I was sure of it. One had to have been Romano coming out. But what about the other time? Was it someone going in?

Or someone coming out?

chapter fourteen

The next day, before Coach came into the locker room, I asked Riley where he had gone after he left the restaurant the night before.

“Home,” he said. “Why?” When I'd last seen him, he had been heading in the opposite direction of his house. But I didn't want to bring this up. It would sound creepy, and then he'd have to explain why he'd just lied to me.

“Just wondering. Did you see Kira?”

“No, she's angry at me.”

“Why?”

“Because I told her that maybe we're making out too much and I'd rather just talk now and then.”

“What?” I said. “You just broke the cardinal rule of dating. What do you want to talk to her about?”

“I don't know—something. I don't feel like I even really know her. What about you and Elsa?”

“No epic make-out sessions on our part,” I said. “But you never know what's around the corner, right?”

Coach came in then, and everyone quieted down. He stood there and looked at us for a moment. He has a twitch above his right eyebrow that flares up before games when he is anxious.

“Lads,” he said. “Game two.” There was something in the air. Something dense and tired. The team we were playing that day, the Wolverines, had taken us to extra time during the regular season. Oz had scored on a header just before the ref blew the whistle. It was that tight. The memory of this lingered.

“We had a tough go against these guys last time out.” Everyone nodded. “The problem
is that they don't have one style. And that is something we have to remember. We need to force them into playing
our
game. Not a game of their choosing.
Our
game. So we're going to keep control of the ball. We're going to win the 50/50s. We're going to play these guys hard. If they start rushing the ball, we slow things down. They try and slow things down, we put on the pressure. Whatever they want to do, we will not let them. Understand?”

“Yes, Coach,” we said.

“I'm not going to be shouting from the sidelines either. Let them do the shouting. Let them think we're sunk. Let them try and beat us.”

“Yes, Coach!” we said again.

“Let them think they have a bloody chance, lads.” Without another word, he took a step back and opened the locker-room door.

We went out like soldiers on parade.
One at a time. Our steps measured and slow.

After we crossed the road, Riley gave me a tap and pointed into the stands.

“That's the scout,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“He was at another game. He's here to watch you.”

“We don't know that.” The crowd, which was larger than at the previous game even though the weather was worse, was clapping and shouting. What had been a drizzle before going into the locker room had turned into a downpour.

The Wolverines won the coin toss. The ref blew his whistle and their center quickly kicked the ball back to his midfielder. I remembered they had a solid defense. They kept four back, three in the mid and three up front. Our best offense was often to run the ball out of bounds and then try and get it deep with throw-ins or corner kicks. Going straight at these guys was almost impossible.

They moved the ball between their defenders. I decided to run up. I'm pretty fast and can sometimes dart in and snag a weak pass. But as soon as I ran in, they cycled the ball back up my side.

So this was the way they intended to play. They were going to try and get one or more of us deep and out of position, then run the field on the open side. It was a good plan, and it may have worked had Jean not been hovering around center. The pass went directly to the striker, but he lost control of it just long enough for Jean to step in, tap the ball to one side, deke to center and then back out to the line. He got around the midfielder in much the same way.

The problem with having four defenders is that it's more difficult to keep track of everyone. So while two of the defense players had moved up to intercept Jean, the other two had fallen back into the keeper's box. This kept me onside farther in than they should have allowed.

Jean let the defense come at him, then popped the ball up over their heads directly to me. I took the ball on my chest, rotated around it as it fell and managed a good sweeping kick directly on goal.

Their keeper caught it squarely. He waved at his players to head upfield, but we'd accomplished something we had never really set out to. Everyone was wary of Jean. They hadn't seen him play before. But now they knew the kind of weapon he could be.

The defensive players were clapping in that way people do to get adrenaline flowing again and yelling, “Come on, come on!”

The rain was brutal. Guys were falling all over the place. As soon as you picked up speed, you began to slip and slide. Weather usually isn't a huge factor in soccer. Sometimes it's too hot and people get overheated or it's too cold and all their energy gets sapped. But the rain normally just adds a slightly more difficult element to the game. Today, the wind had picked up and at times the rain seemed to be blowing sideways.

We finished the first half in a 0–0 draw. Both sides had had some good chances. It seemed as if we had the advantage,
as we'd managed to keep them from dictating
play. But their defense had kept us out of their end more often than not.

“Jean,” Coach said, “I'm moving you up to striker. Oz, you drop back to mid for now. We need to switch things up.”

Oz looked upset by this, but he only said, “Okay, Coach.”

“If they keep playing the way they are, we're going to need to start forcing play. They've had us in our end far too often. So let's stack up the midfield, four across, and we'll try a couple of dump and runs, all right?” Everyone nodded. We were too cold and wet to speak.

“Oz, it's going to be on your go, understand? Get firm control. Push forward, let one of their mids get behind you, then bomb it deep. Del and Jean, you two run hard. Give and go if you need to. But get it past their mids. Their defense is pulling up way too far. They're just asking for it.” Coach gave Jared a clap on the back. “You stay solid, lad. No one's coming up the middle of that pitch. Got it?”

“Got it, Coach.”

The play had sounded easy when Coach explained it. I was primed to shoot up the field at any moment. But every time the ball came close to Oz, he was surrounded by two or three opponents and was forced to pass it back to the defense. It was like the ball was doing circles for a while. Moving over to Oz, then back to the defense. Up the other side and back around.

Finally, Oz managed to navigate past one of the streaking strikers and got some air under the ball. Then one of the taller midfielders jumped and headed the ball back to our end. Jared caught it in midfield. He sent it back to Riley, who, in a moment of indecision, let it get knocked out of bounds.

As we all walked back for the throw-in, Coach caught my eye and made a quick gesture toward center field. I walked with everyone else, then drifted back to center as the ball was thrown in. Riley caught the ball in a roundhouse boot, which sent it flying upfield. It was moving slowly through the air, a gentle arc cutting through the rain. I started running after it, blasting past the defense.

But they were fast, and as I got control of the ball, there was already someone kicking at my heels. The crowd was on its feet, yelling and clapping. I could see Jean coming up fast beside me. The keeper was moving out to cut me off, waving at his defense and shouting. Every time my right foot came back, I could feel the other player's toe on my heel. He caught me on the calf a couple of times.

“Jean!” I yelled, passing the ball over to him. He caught it on the inside of his left foot and moved toward the goal. It was like watching a professional player. The ball seemed to be attached to his foot by a string.

I quickly darted sideways, then stopped dead in the middle of the field. The defender blew past me, rushing at Jean. Another of their defenders had gone down in the mud. Jean turned his back to the defensive player, quickly moved downfield, then rifled a shot toward the goal.

I had begun running before the ball left his foot. The keeper came out to challenge, but he seemed to have misjudged where the ball was going. I launched myself into the air and headed the ball hard away from him.

Right into the top corner of the net.

The keeper had gone up at the same time, and I crashed into him after heading the ball. I heard the air being punched out of his chest upon impact. We landed in a heap as the other players closed in around us.

I was apologizing as I tried to get up when the keeper caught me in the side of the head with a quick, sharp punch.

“Goddamn dirty players,” he said. I was holding the side of my face where he'd hit me. I tried to stand up to get away from the situation and he kicked me in the gut. I crumpled to the ground and started sucking mud.

“Hey!” someone yelled. And then I felt people moving around above me. People tripping on my crumpled form, stomping on me as they went at one another.

“Get off him!” someone yelled. I was trying to breathe. The kick to the gut had knocked the air out of me. Plus, there's not as much oxygen in mud as you might imagine. The whistle was screaming above me. Everyone was cursing. I could hear the slap of flesh on flesh. Then someone's hands were beneath my arms, pulling me up and dragging me away.

“That was a foul!” the keeper yelled. “This whole team's dirty. Everyone knows it.”

“You okay, man?” Riley said. I managed to nod my head. He gave me a slap on the back. “Man, that was beautiful. Just perfect.”