Hookup List (3 page)

Now she was really pissing me off. Well, I knew how to return the favor. “What about you?” I said cheekily. “I noticed that your name wasn’t on that list. Does that mean you want some of this?” I gestured at myself

Sadie gave me a flat stare. “I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t interested last time you tried to hit on me,” she said, “and I wasn’t even dating your brother then. What makes you think I’d change my mind now?”

I gave
her my best cocky look with an eyebrow raised, my head tilted up, and a smirk on my lips. I knew she hated that look. “Come on, I was just a kid last year and you still kissed me, remember? I’ve grown up and packed on some muscle since then. You know you want it. I can tell just by looking at you. You’ve been checking me out this whole time.”

Sadie folded her arms and looked at me critically. “Well, I do like your eyes,” she said. “They remind me of Aaron’s. Also, you look enough like him that you’re decently good looking. As I learned last year, though, the copy is never as good as the original.
Especially when the copy has a major attitude problem.” Her eyes flickered down for a moment. “Plus, I’m pretty sure I heard a rumor that you’re not very big where it counts, if you know what I mean. Yeah, from the soccer girls I think.”

Now I was extremely irritated. I pulled out my phone and began typing a note on it.

“What are you doing?” Sadie asked.

“I’m writing down the list of girls you mentioned,” I said. ”Alyssa, Olivia, Darcy, Morgan... I’ve got a pretty good memory when it comes to girls.”

“And what do you think you are going to do with that list?” Sadie said.

I smiled at her. “I’m going to have sex with everyone on it,” I said.

“Uh, no you’re not,” Sadie said firmly. “If I find out you’re trying to have sex with any of those girls I just mentioned I’m going to tell your brother. Then I’m going to make that rumor about the size of your you-know-what comes to life. I’m pretty well respected around here when it comes to boys. The girls in this school will believe me.”

I clenched my jaw in frustration. I wasn’t afraid of the rumors Sadie might spread. Those were easy enough to disprove, and I could certainly disprove them, but Aaron... for some reason the thought of him getting angry and disappointed with me always irked me. I was still mad that he had called me yesterday just to give me a lecture. He was my brother and a cool guy, at least most of the time. I had picked up because I half thought he was calling to congratulate me and half because, well, getting a call from Aaron was a rare occasion. I didn’t think he was going to yell at me.

“Okay, it was good seeing you. I need to get to class. Be a good boy,” Sadie said in her annoyingly superior voice. I don’t know why I had ever thought she was hot. I must have been even drunker than I remembered when I kissed her.

After she was gone I looked down at my phone.
Nine girls. If Sadie actually thought I couldn’t have sex with them all she was an idiot. I was sure I could bed whatever girl I wanted. If she was going to make a big stink about sex, well, maybe there was a way for me to get around that. I hesitated for a moment and then titled the note “The Hookup List.” A hookup could be something as simple as a make-out session. If the girl wanted to turn it into more than that, well, that wasn’t my fault. Sadie had just said that I couldn’t try to have sex with the girls. She hadn’t said anything about stopping them from trying to have sex with me. Nine... that wasn’t a great number. I could do better. If Sadie could get 11 guys, I could certainly get 11 girls. After considering it for a moment I added “El Diablo” Carly to the list. Hooking up with her was sure to infuriate Sadie.

I had one more spot to get to 11. Only one name came to mind and I instantly knew what I needed to do. It was time to show Aaron that he was acting like a jerk and set him free so he
could actually live it up in college. He would thank me in the long run. I added one final name to the list: Sadie Anderson.

I was late for my first soccer practice of the season but I didn’t really care. Sure I had also missed all the summer practices with the team, but I was good.
Ridiculously good. As soon as the coach saw me play he would let me come at any time that I wanted so long as I played for him.

I recognized several guys as I walked down to the field. The joker Noah
Cafferty was taking shots on net while Dylan Myers, my brother’s replacement as captain, jogged around the field with several other guys to warm up. Coach Hayworth was standing along the sidelines making notes on a clipboard. I strolled up to him confidently and shrugged my bag off my shoulder.

“Hey coach,” I said. “I’m…”

“Late,” Coach Hayworth said. He didn’t bother looking up from his clipboard. “Start doing suicides.”

“Coach, I’m Nate Caldwell. Aaron’s brother,” I said. He must not have realized who I was.

“Sorry,” Coach Hayworth said in a monotone voice without looking up. “
Nate
, start running suicides.”

I looked at him uncertainly, half expecting him to break out in a smile and announce that he was joking. Instead, he just kept making notes on his clipboard.

I briefly considered picking up my bag and leaving to prove a point to him but if I did that he would never know how good I was. I wanted to see his face when I realized that I was his key to a state championship. Sucking up my pride, I walked to the goal line of the field and started running suicides. I was painfully aware that all of the other guys were watching me and, probably, enjoying my punishment. Well, they wouldn’t be laughing once I had run circles around them.

Unfortunately, when Coach Hayworth blew his whistle and called us all in, he announced that a major portion of the day would be spent on physical fitness and endurance training. “We’ve been working hard all summer, boys,” the coach said. “We’ll begin to taper our workouts as the season goes on. For now, though, we need to keep pushing hard. Every pushup and sprint you do is like money in the bank that you can take out later when you’re playing.”

I had been looking forward to showing off my soccer skills but no big deal, I had been training hard all summer and, frankly, I was ripped. I could show these boys up in a workout as well.

“You’ll need a partner,” Coach Hayworth said. “Before you begin pairing up with your friends,” he said loudly as people began chattering and choosing partners, “I’ve selected who your partner will be. I want our team to be a cohesive one and that starts with getting to know new people.”

The coach starting reading off names. I heard him say, “Nathan Caldwell with Bryson London.”

I didn’t know that name. I had never heard Aaron talk about a Bryson London. He must not have made varsity last year. I looked around. Several of the guys were glancing at me but only one was openly staring at me. He was a tall guy with brown hair and eyes. I nodded at him but he did not acknowledge that he had seen me.

As soon as Coach Hayworth stopped talked the guy walked up to me. “Nate Caldwell,” I said, sticking out my hand.

“So I’ve heard,” the guy said. He didn’t bother to introduce himself.

A quiet dude. I was okay with that as long as he knew his place.

Coach blew a whistle and ordered us to line up on the goal line.
More suicides. I was already a bit tired but I was still determined to show the rest of the guys up. As soon as the coach blew his whistle again I started sprinting. I was the first person back to the goal line by a wide margin. I looked around triumphantly at the other guys.

Another whistle.
Wow, this coach was not wasting any time. I was a step behind the other guys and had to accelerate rapidly to keep up. Still, I was the first one back to the line.

Another whistle.
Another. Another. Whistles kept coming with no sign of relief. I began to realize why the rest of the guys had held back on the first couple sprints. Did Hayworth plan to do this for the entire practice? I began to get worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep up. I shouldn’t have spent so much energy showing off during my pre-practice suicides and the first few of practice. Sweat began to pour down my face. I looked around at all the other guys. They seemed tired as well but their faces were set and determined. Even Noah Cafferty looked serious. I couldn’t be the first one to drop. I would be okay; I just needed to cool down a little.

The next time we reached the goal line I ripped my shirt off over my head and tossed it beside the goal post. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bryson – who was running right next to me – smirk. I didn’t have time to think about it, however, because another whistle blew and we were all off running.

“Wait. Wait!” Coach Hayworth thundered. All the guys screeched to a halt. I took a few extra steps and then turned around and looked at the rest of the in confusion. What was going on?

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Coach yelled. I looked around and in surprise saw that he was staring at me. He stormed up to me.

“Uh, I’m running, coach,” I said.

“Where’s your shirt?” Coach yelled.

Oh. “I took it off,” I said. “I left it back at the goal line. Is that against the rules? If so, I’m sorry, I’m new. At my last team we worked out without our shirts all the time.”

The coach looked like he was about to yell something else at me but instead, with what seemed like a great deal of effort, he managed to control himself. “Captain Myers,” he called out. “Would you explain to Nathan why we never take our shirts off in practice?”

“Yes coach,” Dylan said. He looked at me. “When we play we have our jerseys on,” Dylan said. “Coach wants us to train just like we’re going to play in a real game. Last year we got beat because the other teams were more fit than us. That’s not happening this year.”

“That’s right,” Coach said. He glared at me. “You would have known that if you had been at our early summer practices.”

“I wasn’t even registered for Lakeville then,” I protested.

“Because you were too busy getting kicked out of your other school,” Coach said. “I’m not going to reward you for your bad behavior. The only reason I’m letting you try out for this team is because your brother asked me to do him a favor. I’m already beginning to regret that. However, you’re right. You didn’t know the rule. Someone should have told you as soon as you made the mistake.” Coach glared at someone over my shoulder. “That someone is your partner. Bryson, this is your fault too. Both of you are going to do piggy-back sprints up the hill.”

Coach pointed at an enormous hill with a steep slope that lead up to the tennis courts and parking lot. The hill was covered in dirt and mud. I groaned.

“Get going!” coach yelled. “I’ll tell you when you can rejoin us.”

I jogged over to the hill and turned around. Bryson was staring at me with hate-filled eyes.

“Dude, don’t give me that look,” I said. “I’m sorry but you could have said something to me instead of just grinning like that.
Unless you’re gay. Did you just like the view?”

“Listen up, asshole,” Bryson spat. “I don’t have to help you. I don’t have to like you. I don’t. Let’s just do the drill and get it over with.”

I shrugged. “Fine with me,” I said. “You first.”

I jumped on Bryson’s back and hung on, well aware that I looked like a complete idiot, as he charged up the hill. As soon as we got to the top he nearly hurled me off his back.

“What the hell, dude?” I said as I scrambled to avoid crashing into the ground.

Bryson, however, was already jogging down the hill. I gritted my teeth and chased after him.

When we got to the bottom of the hill Bryson jumped on my back and I started my ascent. It was more difficult than it looked. The ground was loose and wet and my feet kept on slipping. I began to stumble.

“Come on, get moving,” Bryson said angrily, twisting around on my back. “Coach is watching.”

“I’m doing my best,” I grunted. “It’s not so easy lugging your fat ass.”

I meant it as a joke to defuse the tension but Bryson evidently didn’t take it that way. A moment later I felt a hand swat the back of my head hard.

“Hey!” I cried. I stopped running.

“Keep going,” Bryson said urgently. “Don’t be a baby.”

“Then don’t be a dick,” I said. I shook my head and resumed my climb.

We made it to the top and then raced back down to the bottom. I looked over at the other players and saw that they had started to do drills with actual soccer balls. Still, coach made no motion for us to rejoin the group. I reluctantly hopped on Bryson’s back again and he hauled me to the top.

I hated to admit it but Bryson was running the hills faster than I was. The kid was in shape, I’ll give him that. In a shockingly short amount of time we had reached the top and had raced down again. Bryson hopped on my back.

Not wanting to be shown up, I tried to increase my speed. Bryson swayed around on my back. “Steady,” he complained.

I ignored him and tried to go even faster. If the bastard was getting irritated then maybe I was finally succeeding in showing him up.

Then I felt a sudden intense wave of pain. Bryson had driven his heel right into my groin. The pain, almost instantly accompanied by nausea, radiated out from the area. I coughed and doubled over.

“What are you doing?” Bryson demanded, scrambling to stay on my back.

“What do you
mean, ass?” I said. “You kicked me in the balls. My right nut feels like it’s going to fall off.”

“Get over yourself. It wasn’t on purpose,” Bryson retorted. “You’re moving so erratically I can barely stay on. I can’t control where my feet land.”

“If it happens again you and I are going to have a problem,” I said as I steadied myself and straightened up.

“Caldwell, London, quit fooling around and get down here,” coach yelled. I shrugged Bryson off my back and we ran back down the hill. My balls still hurt and I was glad I had worn
spandex underneath my soccer shorts to at least give me some support. Had it really been an accident? I doubted it. Some jerks were so competitive they would do anything to come out on top. Kicking a dude in the balls was as low as you could go, which meant Bryson had a major problem with me. It was against the guy code. You just didn’t do that. A playful tap to the babymakers in the locker room or during a friendly game was one thing. This was very different. The guy really was an A-hole. I was going to have to watch my back.

Unfortunately, the team had gone back to strength work. Coach was running everyone through some sort of circuit workout. He instructed one player in the pair to do pushups while the other player jumped with both legs back and forth over the first player. After a minute we were supposed to switch. I started with the pushups while Bryson began leaping back and forth over my legs.

At least this was something I could finally excel at. I had done enough pushups over the summer that I could easily knock 50 - 55 or so solid pushups out in a one-minute interval. I rapidly did my pushups as the seconds ticked away. A couple times I felt Bryson’s cleats graze my calves. I wondered if he was getting tired. If he wasn’t more careful he would trip over my legs. Perhaps the speed at which I was doing the pushups was throwing him off. Pleased by that thought, I quickened my pace.

A moment later I felt a sudden and searing pain just above my left ankle. I immediately yelled in pain, fell to the ground, and clutched my leg. I was vaguely aware that Bryson was staggering off to my side.

And then I heard a chuckle. “Come on
dude
, be a man,” Bryson said, as though mocking the way I had called him “dude” earlier in the practice.

Anger surged within me. He had stepped on me on purpose. I knew it. The asshole was trying to get rid of me. This wasn’t some type of friendly hazing or welcome to the team. He was actually trying to hurt me so I couldn’t play and, probably take his spot.

I leapt up as fast as I could and did the first thing that came to mind. I shoved him. Hard. So hard, in fact, that Bryson fell down.

The smirk on his face instantly changed to rage. He jumped up and threw himself at me. It was exactly what I wanted, and I was waiting with my fist...

Players instantly converged on us. Several managed to grab Bryson and restrain him before he reached me. I felt arms intertwine themselves around my arms and head in a half nelson hold.

“What the hell is going on here?!”
Coach bellowed. His face had turned red. I knew what that meant. His eyes swiveled from be to Bryson and back. “This is absurd. Juvenile. An embarrassment. I will not have it on my team, you understand. You understand?! You,” he said, pointing at Bryson. “You and I are going to have a talk. And you,” he said, glaring at me. “I’m not wasting my time with you. You’re gone. Dylan, make sure Nathan finds his way off the field.”

I opened my mouth – I’m not sure why, perhaps to defend myself or perhaps to curse out the coach – but whoever was holding me quickly hauled me away. I started to struggle and the guy threw his arms forward so that I stumbled ahead of him. I rounded on him to knock him aside and go give the coach a piece of my mind but then I saw the guy’s face. It was Dylan.

Dylan shook his head. “It’s over. Come on, kid. You’re not going to get back on the team now.”