Losers Take All (26 page)

“Who's Seneca?” I asked Becca.

“He's not on my list of two thousand important people to know for the history AP,” she said.

When I went to midfield to meet the Pine River captain for the coin flip, he kept asking me what was going on.

“I don't know,” I told him honestly. “It's out of control.”

“No kidding,” he said, and ran a hand through his short hair. “But what's going on?”

Before the game started the ref had the cops push the crowd back fifteen yards from the field's perimeter so the line judges could run the sidelines. That gave us a feeling of a little breathing room, but within a minute our fans had edged back toward the corners, and the TV crews were practically standing on the field.

The ref blew his whistle and the game started, but the crowd was so distracting that it was hard to concentrate. Pine River was barely mediocre, and I had the same strange feeling I'd had against Maysville—Losers or not, we were actually just as good as they were. Rob was trying not to be too intense, but he kept stopping their attacks and feeding me the ball. Pine River scored three minutes in, and I quickly tied it. We might have actually played a fun, close soccer game but after twenty minutes it came to a surprising end.

Rob fed me a pass and I was dribbling the ball up when the ref blew his whistle. I knew I couldn't possibly be offside, so I turned to him and shouted, “Come on, look at their defenders—I'm on!” He looked back at me and pointed.

A dozen protesters carrying signs with messages like
MY SON WAS A VICTIM
and
ENOUGH PAIN—START THE HEALING NOW!
had walked out onto the field and were chanting slogans in front of the TV cameras. The police tried to lead them away, but they sat down, linked arms, and refused to budge.

People from the crowd shouted at them to leave: “We drove an hour to see this game, you idiots.”

The protestors kept chanting, the crowd yelled back at them, and even though it was a protest against bullying, things started to feel a little hostile and threatening.

We gathered at the sideline where Coach Percy told us to drink water and not get involved. The Pine River coach hurried over with their athletic director and talked to Percy, who nodded. Then the athletic director told us, “Guys, I love a good soccer game, but I think it might be better for everyone if we just pulled the plug on this thing and went home.”

We walked through the crowd to the bus and drove back to Fremont, and my last view of Pine River was of the cops putting wrist restraints on protestors, picking them up, and carrying them off the field.

 

34

“Of all the stupid ideas mankind has come up with for wasting time since the dawn of history, I'd have to say bowling is at the top of the list,” Becca complained as she watched her third gutter ball of the afternoon get swallowed by the ball return. “I'm positive I told you on our first date that I hate bowling.” She was tense and even a little angry, but since I understood what was really bothering her I cut her some slack and tried to tease her out of her mood.

“Your problem is that you're watching your ball instead of keeping your eyes on the pins,” I told her. “Trust yourself that if you focus on the target, the ball will roll where you want every time.”

“I trust myself that I'd like to roll my way out of Fremont Lanes and never come back,” she responded. “How can you possibly enjoy this idiocy?”

“What's not to like about bowling? I've rolled four strikes so far and there's root beer and french fries, not to mention a game room.”

“Greasy fries,” she noted. “And there's a birthday party for a seven-year-old going on in the game room.”

I took a sip of root beer and gave her a smile. “Well, I'm sure Rob would find something more sophisticated and romantic.”

Becca shot me a look. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I've been listening to his bad jokes since we were five years old and they're not that funny, but you always seem to be laughing.”

At least that got her to stop complaining about bowling. “Are you jealous?”

“Should I be?”

“No,” she said. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“One minute you're calling him a misogynist and the next you're the leader of his fan club.”

“Hey,” she said. “You
are
jealous.”

I picked up my bowling ball and stepped out onto the polished wood of the lane. I took a three-step approach and rolled a late-breaking power hook. The ball hugged the right side and at the last second broke sharply into the pocket. All ten pins went flying like someone had just tossed a grenade at them.

I walked back. “Turbo pin action. Watch and learn.”

Becca didn't look particularly impressed. “Of all the useless, pointless, irrelevant skills to learn in life, you've mastered
numero uno
.”

“I didn't know you spoke such good Spanish,” I told her. “Your turn, novice. Eyes on the pins. Try to avoid that giant gutter.”

Becca picked up a fry and, greasy or not, popped it in her mouth and chewed. She clearly wasn't in a hurry to roll another gutter ball, and I could tell she also wasn't looking forward to the second part of our date. I noticed she hadn't dressed up for it. I, on the other hand, was wearing a button-down shirt with a collar, which is a lot nicer than what I usually wear to Fremont Lanes. “So what's your big news?” she demanded. “Who called you?”

“Just a soccer coach.”

“From where?”

“I can't remember the name of the school. I think it started with an
R
.”

She grabbed a handful of my hair. “Out with it or I yank.”

“I thought you were against bullying. Ouch! Let go. Rutgers.”

She released me and looked impressed. “A coach from the state college is recruiting you?”

“Actually he was just an assistant coach and he isn't recruiting me. He just wanted my personal information.”

“And how did this assistant coach hear about you?”

“The manager of the men's team I've been practicing with called him.”

Becca thought that over. “Why did Rutgers believe this guy?”

“It turns out the manager—Jan—used to play for Ajax.”

“Since I seem to be asking all the questions this afternoon, what's Ajax other than a cleaning product?”

“The most famous professional soccer team in the Netherlands,” I told her. “So Jan's word carries weight in soccer circles, and I guess he said a few nice things about me.”

“I guess so,” Becca said. “Wow. That's pretty incredible.”

I shrugged. “It's not as if the Brazilian national team has been phoning.”

“You just picked up the sport,” she said. “I've been jumping horses since I was seven and nobody's trying to recruit me.”

“I don't think Rutgers has a horse jumping team.”

“It's called an equestrian team, for your information.”

“I don't think they have one of those, either. And for your information, it's your turn. We only have the lane for one hour.”

“Thank God for that,” she said, and rolled another gutter ball.

When we were done we walked out of the mall and headed toward Main Street and the Olympus Diner. It was nearly seven, and I was a little nervous. Becca wasn't exactly nervous, but she was clearly dreading this meeting. As we neared the diner she started walking more and more slowly.

“We're going to be late,” I warned her.

“That's the idea. They'll wait.”

“He's not going to drill my teeth or anything?” I asked.

“He doesn't usually bring his tools with him to dinner,” she said, and took my hand. “Listen, I owe you one. I'm glad I'm not doing this alone. And for what it's worth, you don't have to be jealous.”

“About Rob? I wasn't really. But he's always been a magnet for cute girls.”

“I just think he's fun,” Becca said, squeezing my hand a little tighter.

“And that's why I shouldn't be jealous?”

She stopped and kissed me on the lips. “That's why you shouldn't be jealous,” she told me.

The Olympus Diner, with its gigantic sign in the shape of a fake mountain, was only a half block away.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

Instead of answering Becca tensed and then waved her arm. “There he is. And there she is. Oh, she's wearing a lovely outfit.”

On the steps of the Olympus Diner a man in a brown jacket waved back. Standing next to him was a pretty blond woman, noticeably younger, in a short yellow skirt.

Still holding my hand tightly, Becca sped up and walked straight to them. “Hey, Dad,” she said. “This is Jack.”

“And this is Emily,” he told us.

“Hi,” his young companion said, making the one word sound perky.

“Hi,” Becca echoed with all the enthusiasm of an old tennis ball bouncing off a wall.

“Hey.” I tried to vary things a little bit.

“You're late,” Dr. Knight scolded, glancing at his watch.

“We were bowling,” she told him.

“I love bowling,” Emily announced brightly. “I was in a league.”

“That's terrific,” Becca replied, and Emily caught her tone and gave her a look.

“Let's go eat,” I suggested, trying to keep the peace. “I'm hungry.”

We were seated at a window table with a view of the cars going up and down Main Street. Becca's father was an intense man who didn't seem to know when to take his foot off the gas. “So, any word from Harvard?” he asked as soon as we sat down.

“Applications aren't due for a while yet,” she told him. “And Harvard's not my first choice, anyway.”

“That's ridiculous. If you get in, you're going to Harvard. They must know who they want by now. This whole process is ludicrous. Jack, where are you thinking of going next year?”

I was about to name the three podunk colleges I was going to apply to when Becca cut in: “Jack is being recruited for soccer by Rutgers in a big way.”

“Really?” her dad said. “I thought your team was lousy. I thought that was the whole point.”

“Jack is from a family of superathletes,” she told him. “When you've got his genes, the normal rules don't apply.”

Dr. Knight looked me over, as if he could somehow scrutinize my genes and didn't spot anything special. “I'd like to see you play,” he said. “I hear your games have gotten a little controversial lately.”

“This week's turned into a political rally,” I told him. “And because of that our next two games have been canceled. The schools we were supposed to play didn't want to deal with the hassle. So all we've got left is our final game against Lynton, if it's still on.”

“I'll try to come to that one,” he said. “If I can free myself up at the office.”

We ordered our dinners and after the waitress took our menus there was an awkward silence. “So, Emily, what exactly do you do?” Becca asked.

“I'm a party planner,” Emily explained. “I threw your dad's office party. That's how we met.”

“Emily's great at what she does,” Dr. Knight said, and touched her arm.

“I'll bet,” Becca said. “Excuse me.”

She left to go to the ladies' room, and I was alone with her father and Emily.

Emily gave Dr. Knight a look and told him softly, “I should go.”

“Give it time,” he said to her. “We knew this wasn't going to be painless.” He turned to me and smiled. “Jack, I gather you've been a real friend to Rebecca over the last few months, when things have been difficult.”

“I've tried my best.”

“Thank you for that,” he said. He peered at me, and one of his eyes seemed to narrow. “Hey, what happened to your front teeth?”

“Nothing,” I told him, covering my teeth with my lips. “Just a little sports accident.”

“Give me a big smile and let me see. Maybe I can fix you up…”

Just as it seemed he was going to reach across the table and start prodding my mouth with a knife and fork, Becca came out of the bathroom and announced: “Dad, my stomach's kind of messed up. Jack and I have to go.”

“But we just ordered,” he said.

“Sorry. I'm feeling nauseous.”

“Becca … sit down in that chair.” He snapped it out as an order.

“Dad, don't tell me what to do,” she shot back, and the people at nearby tables all looked over. And then she smiled and said, “Nice meeting you, Emily. Come on, Jack. We're out of here.”

 

35

“Can you believe she's a party planner?” Becca demanded. “Isn't that perfect?”

“What's wrong with party planners?” I asked.

“Your job right now is to agree with everything I say,” Becca informed me.

“Right. I can't believe that she's a party planner.”

We had turned off Main Street and were walking toward Becca's home. It was a cool night, and I put my arm around her.

“That yellow skirt was halfway up her thighs.”

“Outrageous,” I agreed. “Shameful.”

“And she likes bowling!”

“Ridiculous sport,” I agreed. “It's really not a sport at all.”

“Oh, and she was in a league,” Becca said. “Did you hear the one question my father asked me? Have I heard from Harvard? Because if I get in that's where he thinks I'm going. No way in hell—I'm getting as far away from Fremont as I possibly can. And he might come to see us play if he can get time free from his office. Don't do me any favors, Dad.”

“He wanted to fix my teeth,” I said.

Becca looked a little surprised. “At the diner?”

“I think he was tempted. He said I should come by.”

“Maybe you should let him. He's a good dentist.”

And that was when I first heard the siren. It was a distant wail that cut through the gathering darkness like the cry of a giant dinosaur.