Direct Confusion - 19. Chapter 19

We get possession of the ball right away, and then we keep it. Three minutes of fast paced passing up, and sometimes slightly down, the field, left my new second-string striker Mitch with a clear shot on the goal. To his credit he doesn’t baulk or worry, but simply lines up and put the ball neatly into the far left corner as the Blue Devil’s captain roars in annoyance. The shout from the stands is immense, the roar of the crowd replacing my heartbeat, and I am the first with my fists in the air, hollering and cheering my teammate. Mitch has never scored before in a game this size, and has his shirt up over his head in half a second flat, jumping and yelling and feeling generally full of himself, just as he should be. I bump his shoulder as we jog back towards starting positions, ready for the goalkeepers kick.

We are three-two by the end of the first half, with Chase’s replacement having let in two goals, but defending two others very well. The training was certainly helping. We are in possession a lot, but not as much as I would like. When the whistle goes, I see several of the younger players visibly sag, their shoulders dropping with the effort. A game is eighty minutes, and it takes a lot of training and stamina to be able to run around for forty minutes straight. The effort takes its toll and we are met right off the line by Coach with a big tray of orange quarters. We suck and eat in silence for three minutes, chewing like hungry cows, and Coach and I send the newbies and the second-stringers back to the bench for a nice long rest in the second half.

The cheerleaders take the field, and I watch with half my brain still on the game and how best to ensure our continued victory, as they twirl and spin in complicated patterns to the jazzy drum beats of the band. Every single one of the girls is immaculately turned out, uniforms pressed and perfect, hair pulled back into tight, bouncy ponytails. Jameson is just as slick in fitted green shorts with the yellow stripe. It’s cold out, so while the girls bare their midriffs, everyone at least has long sleeves. They’ve cheered and danced for every goal and penalty kick, but I’ve been too lost in the game until now to notice. It’s good to take a break and watch someone else do some hard work instead.

The routine is familiar, because as hard as I have been pushing my team for the match, Heather has been working her squad hard for the last six weeks on the routine she and Jameson have been developing. Three of the girls run forwards, flipping into hand spins and freewheeling somersaults between breaths. And they make it look easy. While I’m watching, Jameson does a cool little flip where it looks as though he’s broken the laws of physics and turned his entire body under his own arm, and gets in position with two of the footballers in time to toss Heather into the air where she does some kind of amazing twist, tuck and flip and send the crowd mad. Jameson smiles at me during the next standing part of his routine and I grin before turning away to my guys.

“Hydrate.”

Derrick is there with Jim, both of them wearing big smiles and jackets. I suddenly realise it’s nowhere near as warm as I thought it was. Derrick grabs my zippered sweatshirt and throws it around my shoulders. Jim pushes a Gatorade at me again.

“In a sec. Water first.” I take a ten ounce cup from the stack and lose focus on the physical world while it fills up at the big water cooler.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I look up from my drink to find Erin standing there is his letterman jacket and my t-shirt with his thumbs hooked into his front pockets. “You guys did great out there.”

“Thanks.” I drain my drink, before turning for the high glucose one Jim got for me. Oranges are good, but there’s only another five minutes left before I need to be running around the field like a lunatic again. “The team is doing really well.”

“How are you?” Erin captures my wrist over top of the three foot high cooler. “Luke? Come be in the here-and-now with me babe.”

“Sorry.”

“C’mere.” Erin beckons me forward, like he knows a secret. I lean on the water cooler, and I am almost surprised when he kisses me.

It’s like a moment of clarity amongst the noise and madness, the roar of the crowd, the music, the band, the chat and laughter of the other guys. For a moment, it all seems to drift into another, much quieter place where the only thing I need to concentrate on is Erin and the soft-but-chapped quality of his lips, the apple scent that seems to follow him everywhere, and the warmth of his hand cradling the back of my neck. When he leans back, it’s like the whole world has gone suddenly sort of gold.

“Better?”

“Mmmm…” I glance up and down his body. “You’re coming over to mine tonight right?”

I’ve invited the team for a bit of post-match fun and laughter, but it’s not a full on party, and I intend to sleep in my bed, in my room, and for there to be no one else in the building other than my boyfriend.

“Yes. Go on, time’s nearly up.”

“Again.” I demand petulantly. Erin smiles, biting his bottom lip momentarily before he blushes and plants another kiss on my lips. The combination of adrenaline and rampant testosterone through my system is a delightful thrill.

“Now go out there and show me how a real man plays soccer.”

The second half goes faster than the first. We have all our first-string players out now, and it’s obvious our team is of a much higher calibre than our opponents. The guys do everything I have told them to, taking every opportunity to push forward, to dominate the match and keep full possession of the ball. Certain players in blue are slacking, and my striker counterpart seems resigned to his fate; taking the ball away from him is easy. When the ball goes outside the lines and we get a throw-in, I pull out one of my standard tricks that I know Erin hasn’t seen. I take the ball in both hands, run two steps forwards, do a hand stand using the ball over my head as my hands, flip onto both feet and launch it over my head. The crowd goes nuts, and I can feel my core-temperature rising with the thrill. I can feel my heartbeat pulsing in my groin, and I want the match to be over so I can scream and shout in victory.

Towards the final few minutes there is a foul-scuffle on the other side of the field and the Blue Devil’s get a penalty kick. They miss, Chase chucks the ball, Potenski fetches it and we run up the field. Everything’s open, he defers to my rank, passes neatly, and I score ten seconds before the whistle blows for the end of play. Seven-two is a lovely score to start the season with. Not every match will be like this, and I want to enjoy it while we can. The crowd goes wild, the band starts up, and the cheerleaders run onto the field laughing and shouting and calling our names.

“MCBRIDE!” Jameson launches at me, arms around my neck, yellow and green pom-poms in my face. “You were awesome!”

I hug him back, because it seems natural, and I’m full of mad energy where all I want to do is jump around like a crazy fool.

“You were amazing too.”

“Thanks!” Jameson’s voice is full of shrill enthusiasm. “I never actually cheered a game before!”

And then he’s gone, dancing off and spinning, riding an invisible kite that’s even higher than mine.

“Boss!” Chase claps me on the shoulder, and the next ten minutes are lost in cheering and shouting with the guys, yelling and shouting and calling victory to the late evening sky.

Eventually we all calm down enough to shake hands with the other team, and as last in the line I nod to each of them. They do not generally look too dejected; unsurprised, but their spirit is not broken. I’m glad to see that. Afterward we head for the locker rooms to shower and laugh and generally act like any group of pumped up teenage boys. Jim and Derrick meet us in there, and Coach gives us a pathetic two minute speech on how well we’ve done. My guys know they did well, because I’ve already managed to tell every single one of them how proud I am.

“That was some game McBride.” Jim leans against the tiled wall as I exit the shower, towel wrapped around my hips. “I’ve never seen you work the guys so well.”

“It’s cause of Erin.” Derrick grins. “Remember that first game after Cherrie and I got together? You both said the same sort of thing then.” I realise he’s right. “It’s the desire to do your best for the person you care about.”

“I was gonna call it showing off.” I smile at Derrick. “Thanks guys.”

“So, yours in about half an hour?”

“Sure. Can you take some of the guys who don’t have cars?”

“Yup.”

As I start to get dressed Mitch passes me.

“You did really well tonight. That was some tidy scoring in the first half.”

“Thanks. Night Luke.”

“You’re not coming to mine for drinks and stuff?” I look at him, slightly confused before pulling my shirt on over my head. “Your parents need you home?”

“No, I mean,” he looks flustered, “I didn’t think we were invited. I only played the first half and I’m only second-string.”

I roll my eyes, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“Which means you’re part of the team. C’mon, I’ll give you a lift. The Dodge takes five.”

“Aren’t you picking Erin up?” Chase has his street clothes and letterman jacket on and is ready to go.

“No. He and Jameson are bringing Heather and some of the girls.” We pour out of the locker rooms and into the mostly empty parking lot. Most people have gone home, with just a few various parents staying behind to congratulate their sons. There are plenty of us with cars. I don’t need to pack the Dodge full, and Chase, Mitch and I are joined by Bruno, one of our top defenders. “Chase, in the back.”

“But-!”

“Nope, you fiddle with my stereo too damn much.” I make Mitch feel important give him the shotgun seat, and we squeal out of the school lot towards my house.

It’s a party that’s not. We drink, though mostly just sodas and the odd light-beer that people have brought from home, fill ourselves up on pizza and chips, and talk for hours about the match. Everyone is full of themselves, and we all let little harmless boasts slide. Most of the guys without girlfriends are flirting voraciously, and Jameson and Heather seems to be attached at the hip. Erin finds me after twenty minutes and I lose the thread of my conversation when I see him. His kiss is everything I’ve ever wanted, and even though I don’t mean too, I whisper that I love him into the space between our lips as we part.

Guys start leaving around half past eight, and by nine o’clock there are only seven of us sat in my lounge, sipping at various drinks and talking low. Jameson and Heather sit snuggled up to each other, and looking a bit embarrassed about their sudden attachment on the sofa; Jim has an armchair to himself; Derrick is on the floor leaning back against the side of the other sofa with Cherrie in lap; and I am lying against Erin with my feet up, feeling his heartbeat in my ears.

“We should play a game.” Someone says.

“What, like Scrabble?”

“Like ‘spin the bottle’ or something.”

“How’s that gonna work with three couples and two gay guys?” Derrick askes.

“Three gay guys.” We all turn to look at Jim.

“There something you’ve not been telling us bud?” I ask cautiously. I am one hundred percent certain Jim is straight, and I have no idea what he means.

He nods at Jameson. Derrick laughs.

“Jame is straight as you or me, bud.”

“Sure…” Jim looks unconvinced.

“What part about my evening spent with my hand up a girl’s skirt made you wonder?” Jameson goes rigid, and his tone is sharp. “You need me to draw you a picture?”

“Jame…” Erin’s tone is warning.

“Never mind.” Jameson offers his hand to Heather. “You want me to take you out for pancakes before I drop you home?”

“Yeah.” Heather acts like the whole unpleasant ten-second exchange hasn’t just taken place right in front of her. “That would be nice. Night boys.”

“Keys please Erie.”

“Sure.” Erin extracts himself from under my weight. “Hang on babe. Two minutes.” Erin follows his twin out into the hall, and I know Erin is trying to calm Jameson down and remind him to drive carefully and not destroy the pick-up. Like me, they couldn’t really afford to replace their car if it got wrecked. I am about to have a go at Jim, but surprisingly, Cherrie beats me to it.

“Jim! What a thing to say to the guy! I expect he has enough trouble with people questioning his sexuality. To do it in front of his girlfriend is just damn rude.”

“He’s a male cheerleader, it’s damn weird.”

“Yeah, and he runs faster than you, can bench press at ninety pounds, and trusts his teammates with his life. Give the bloke a break.” I snap.

Erin wanders back in, looking only slightly worried. I’m annoyed that the situation has distracted him from what I really want him to be thinking about, which is bed, and not bed while sleeping.

“His brother can also beat seven shades of shite outta you.” Derrick smiles as my boyfriend and his footballer settles back into his seat. “School spirit ain’t got nothing on family honor.”

After that, there’s not a lot else to say, and after another short drink, Jim, Derrick and Cherrie are leaving. Erin and I clear up without speaking, and when I get to the back door, he grabs my hand and kisses my shoulder as we walk to my little pseudo-apartment.

“Sorry.”

“Why?” Erin shuts the door behind us and his hands drift to my hips, resting on the peeking waistband of my boxers.

“I mean, what Jim said.”

“That’s not something you need to be sorry about. You didn’t say it.” His fingers are intent on my fly. “Now shall we continue this discussion or can I make my lips busy elsewhere?”

I smile as Erin turns me around and drops to his knees. I really am the luckiest boy alive.