Off the Field

Chapter Nineteen

But the words choked in my throat, and after a moment of fighting with them, I gave up and slammed my locker shut. Mal’s eyes shone slightly, like she was about to cry, and that made me feel weird, so I looked at Ray instead, who said, “Are you going to practice?”

“Detention all week.”

“All week?” His eyebrows jumped in horror. “But – Semis!”

“Thanks, I figured that one out.” I swallowed hard, tugging on my backpack strap, and turned away from them. “I’ll see you around.”

Leaving the two of them staring after me, I weaved my way through the crowd of students chatting and laughing as they packed up to get out of there. As I passed Kasey’s locker, I had to restrain myself from losing it when I saw that she was still hanging all over that senior; her eyes watched me spitefully. Instead, I gave her an exaggerated smile as I walked by.

I spent the hour of detention with my head down on the desk, counting minutes pass by as I thought about the team out on the field, practicing for Semis. My entire body longed to be out there with them, enduring sprints and building strategy, messing around with Ray and the other guys, leading stretches and drills as a captain. It was only then, trapped in the dusty classroom, that it really hit me what he’d done.

Soccer had always been my most prominent horizon; I didn’t know what to do with myself when it had been taken away.

My dad had made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to see me at practice, so even though an hour remained when I was finished with detention, I didn’t bother going out to the field. I sat slumped in the library, pretending to study history while I doodled absently in the margins of my book. Time had never moved so slowly; I’d never realized soccer practice was so long.

When at last five-thirty rolled around, I made my way down to the front of the school, where my dad pulled up in the car. Chucking my backpack and unused soccer bag into the backseat, I slid into shotgun without saying anything to him. He put the car in drive and circled around the school, his jaw tight and his knuckles white on the wheel, and I focused on the passing scenery with such intensity that I thought I’d burn a hole through the window.

Minutes passed indecently slowly as silence stretched between us. I’d never less wanted to be anywhere in my life, and when we finally arrived home, I reached immediately for the door handle, desperate to get out. But my dad reached across and touched my arm, saying in a firm voice, “Wait a moment, please, Danny.”

I couldn’t believe him.

“Will you just leave me alone already?” I shook his hand off, pushing the door open to leave before I started yelling again. “You’ve made your point, okay? I get it.”

“Actually” – his eyes fixed on my face with a strange expression – “I think I owe you an apology.”

I froze with one foot out of the car: I’d never heard those words come out of his mouth, not to anyone. He took advantage of my momentary shock, his voice quiet and calm and strong though his eyes still looked wary.