Chapter 14: Nicknames Can Be Fun

Someday, I thought to myself, somebody will be able to explain to me how come I suck at relationships with girls my own age. And why I can't seem to keep any sense about me when it comes to older women. Wendy was just too much of a hedonist for me. I had to look the word up in the Thesaurus, but I was pretty sure that was the right term for her. And now I was deathly afraid that I had ruined my friendship with Kip and Davey's mom, too. And, to top it all off, I always seemed to blow any chance of having a girlfriend for more than about five minutes.

I know, I know, it's my own damn fault. I was willing to admit it: I was extraordinarily stupid when it came to girls.

Why was I being so hard on myself? I could explain it in four simple words.

I never called Becky.

All weekend long, I agonized about what I would say to her, after Saturday. I have never been good at making small talk, that chatty, unimportant chitchat that comes so naturally to some people. I would get tongue-tied, and my brain would freeze up, and the pauses in my already stilted conversations would get long enough to become uncomfortable for me, as well as the unfortunate I happened to be conversing with. My solution? Why, to avoid potentially troublesome situations, of course. Which, as we all know, only makes matters worse. But I was sixteen. Not facing up to my responsibilities in relationships was a specialty of mine.

Not that Becky and I had much of a relationship. It was kind of a budding one, I suppose, but I still had not given up hope that Kristina and I might be able to get back together, either. And Becks and I had never talked about boyfriends and girlfriends, and dating each other, and all that. But I had an idea of what her expectations might have been, and here I was, falling well short once again.

I was fucked up, and there was no doubt about it.

Monday was a rainy holiday, so Jake and I hid out at the shopping center. There was a new video game out, Pac-Man, and we spent all afternoon feeding quarters into the machine, taking turns with the joystick. It was mind numbing, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Reality came crashing back down on me on Tuesday, however. It was a mild, sunny day, but there were thunderheads inside the school, evident every time I saw Becky. If looks could kill, I would have been fried to a crisp several times that day. I took to walking the halls hunched over, as if I was expecting raining blows to land on my head and shoulders at any time. By the time school ended, I was relieved to be able to head for the locker room. I was looking forward to getting out on the track and running.

Normally, our weekly practice schedule was the same. Monday's practices consisted of an hour of drills, and an hour of watching film of our last game. Tuesdays were devoted to conditioning drills, Wednesdays were scrimmages. On Thursdays, we watched film of our upcoming opponents for an hour, discussing their strengths and weaknesses, and then we spent an hour working on plays we thought we could use in Friday's game. This week, being a holiday week, meant that we would be practicing for three hours on Tuesday, so we could still see our game film and get in a full practice session.

When I met up with the other guys in the locker room, we were just buckling on our shin guards and lacing up our shoes when we heard loud voices coming from the direction of the offices. Eric, Trent, and I looked at each other quizzically, but none of us knew what the ruckus was about, and nobody was willing to venture over there. If Coach Neville or Coach Simonson, our assistant coach, wanted us involved, they would come out and get us. We filed out the door and headed out to the track to begin running our laps.

After about fifteen minutes, the two coaches came out the door, led by Adam Prince and Anthony Rogers, who looked pretty disgusted. Adam and Anthony started running around the track as the coaches began setting up the drills they wanted to work on this week.

Eric slowed down, waiting for Anthony to catch up to him, and the two of them trotted around side by side. I knew Anthony was filling Eric in on what had transpired, so we would find out in due time.

During the drills, I only had a chance to stop for a moment and ask Eric what was going on.

"I still don't know, man," he said quietly. "Tony was really ragging on, something about the challenge ladder. I still don't have it straight."

We finished our outside work, and we headed back inside to the classroom where the projector was set up. It had been an easy win for us, so there wasn't a lot that Coach Neville really had to say about the game, but he did stop the film several times so he could draw the developing plays out on the chalkboard, showing us where we might have improved our play, or where our opponents might have penetrated, had they been a better team. His real lesson during that session was that, no matter how well you thought you might have played, there was always room for improvement.

After the film was finished, Coach turned the lights back on, and called for our attention.

"The first challenge for position on the team challenge ladder has been issued," he announced. "Adam Prince is challenging Anthony Rogers for his starting position."

Adam stood up defiantly. "No, I'm not," he said. He looked over at me contemptuously. "You want me to challenge Anthony, but I still say I want to challenge Porter for his spot."

Coach Neville pushed his hands at Adam, indicating that he should sit, which Adam did, reluctantly. Coach removed his glasses, and began to absentmindedly polish them on his shirt.

"We have already had this discussion, Mr. Prince. Since you insist on being pugnacious about this, I will inform the rest of the team of our earlier conversation." He sighed, put his glasses back on, and then continued. "Mr. Prince, as he has indicated just now, was interested in pursuing an opportunity to earn a starting position, and he wished to play in our defensive position currently handled by Sean Porter. I have informed Mr. Prince, and I now inform you all, that there are certain positions on our team that I consider to be inviolable and unchallengeable, sacred if you will. Those positions are Trent Abbott's forward spot, and Sean Porter's defensive position. One other player will be, if I may use the term, protected, but still may be challenged if I feel the challenger has proven merit, and that is Jorge Mendoza's keeper duties. As far as I am concerned, any other position may be challenged, but these three, being the basis for our strengths as a team, are not subject to change through the challenge ladder. Therefore, I have refused Mr. Prince's request to challenge for Mr. Porter's position, and suggested that, if he wished, he could challenge for the left defensive position."

"But..." began Adam.

"But nothing," interrupted Mr. Neville. "Do you wish to challenge Mr. Rogers, or do you withdraw your challenge? Those are your choices."

I stood up. "Wait just a minute," I said. "I'm not sure I want to be a sacred cow." The entire team laughed. "I mean, if I can't keep up with a snot-nosed freshman, maybe I don't deserve the spot anyway," I continued.

I could see Adam's face turning red at the insult. He jumped up. "So you accept?" he asked eagerly.

I stared at him. "Sure, weasel," I said.

The room went silent as we all watched Adam's eyes bug out. "Weasel? Get ready to eat my dust, Porter. Then we'll see who the weasel really is." He stood up straighter, and looked around the room. "I choose as my partner," and he paused, as if for dramatic effect, "Eric Johnson."

Eric nearly fell onto the floor. "Uh-uh, no way am I helping the weasel to beat Porter," he said. "Get yourself some other do-gooder. It ain't gonna be me."

That took a little of the wind out of Adam's sails. I thought he had been planning on taking Eric so I couldn't rely on him, and now he was stuck.