Chapter 1

Chelsea made a pass to Diana. The ball bounced off Diana's feet. She sprinted forward to regain control of the ball, and was immediately surrounded by two opponents. Diana tried to get through the defenders but the bigger girls eventually fended her off.

It was a match between two varsity high school girls' soccer teams. I was an assistant coach of the home team, Peterson High School, in which Diana and Chelsea were playing for. It was a close match between these two teams of enthusiastic teen girls. Our teams had better chances but the opponent team did a good job in the defense after they made a leading goal. Nevertheless, our girls kept on trying and pushing.

Diana had the ball again. She pushed it to her left and spun around a defender, then sent a pass into the defending team's penalty box. Barbara just arrived in time to slide tackle the ball, pitching it towards the far end of the goal. I watched anxiously as the ball approached the goal. It missed by a few inches and went out into the baseline. I heard grunts from my own throat and the people around me.

The picture of me missing my own score, many years ago, in the exact same way, came back into my mind. I was playing in a crucial match and I missed the best chance of the game, leaving my team defeated by just one goal. Despite being consoled by parents, friends, and coaches, I was still very upset for many weeks that followed. It was a very important game. It was my last chance to attempt playing in the territorial youth championship game. In hindsight, it was also my last competition soccer game.

Shortly after that devastating game, my family moved to the United States. I spent my thirteenth birthday in a congested apartment in Paterson, New Jersey, that accommodated three families. We moved out of that overcrowded flat and into our own apartment a few weeks later when my dad found a job working for a moving company. It was a downgrade of job for my dad, as he was a senior supervisor at a chemical factory back in Siberia, Russia. Mom used to be a high school teacher in her home country, but she had to settle for a clerical job with below-minimum pay. None of us could speak decent English. It took us a long while to settle down in the new environment.

The hardship also began to cripple the relationship between my parents. My mom began complaining how life in the new country was much tougher than in their homeland, how my dad had made a terrible decision to come over here, and how he had not listen to her opinion before making the decision. They began quarrelling day and night. They did not get separated or divorced, but became hostile housemates instead of loving spouses.

What hurt most was that back then nobody played soccer here. The opulent professional soccer league had collapsed. It would take more than a decade to rebuild a more practical league. The only major ball sports that the Americans were involved in were American football, baseball, basketball, and ice hockey. Most of my schoolmates had no idea what soccer was. I was very lonesome as I never was able to get along well with my older brother Miloslav.

Eventually the staff in my school persuaded me to play on the football team, as I was a very fast runner with excellent sprint speed and quick reactions. It turned out this decision was a turning point of my life. I was not lonely anymore. I began to have peers and girlfriends. My English began to improve much better than when I was staying home watching soccer games on Spanish channels. What was more important was that later on I was offered a sports scholarship to attend college.

Miloslav never got to go to college. He became a construction worker after his high school. But he was a smart guy. He worked as a freelance handyman in the evenings, often using materials from his daytime job. Then he began hiring his newly immigrated countrymen at pitiful pay to help him expand his night-time business. Before I finished my high school, he was already operating his own construction and remodeling business. We moved to Englewood Cliffs before I packed for college.

I went to New Jersey's state university, Rutgers, and began my quasi professional years with the college's football team, Scarlet Knights. It did not turn out very well. I was injured in a game during my sophomore year and suffered severe Colles' wrist fracture. I had to have surgery requiring a plate and screws which sidelined me for the entire season.

While I was recovering, I learned that my dad was killed in a car accident. I went home for his funeral. It looked like mom had grown a decade older since I saw her a few months ago. I didn't know the loss of a hostile housemate could also hurt that much. The only good news was that my sister-in-law was pregnant, and in a few months' time my mom would have a grand-child to keep her company.

I was injured again in the first game I played after my rehabilitation, lateral collateral ligament this time. It wasn't as serious as my previous injury, but I knew my NCAA career, as well as the hope of any professional sports career, was over.

I was still in school, and I had no other choice than to finish my degree, so I began hitting the books. It wasn't easy, as being an athlete student, I actually spent very little time on books. I was enrolled in Exercise Science major when I started my college and I had a hard time deciding if I should switch major. Finally I decided to finish the curriculum. It was the easiest route because I didn't have to practically start all over. I worked part-time in the football team's support training program while I continued with my study.

After graduation, my former coach put me in an assistant football athletic trainer job at Rutgers. I stayed there for two years until my mentor was replaced, and the new coach wanted his own guys for the coaching staff positions. I began looking for new employment.

I took up an athletic trainer job at the Morris County Community College. Nothing offered by the new job was comparable to the one at Rutgers, but it was still much better than waiting to be fired. Before I went to Randolph to look for accommodation, I had a phone chat with my former quarterback teammate, Simon O'Carroll. I told him the new development at his alma mater, and he told me his agonizing struggle dealing with being released from the NFL. When he knew I was going to work at Randolph, he suggested me to call his grandmamma, who lived in Lake Hopatcong, 20 minutes away from the community college, and was a realtor before she retired.

I thought I was calling a former realtor for information. I didn't know I was calling a matron looking for a cohabitant to help taking care of her husband, who was recovering from prostate cancer, as well as heavy duty housework like shoveling snow on her driveway. Nevertheless, I agreed to her offer of free room and board for the occasional services I would render. I wasn't in a very good financial situation and would appreciate any cost saving arrangement. I knew I had made the right decision when I had dinner with them for the first time. Mrs. O'Carroll was a terrific cook. After six years living on my own surviving on junk food, I really appreciated those marvelous meals.

It was there where I first met Chelsea Boswell.

Chelsea's family lived next door to the O'Carroll's. Chelsea was having her fourteenth birthday party in her backyard when Mrs. O'Carroll introduced me to her parents. Chelsea was a rather skinny girl with shoulder length brown curly hair and brown eyes glistened with cunning sparks. I didn't pay attention to Chelsea at our first acquaintance. It was also a long time afterward that I knew her best friend Barbara Enzi was there as well. The person I was paying attention to at that occasion was Chelsea's older cousin Sheila, who was on summer vacation from her study at Rutgers.

Being a Scarlet Knights' starting wide receiver, I never lacked the opportunity with pretty and sexy girls while in college, even after I had to quit from playing. However, Sheila was still very appealing to me. She wasn't exactly beautiful, but you can use the word 'sexy' to describe every part of her face and body. I began dating Sheila that evening. Actually we had sex in my jeep during our first date.

I began to appreciate the boarding offer of Mrs. O'Carroll even more, but I also hated the lack of privacy and lack of opportunity my residence provided for this function. Sheila lived with her parents while in town, so we couldn't use her place. I had to pay for motel room or use my jeep in roadside parking for our near-daily sexual activities. I called up my mom and told her I wouldn't be going home for the summer.

My relationship with Sheila didn't last long, which was no surprise to me. When Sheila went back to school, she began dating, or resumed dating, her schoolmates. It was nevertheless a very enjoyable and pleasing relationship, with only good memories and no sad feelings.

The ball hitting me in the chest brought me back from my daydreaming to the reality. I picked up the ball and gave it to an opponent player when she asked me for it. The game went on. My girls were so desperate to level the game they missed many chances. When the referee whistled the end of game, I saw a bunch of devastated girls tottering slowly towards us. Some of them had tears in their eyes.

We distributed bottles of water to the girls. The coaching staff was also comforting the girls. Finally, parents and students, as well as the players started to leave the field.

Chelsea and Barbara were whining and blaming each other for not being able to tie the game while I gathered the discarded drink bottles and tossed them into the garbage bin. The duo was riding with me. Normally it was only Chelsea riding with me. Barbara used to drive her own car after she got her driver's license and her own car. She crashed her car last week, so she was riding with us.

I took Barbara home, and then Chelsea. She told me to take my jeep into a quiet cul-de-sac and gave me a 'friendly' kiss before I took her home. I then went back to my place to enjoy the dinner I picked up on the way. After dinner, I turned on the TV to watch a NCAA football game. I normally wouldn't go to the weekday games, but I had the afternoon off that day and had nowhere to go. I had broken off with my girlfriend, and my best friend Nakhval who was supposed to go out with me was out of town to attend some family business.

A commercial on the TV during a break reminded me of some moments I had when I was living with Mrs. O'Carroll. My mind went back into the past again.

When I learned that Mrs. O'Carroll's eldest granddaughter, Tammy, was going to move in for a not-yet-determined period of time after her divorce, I suggested to my landlady that I would go look for my own place. Mrs. O'Carroll declined, and told me she believed I would be more needed and appreciated by the new family members moving in.

Tammy & I never really hit it off, but I was God's gift to her seven year old daughter Julie when she found out I was a soccer player some twelve years ago. Julie had started playing soccer not too long ago. I was playing with her in the backyard even before our first dinner together was finished. The first thing she did when she went to school was to enroll in U8 soccer team and made me take her to the practices and games whenever possible. It became obvious why I was appreciated; Tammy and I often went out of the door together, I took her daughter to the games, and she went for her dates.

Often parents had to get involved in coaching the chaotic gaggle of little boys and girls. I wasn't Julie's parent, but she considered me her personal trainer, and I was her guardian at the practices and games. So naturally I became a part of the volunteer helping hands. I could play soccer pretty well myself, but I had no clue how to teach them. The guys I trained at college knew what they were doing, these kids didn't. The coach of the team suggested me to read some books and attend some courses designed for parents. I read the books, but I never went to those courses. Since I was a professional athletic trainer, he also suggested me to join the youth soccer coach association for more resources. An additional license never hurt, so I did it.

Chelsea found out I was playing with Julie in the backyard one day, and she insisted she be invited. It was then I realized she was also playing soccer. She was a JV player at school and was about to move on to varsity level. Very soon she was fighting with Julie for my time. She managed to grab a bigger piece of me by offering the little girl some of her own time when I was not around. Chelsea also insisted she had the same treatment as Julie, that I would take her to her games and practices. I couldn't afford the time, and actually I didn't want to. I needed a life beside my job and the kids, and for God's sake they were not my kids. But after Chelsea made everyone from the two neighboring households to petition to me for a fair treatment, I gave in and agreed to do it sparingly, if I had the time.

Not long later, I also became a part of the volunteer helping hands for a group of older girls. Of course I was the most qualified one among them. I was a professional trainer myself, I knew the game very well, I was the most skillful one on the field, players, parents, and coaches included, and I was the only 'parent' who had a soccer coach license.

Since I was such a rare commodity, the head coach of Chelsea's team began asking me to take a bigger role in helping these eager girls. I would have if he had asked me to play, but I believed I had enough in training others. I took a rain check on his invitation every time he asked. It soon became a continuing nuisance when the girls knew of their coach's intention and started an endless effort to talk me into it. I began telling them I had a girlfriend, then a few girlfriends, then a harem full of concubines, and so I had no time for them.

The bad news came one day when Tammy announced that she and Julie were moving in with her new boyfriend in Newark. Before Tammy's boyfriend had pulled the rental truck off our driveway, I already had a few of Chelsea's friends gathering at our front yard ready to start a new round of lobbying. I didn't give in to their claptrap. I gave in that evening when Chelsea's mom knocked on our door, with an awfully looking cake in her hands, and giggling at me, telling me the young girls had baked me a cake, and also telling me that she and her husband would be very grateful if I could give a little more help to the girl next door, and her friends as well.

Mrs. O'Carroll's dog ate the cake that night, while I ran through their schedules to see how often I could go to their practices. I called their head coach the next day telling him my available schedules.

Even though I was listed as an assistant coach on their publication, our understanding was that I was a trainer. I helped to train the girls in the physical and skill areas. The game play aspects belonged to Glenn and the occasional assistants the school assigned to the team. Of course there were always enthusiastic or unwilling parents to help in all areas. Friday was a no-no for me to go to the field. I always had a girlfriend waiting for me on Friday nights, whether it was a real one or an imaginary one.

I admit it was somehow enjoyable to watch the girls in competition games, even though the excitement was far less than watching professional games, especially the European games. I never went to weekday games, because it would be very late in the game when I could get there. In fact, in the beginning, I didn't even go to their weekend games. I had been successful in using excuses to turn down invitations from my girls to go watch their weekend games, until Chelsea figured out a way to break my defense.

Chelsea managed to convince my guardians why it was so important for her to come into my room and pull me out of my bed to take her to her games. Very soon Mrs. O'Carroll and her husband would simply left the door open for Chelsea and they went about their own business. I knew the days I could always sleep with just my underwear on were over. I bought myself pajamas for the weekends.

The player I talked to the most was of course Chelsea. She was a very pleasant, outgoing, outspoken, witty, and artful girl. She was also, undoubtedly, a very dangerous person to deal with. She had the gifted ability to make you say yes a million times for no good reason and the outcome was going to be death penalty.

Chelsea's mom was a customer services supervisor for the local utility company, and her dad worked for an appliance outlet. I didn't see her dad much, and I didn't hear Chelsea talked much about her dad. Mrs. O'Carroll, however, had told me Chelsea's parents had been on the brink of separation a couple times in the past. I also didn't see Chelsea's older brother Mark very much, but it was very easy to know when Mark came home after his night-time activities. He rode a bike with extremely loud tailpipes.

Barbara Enzi was Chelsea's best friend and classmate at school. She played center position in the team. She had a strange physical development process. I believe she remained the same height throughout the years I had known her. However, every time she would give me a slightly different figure about her height, ranging from the more convincing 5'9 to my height of 6'1. Barbara had also maintained her finely chiseled features and long light brown hair going to the middle of her back since I first noticed her existence.

Barbara's dad was a successful realtor and they lived by the lake. I also knew her older sister was going to Princeton the following year. It was one of the first things her mom told me the first time we were introduced at the field. Barbara's problem about playing the center position was that she was a little bony. One of her typical behaviors after a game was to show me the bruises on her thighs and legs, complaining how the defenders had treated her.

I didn't notice we had a girl called Diana Fiore until after a while. The first time I paid attention to her was when I found out she could use both feet to pass the ball or strike. This was unusual among players of her age. As a matter of fact, most professional players can not do it well. Diana and Chelsea both played midfield positions in the team, but she was a year behind Chelsea at school. She was an Italian with an average build and had very long and thick eyelashes as well as dimples on both cheeks.

Diana is the kind of girl you can not resist the craving to hold her in your arms when she gives you a sweet smile. I knew it because I had seen her smile that way once, just once. According to Chelsea, a second sweet smile from Diana would only occur when someone gave her dad an unclaimed jack pot lottery ticket. Diana was also a rather reticent person. Again, according to Chelsea, if Diana would talk to a guy for more than five minutes, that would be an undeniable proof that she was deeply in love with the guy.

Diana lived with her divorced dad. I learned from Diana that her dad was a die-hard Italian soccer fan and a carpenter working for the township Public Works. I had never seen her dad, although I had seen his pickup truck once when he came to pick up Diana on his way home. His pickup truck was the dirtiest vehicle I had ever seen. Diana usually rode the school bus or with another teammate, Ely, who lived a few blocks from her.

Glenn Harrison, the head coach of the girl's soccer team, was a PE teacher at school. One of his consistent remarks to me was to tone down my enthusiasm a little. He told me that Peterson High School wasn't a big high school, and had never had talented soccer players, either boys or girls. We had never been able to reach the second round in area tournaments, not to mention a state championship race. He told me unless a miracle happened, we were not going to see a player to get a college sports scholarship. The girls we were to coach were going to enjoy the game and the activities, not take it as a professional career.

Actually that had been the change in style of training I had been trying to adapt to for a while. Back at Rutgers, I dealt with motivated NCAA players aiming for a pro career. At Morris Community College, I dealt with rather matured players looking to get into senior years of colleges or just for fun. Here on the soccer field, I was dealing with riotous girls who could be serious about the game one minute and typical goofy teenagers the next minute. But as time passed, it became also satisfying to see the young girls grow up.

The soccer games didn't last all year long, which was a great relief for me. They typically started when the school semester started, and ended towards mid November when weather started becoming bad and snow would pose problem for soccer fields without cover and prowling equipment. Games at a more competitive level would resume in April, but normally not for the Peterson girls. They might get together in summer just for fun and practice.

As the girls began growing up, I started patting them on their heads instead of any other parts of their bodies, or hugging them all the time. I also began to ignore Barbara's complaints about her bruises on her thighs and legs. She was beginning to have a pair of legs that could drive a guy nuts just by thinking about them. Besides, I also realized Chelsea was no longer that skinny girl she once was. She had become an attractive girl with well proportioned figure.

The girls also started shifting attentions to other areas. Most of them, including Barbara and Chelsea, were dating. When asked if Diana was dating as well, Chelsea said nobody knew, and there were some rumors about Diana being gay spreading around.

My reminiscence was interrupted by a phone ring. I picked up the phone. It was Chelsea.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Watching football. You?"

"Calling you," she said, giggling. "Hey, Operation True Blue suspended. Operation Rosebud filling in. And, wait..."

"What?"

"Hey," she said, lowering her voice. "Mom's back. See you Sunday." She hung up.

I had no clue what she was talking about. I stared at the TV for a while before I realized what True-Blue was. The soccer club Chelsea in England was sometimes nicknamed the True Blue. So it must mean Chelsea was going to skip something. I couldn't figure out what Operation Rosebud was. She couldn't have meant my ex-girlfriend Rosemary, who broke off with me a few months ago and went back to her former boyfriend in New York.