Chapter 17: The Hot Lazy Saturday

Saturday morning dawned hot and sunny. Molly and I met Lori at Kip and Davey's soccer game just before ten o'clock at the park where the boys and I had drilled. We all sat together on the sidelines and watched as the boys tried out some of their newly learned skills. We cheered and hollered every time one of them touched the ball, shouting out encouragement. Kids that age tend to drift back into the habits of the group, and Davey and Kip were no exception. It was swarmball at its ugliest, but everybody on both teams was having a ball, so it was all okay.

At halftime, the boys came over carrying offerings of orange slices from the team's halftime treat supply. Davey crawled up onto Molly's lap, and Kip, following his brother's lead, jumped into mine.

"Ow!" I complained good-naturedly. "No bouncing, okay?"

"Okay, Sean," he grinned. He gave me one last, small bounce for good measure anyway.

"Do you guys know what you're supposed to be doing out there?" I asked.

"Playing soccer?" replied Kip.

"Sure, playing soccer, and having a good time. But how are you supposed to be playing soccer?"

"Oh, yeah," said Davey. "Move to where nobody else is, call for the ball, one-potato-look and two-potato-pass."

"There you go," said Molly. "Just remember what Sean has been teaching you, and you'll have even more fun out there."

At that point, the boys' coach called his team over to give them second-half instructions. He read off his starting lineup to the players, and as their names were called, they left the sidelines and took their positions on the field. Davey was playing center midfielder, and Kip was right forward.

Just that little reminder at halftime was enough for them to recall their lessons. They stayed at their positions for the rest of their playing time that day, instead of rushing to the ball wherever it might be on the field. It paid off for them toward the end of the third quarter, when the ball squirted out of the pile of players into Davey's area. He scooped up the ball, dribbled down the field for about three steps, then passed it up to Kip. Kip tried to take the ball in to the net, but was caught up in traffic when he fumbled a little on his trap, and he lost it in the scramble around him. Even so, I was happy to see them work on their positioning and their passes during a game. I hoped that they would be able to see the worth of their drills, even at their young age.

After the game ended, the boys each grabbed a hand and dragged me over to meet their coach, a man they only knew as "Coach Bill".

"I'm glad to meet you, Sean," said Coach Bill. "Davey and Kip have been bragging about you almost nonstop."

"Well," I said, somewhat embarrassed, "I've been trying to help..."

"No, no, don't get me wrong," Coach Bill interrupted. "I really am glad to meet you. You couldn't see it very well today in the game because none of the other boys have caught up to them yet, but both Davey and Kip are light years better than they were in the spring. Some of that improvement can be attributed to being a little older and a little bigger, but it's obvious that the time you've spent with them this summer has been beneficial to them. I especially liked that play down by the goal, when Davey passed the ball over to Kip. Very neat."

"Yeah, I saw that, too. Too bad it didn't work out to be a score," I said.

"Well, yes and no," he replied. "At this age, the score of the game doesn't really matter to these kids. The parents care more about wins and losses than the kids do, I'm afraid. All the boys know is they're out there on the field, running and having a good time. A goal is just that: a goal to aim for. Scoring gives them a good feeling right then at the time, but by the time they restart the game afterwards, they've practically forgotten about it. In a couple of years, it might start to matter to them, but for right now, it's just one more thing for them to worry about. And I'm all for giving them less to worry about. I'm happier when they execute a good pass, or can clear the ball out of the pack, or make a good interception. That's enough for them to worry about at this point in their soccer lives."

"That's true, Coach," I said. "I've officiated games at this level, and a lot of the time the kids are more interested in what the halftime treat is going to be than in what is happening on the field."

Coach Bill laughed. "Yes, and this team is no exception. I just wish the parents could have the same attitude. Some of them get so competitive through their kids!"

"It only gets worse as the kids get older," I said. "I've got friends on my rec team who are already getting pressure from their parents about playing well so they have a chance for scholarship money for college, and these kids are only thirteen or fourteen years old."

"Well, Sean," he replied, "play the game for fun. If you're good, the rest will find its way to you." He shook my hand, and then walked over to talk to some of the parents.

Heather dropped Molly and me at Skip's house that afternoon. We could hear sounds of the party wafting over the neighborhood as we got out of the car and found our way to the back yard. There was a large wooden deck attached to the house off the kitchen, and Skip was there, his girlfriend Maggie Wiggins by his side, holding court among some of the members of the team and their girlfriends. I knew all the guys, and most of the girls I knew at least by sight. I stopped to say hello and introduced Molly to the group.

"I know you," said Skip. "You're Heather's sister, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, but I prefer to think of her as the sister, not the other way around," shot back Molly with a smile.

"Watch out, Sean," Skip said as he turned to me. "You've got a firecracker here."

"Don't I know it," I said. I dropped our pack of sodas in a corner.

Most athletes tend to date athletic types, and soccer players are no exception. Most of the girls at the party played on one team or another at school, or were members of the coveted groups such as cheerleaders, student council, or poms. The surprising exception to this was the girl hanging onto the arm of Theo Jameson, a senior forward on the team and one of Skip's best friends. Her name was Allison Moseley, and her main claim to fame was her voluptuous figure, along with the way she flaunted it. Even here, at a pool party with lots of skin showing on lots of fit bodies, Allison managed to draw attention to herself. She wore a startlingly bright orange bikini, maybe two sizes too small, so that her fleshy breasts practically spilled out over the top. To accentuate the effect, she had grabbed on to Theo's arm and was squeezing her boobs against him, creating an impressive amount of cleavage, and reveling in the stares from many of the boys on the deck.

Molly yanked on my arm and guided me toward the stairs leading down from the deck.

"You're going to start drooling in a minute," she said quietly. We headed for the coolest spot in the yard, the swimming pool. We jumped into the shallow end and waded over to where Jorge Mendoza was lounging. Surprisingly, he had brought his sister, Kristina, along to the party. Kristina was wearing a black one-piece suit that really showed off her trim form, and made her darkly tanned skin shine. Beads of water seemed to glisten off the shoulders and arms of both Jorge and Kristina. We said our hellos, casually splashing water on our shoulders to cool off. I looked up at the crowd on the deck, just in time to see Eric come out from the kitchen with Keisha Prescott. Eric's eyes practically popped out of his head when he almost bumped into Allison, who giggled and squeezed even harder against poor Theo. Keisha grabbed Eric's arm and pulled him away. He stumbled a little, then spotted us watching him from the pool, and stopped to say something to Keisha. She glanced over, and they both stepped off the deck and jumped into the pool by us.

"So, Eric, did you get an eyeful?" I asked.

"Oh, he got an eyeful, all right. And pretty soon he's gonna get an earful," said Keisha.

We all laughed. Molly stood in front of me, about six inches away, and said, "I noticed that you paid particular attention to her chest, too, Mr. Porter. What do you have to say for yourself?"

There was a glint in her eye that warned me to be cautious, or I could be expecting some pain. I craned my neck around her to glance up at the deck, then deliberately looked down at her lightly freckled chest. "You know, Molly, you are much more tanned than Allison is. In my eyes, that means that she pales in comparison to you."

Molly smiled, a look of delight on her face, as she gave me a light tap on the chest with her forearm.

"Nice save," murmured Jorge, next to me.

There were a few kids trying to get up a volleyball game out in the yard, but it was just too hot, and the pool was too refreshing. Eventually, we worked up enough enthusiasm to set up the net across the pool so we could play water volleyball. Even that deconstructed into a free-for-all after a couple of games. Some of the guys were diving down, ostensibly to chase after the ball. What they were doing underwater, though, was swimming close to the girls, sometimes swimming between their legs. A few of the older, braver boys went so far as to lightly brush up against a bikini-clad bottom with a hand or a foot, furtively copping a quick feel as they swam by. Molly was the unhappy recipient of one of these touches by one of the guys. She jerked and jumped in my direction, glancing over her shoulder to see who might have swum by.

"That's rude," she complained as she grabbed my arm.

"Come on," I said as I waded toward the side. "Let's just go down by the shallow end and sit on the edge for awhile."

Eric, Keisha, Jorge, and Kristina all joined us, and for the rest of the afternoon, and into the evening, the six of us lounged near the shallow end of the pool.

Skip and Theo fired up the grill and threw hot dogs, bratwursts, and burgers on to cook. Maggie and Allison shuttled back and forth from the kitchen with bags of chips, plates of sliced tomatoes, onions, mustard and ketchup, and bowls of potato salad. A real production line got going as everyone suddenly realized how hungry they were. Skip and Theo were kept pretty busy for the next hour or so, cooking up grub for the rest of us. Every so often, either Allison or Maggie would hand them cold cans of soda, and one time Maggie stuffed a hot dog in a bun into Theo's mouth as he was flipping burgers with one hand, and turning brats with the other. He hardly missed a beat, chewing and flipping hamburgers at the same time.

Just as we were leaning back in satisfaction, having downed an impressive amount of food, the girls came out with a huge pan of homemade brownies and a five-gallon tub of ice cream.

It was an effort, but we all managed to clean all that up, too. By the time everyone was done, there were just a few brownie crumbs left, and the bottom of the tub was barely covered with the last melting remnants of ice cream.

It was starting to get dark out by the time we finished eating. Skip lit some torches that were placed around the yard, and turned on the lights in the pool while turning off all the other lights in the back of the house. The swimming pool, now empty of activity, was a calm, iridescent rectangle of blue-green liquid floating in the middle of the yard. The flickering light from the few torches, along with the reflected light from the water, cast shadows everywhere, dancing and playing across the furniture and bodies in repose around the property.

Skip and Maggie, their duties as cook and scullery maid done, made their way around the deck and pool, stopping to talk for a few moments with each group of kids. When they got around to the six of us, still grouped around a table by the end of the pool, Skip plopped down in an empty chair in mock exhaustion. Maggie stood behind him, casually rubbing his shoulders.

"So, Porter, did you get enough to eat?" he asked.

Eric snorted in amusement, and Molly and Kristina laughed out loud.

"This boy eats more than I ever thought was possible," Molly said.

"Well, don't eat so much you're going to get fat, Porter. Don't forget you're riding the pines this season, not running your ass off in the games," he said with a grin.

"Don't worry about me," I shot back. "That's only true if you stay in shape. Don't forget who's gunning for your position."

"Hey, do I look scared? You're good, Porter, I'll give you that. You're just not good enough yet." Skip stood up, stretched, and draped his arm around Maggie's shoulder. "Come on, babe, let's mosey."

The two of them wandered to the next group, and Eric muttered, "'Let's mosey'? Since when did we land in the Wild fucking West?"

Keisha laughed derisively. "Yeah, what an arrogant prick. And he's gonna be captain of the team, right?"

"Aw, Skip's not so bad," I objected. "He's just had a lot of press lately about how good he's going to be this year. I think he's operating under a lot of pressure, much more than he's showing."

"Yeah, well," said Eric, "it's all right if you want to defend him, since you've got to live with him during practices and all. If it's all the same, I'll just not be his best friend, okay?" With that, he reached behind him and pulled another soda out of the cooler.

After the brutal heat of the day, the air felt very cool after the sun went down. We all slipped on t-shirts and shorts, and started gathering our stuff together. Mr. Mendoza had already picked up Jorge and Kristina, and Eric and Keisha were leaving very soon. Molly went into the house to use the phone to call Heather to pick us up, and then came back and started helping Maggie clean off the remains of the food from the table. I struggled up and started picking up empty plates and soda cans and carrying them over to the trash cans. Keisha came over to say goodbye, giving Molly a brief hug, while Eric genuflected to Skip. They headed around the outside of the house toward the front, giving us a wave as they disappeared around the corner.