Chapter 34: Rebound Boy

Kayla was stiff as I gently turned her back toward the door of the restaurant. I opened the door and guided her over to the booth where Jake and Jaimie were sitting.

"What's wrong?" asked Jake when he saw us.

I sat Kayla down next to Jaimie and motioned for Jake to follow me.

"Kay's got a problem," I said as I headed back toward the door.

"What's the matter?" Jake sounded very worried.

"Kay's problem is named Thomas Jorgenson."

I opened the door for Jake, and I brought him out to the parking lot. I silently led him over to T.J.'s car, so he could see for himself.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

He was about to charge over and yank the door off its hinges, but I put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Let's see what we can do to aggravate him," I suggested. I walked over to my car and opened the trunk. In my bag, along with my copious notebooks, were a few pens and pencils. I grabbed a couple of ballpoint pens and walked back to where Jake was standing, still staring at the Mustang.

"Here," I said.

"What's this? Are you gonna write him a fucking letter?" asked Jake incredulously.

"Nope," I said. I crouched down by the back tire and used the pen to push in the valve. Air hissed out.

"Good thinking, Porter," whispered Jake, grinning ear to ear. He went around to the other side and started on the front tire.

In just a few minutes, T.J.'s car was sitting on four very flat tires. From the way the car was swaying, the occupants never even noticed. I put the pens back in my car, and Jake and I stepped back into the restaurant.

"What now, dude?" asked Jake.

"Now we sit down, we order our pizza, and we wait," I said.

Jaimie and Kayla were in a whispered conversation, but they stopped abruptly when Jake and I returned to the table. Jake held out his hand for his sister, and Kayla took it and stood.

"What did you guys do?" she asked.

"We just gave him a reason to come in and show his face," said Jake grimly. He gently pushed Kayla over to the other bench so he could sit next to Jaimie. Kay sat down and slid over, making room for me.

"Don't do anything stupid," she said, a little fearfully.

"I knew I didn't like the asshole," I muttered.

Kayla put her hand on my arm.

About fifteen minutes later, an obviously pissed-off T.J. came storming in through the door. He made a beeline for the pay phone, not noticing anything else. I stood up, and so did Jake. As T.J. picked up the receiver and began dropping coins into the slot, we walked quietly up behind him.

He was practically yelling into the phone, browbeating some kid at a gas station. "I don't give a rat's ass if it is closing time. I've got four flat tires, and with all the business my family gives to your station, you'd better get your ass over here right now and fix them!"

The back of his neck was beet red from his anger. He slammed the phone down and whirled around to leave. He never heard us behind him, and it startled him to find us blocking his path.

"Jake! What are you doing here?" he said a little nervously.

"Hello, Jorgenson," said Jake quietly.

T.J. gave me a dismissive glance, and then did a double-take. "You!" he exclaimed. "Porter. I should have fucking known. You know something about my flat tires, don't you." It wasn't a question, but rather more of a statement.

"You know, I had heard you were kind of a good guy, but I didn't believe a word of it. Good to see my judgment of character is still intact," I said.

His eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've just given Kayla a giant clue about your intentions," I said. I stepped to the side so he could see Kay sitting in the booth, staring over at us.

He stared in her direction for a moment, and then shook his head. "Fuckin' hero boyfriend," he snarled. "You dumped her, remember? I just picked up the pieces. And then you had to come back, didn't you?"

"You know, I always thought you were a good guy. Maybe not the right guy for my sister, but a good guy anyway." Jake sounded a little sad.

"Maybe I am the right guy for your sister," he said, staring at me. "Maybe it should be up to her, not you."

"Say, T.J., how's football camp going?" asked Jake. "Hot in those pads in August, ain't it?"

T.J. spun around to Jake, startled at the sudden change in subject. "What are you talking about?" he asked. He looked at Jake as if he had lost his marbles.

Jake continued, unperturbed, "Does Coach still make you do two-a- days in full pads, even with your broken nose?"

T.J. gave his head a little shake, as if to say he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What? My nose isn't broken. What the fuck..."

Jake snapped a meaty left fist up and into the side of T.J.'s nose. We all heard a very satisfying crunch, and T.J. bounced back against the wall next to the pay phone. His nose began streaming blood all down his chin and onto his shirt, the scarlet bright under the fluorescent lights of the entryway. He was still leaning against the wall, supported on wobbly knees, when he reached up to touch his nose.

"Shit, that hurts!" he cried out. His eyes were focused inward, his perception of us in the background as the nerve centers of his damaged nose demanded attention.

"By golly, I do believe you were wrong," said Jake calmly. "It appears your nose is broken after all."

By this time, the restaurant had gone completely silent as everybody watched our little drama. Kayla and Jaimie scrambled out of the booth and came over to us. With just a quick glance at the three of us, they moved behind us and walked out the door.

Jake reached over and grabbed T.J. by the shirt and dragged him outside. I followed along, and I watched as Kayla and Jaimie strode over to T.J.'s car. Kayla yanked open the passenger door.

"Cassidy." She managed to fill that one name with a surprising amount of contempt. Kayla walked back over to where her brother was still holding up T.J. She looked up at him. "We were never exclusive," she said to him. "You can date anybody you want. But Cassidy Wilkins? The biggest slut in school? And here? In the parking lot? I thought you had more class than that, Thomas."

T.J. had the good sense to look embarrassed, even as he held his hand up to his bent and swollen nose. His voice was muffled because of the swelling of his damaged nasal passages and the blood trickling down his throat. He glanced at Kayla, and then he made his big mistake. "I had to get it from somewhere, didn't I?"

Kayla took two quick steps up to him, still being held in place by Jake, and slapped him hard. He howled from the pain. "How dare you," she hissed. "And to think I nearly..." Her face was pale, and her jaw was clenched in anger.

T.J. was practically in tears, bent over as much as Jake would let him, and holding both hands up to protect his face. "Let me go, Jake. I've gotta ... I've gotta ... get to the hospital ... or something..."

Jake pulled him upright and close. T.J. was a couple of inches taller, but he was also about forty pounds lighter. Jake hauled him around with ease. He put his face about a quarter of an inch away from T.J.'s, making sure he was paying attention. "Listen up, Jorgenson. I want you to hear me very clearly. If you ever call my house again, or if you ever drive by my house again, I will come for you. Understand?" T.J. just stared at him. Jake gave him a tiny shake, just enough to send some spatters of blood flying. T.J. began to nod his head frantically. Jake continued, "And if I ever hear - from anybody - that you so much as sneezed at my sister, I will come for you."

"Jake ... buddy ... I didn't mean no..."

"Don't Jake Buddy me, sport. You are at the top of my list. It's a short list, so I can pay lots of attention to it. I will drive a thousand miles just to lay some hurt on you if I hear you have even said one word to her. Do I make myself clear?"

T.J. nodded.

Jake gave him another little shake. "I can't hear you," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, man, I understand," said T.J.

"Okay," said Jake. He gave T.J. a shove toward the sidewalk.

T.J. stumbled a little, and then he turned and tried to go around Jake, over to his car. Jake stepped in front of him.

"My wheels, man. I've got to get to the doctor."

Jake was implacable. "Walk," he instructed. "You got four flat tires. Your wheels stay here, Jorgenson. Walk your date home."

A slender, dark-haired girl got out of the passenger side of T.J.'s car. I didn't know her, but I assumed she was Cassidy. She had to pull her very short skirt down after she got out of the car, and her top was twisted around. She leaned back in and grabbed her sandals from the floor of the back seat. Without a word she slipped them on, did what she could to straighten out her clothes, and then she walked with as much dignity as she could muster past all of us. T.J. reached for her arm as she walked by, but she jerked it out of his reach.

"Thanks for showing me the sights, big spender," she said contemptuously. She glanced over at Kayla. "I don't know what you saw in him," she said. "Big ego, tiny dick." She tossed her head, and her long hair moved off her shoulder and around to her back. She walked away without looking back.

"Bitch," muttered T.J. He glanced a little fearfully at Jake after he realized he had spoken out loud.

"Get the fuck out of here," growled Jake, and T.J. walked slowly toward the sidewalk. He glanced back once, and then disappeared around the corner of Mike's.

There were, of course, resonations and repercussions to that confrontation over the next several days. By the time I was ready to drive back to school, things between Kayla and me were still curiously unresolved. Some of it had to do with Kayla's mood. She was understandably furious at T.J. for the lack of respect he exhibited toward her. His spectacular self-implosion would reverberate through the school and pretty much make his senior year a nightmare. Did I feel sorry for him? Not one bit.

Though she tried to get over it when others were around, Kayla's mood permeated everything she did. She was quiet and very unresponsive when we went out to lunch or dinner during her work breaks, and she didn't want to go out with me, or anybody, on her evenings off.

As for me, I tried to be a good and supportive friend for her, providing company on those rare occasions when she actually wanted some, and trying to leave her alone when she wanted to be left alone.

In the meantime, I had a business to run. We were in the last three days of our local camp, and then I had several coaches' clinics, both at home and in Indiana, to conduct.

Beginning on Monday, I spent all the time I could with the campers and with my instructors. Wednesday would be our last day of camp. I wanted all the information I could get, both from personal observation and comments and suggestions from each of my instructors, so I could critique effectively. I wanted the parents to see how much their kids had progressed, and I wanted to make sure the Sean Porter camps and clinics fulfilled our agenda to give everybody a pathway to success as soccer players.

I had called a staff meeting for Monday after camp. I had decided to have everybody come over to my house. After the long, hot day outside, everybody was grateful to be in my basement, where it was dark and cool. Trent helped me lug a cooler full of sodas and beer on ice downstairs, and everybody helped themselves. Danielle had gone to the store and bought bags of popcorn, chips, and crackers, and she began passing them around, along with paper plates and paper napkins with little soccer balls on them.

"Cute," said Eric when he saw them. "Where'd you find these?"

"At a party store," replied Danielle. "I got enough for Wednesday, too."

Once all twelve instructors were settled with their drinks and snacks, I began.

"Was it a successful season?" I asked. I looked around at all my friends and colleagues.

"Yes," said Posey. "Attendance was up, and so was the enthusiasm."

"I thought it was better than last year," agreed Anthony Rogers, another old high school teammate who was in his second year with my camps.

"We specialized a little more this year than last," said Weasel. He was sitting next to Posey, and kept glancing at her. Posey was an attractive girl, and she was trying hard not to glance back at Weasel.

Has there been something going on there? I thought to myself. None of my business, though. As long as the performance of their duties at camp weren't affected, they could do as they wished. I tried to ignore it.

"What do you mean, Adam?" I asked.

"Well," he said, "for one thing, our older campers came in with quite a bit of experience."

"That's true," said Tessa. She was sitting on a chair next to Jorge. Keepers always stick together, I thought.

"Quite a few of the competitive groups were with us last year," continued Weasel. "We were able to concentrate on specifics for their positions. Eric and Trent customized the drills a little more, breaking it down into defensive sets and offensive sets. Specialization."

"Okay, good," I said. "That's what they need as a foundation to good field management. Next year, if they have kept up with their skills, we'll blow their minds by changing it all around."

Everybody laughed. They knew of my theories about flowing assignments. Most of them believed, having either observed or heard us talking about it enough. Some of the other ones, mostly the instructors still in high school, were having trouble grasping the concepts. I wasn't concerned. A little more experience and they would become converts, too.

"This brings up another point," said Trent. He glanced at Danielle, who was taking notes for me. "What are your plans for next year? Are you going to expand again?"

I shrugged. "I don't know," I said. "It was kind of tough driving around so much. I don't know if I want to get any bigger."

"Can I make a suggestion?" asked Danielle.

"Of course," I said. "You know more about this arrangement than I do, anyway. I should be listening to you a lot more than you should be listening to me."

"In work, as in life," muttered Trent, eliciting knowing chuckles from several of the people in the room.

"We had a twenty percent increase in the numbers of attendees this year," Danielle continued. She didn't have to refer to any notes. She had been working with these facts and figures since about February. "We will probably continue to grow at a healthy rate for the foreseeable future, given the increasing popularity of soccer and the obvious results of attendance."