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Message-ID: <40020asstr$1040555408@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game II: Playing to Win, Ch. 24 (mf rom)
Date: Sun, 22 Dec 2002 06:10:08 -0500
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It's looking like Book 2 will be about 35 chapters long, as opposed to 30 
chapters for Book 1.  Just in case you were curious.

Enjoy.





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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
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for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
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(Copyright 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)

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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II


by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 24 -

WHEN I SAW HER THERE AGAIN



Jake gave me a ride after our respective practices on Wednesday and
Thursday, and we would stop and pick up Luscious Kayla on our way
over to my house, where the three of us would spread our homework out
on the family room floor.  My family quickly got used to seeing us
working in there.  By Friday, I was really tired of dragging my
mummified arm around.  Besides, it was itching so badly it was
driving me crazy, so I unwound the wrappings and threw them away.  I
spent a few minutes in absolute ecstasy, scratching my tortured skin
until it was an angry red.  Even the stitches itched, which I took to
be a good sign.

When I came down the stairs that morning, my mom almost had a cow
when she saw that I had taken the bandages off.  After examining the
arm, however, she reluctantly agreed that maybe getting some air on
it wasn't such a bad idea, so she helped me put a smaller bandage on
the stitches, and she rubbed some moisturizing lotion into my arm.

At lunchtime that day, I decided that fresh air would probably do my
lip some good, too, so I got Kayla to gently peel the bandage off.
She flinched a little when she saw the stitches in my mouth, but she
quickly recovered, and she softly touched the swelling to make sure
it wasn't too tender to go without being covered.  She still sat on
my left, protective as a mother hen, and held my hand in her lap.

The soccer team was playing a home game that evening, against the
Lakewood Huskies.  I hung around the locker room with my teammates as
they dressed for the game, laughing and joking.  Rich Ingrams was so
nervous his hands were shaking as he laced up his shoes.  I sat down
next to him.

"How's it going, Rich?" I asked.

He shot me a look of nearly pure terror.  "I'm scared shitless," he
admitted.  "I've never been a starter in my life, Sean, not even when
I was playing rec soccer when I was a kid.  I've always come off the
bench."

"It's no big deal," I said.

"Not for you, it's not," he replied.  "You've been the kind of kid
who's been a starter your whole life."

"I didn't start at all my freshman year, or the first half of last
year," I reminded him.

"Doesn't matter," he dismissed.  "You're a great player, Sean.  You
always started, and even when you didn't, everybody knew it was just
a matter of time before you got into the lineup.  Me, I'm a role
player.  I ain't never started.  Don't get me wrong, I don't really
mind, you know?  I like to watch the game a little before I go in,
it's how I've been trained to play.  I'm gonna be cold out there, and
slow, and they're gonna blow right past me into the goal."

"Try this," I suggested.  "As soon as you get out onto the track,
ask Eric to jog around the track a couple of laps with you, to help
you loosen up.  He likes to warm up that way anyway, he'll be glad
for the company.  And, he'll talk to you, tell you jokes and shit,
take your mind off the game."

"Yeah, okay, I can do that," he said.

"Then, when you're listening to Coach's instructions, just sit on
the bench, like you normally do.  Pretend the game's already started.
When you hear your name being called, you'll think you're just going
in to substitute for somebody, that's all."

"Hey, that's a good idea," he said.  He looked a little less
nervous, a little more in tune.  "Thanks, Sean.  I appreciate it."

"No problem, Rich.  Have a great game."  I thumped him on the back,
and then went over to talk to Eric.  I needed to fill him in on Rich,
and make sure he talked him up as they did their laps around the
track.  The kid was a basket case.  On our way out to the field, I
walked out with Mikey Evanson and Kevin Soranno, and told them about
my conversation with Rich.

"Just try to clear anything before it gets to him, until he starts
to look a little more comfortable out there, okay?"  I looked at each
of them, and got a confirming nod in return.

I would have loved to at least jog a couple of times around the
track, but my ribs still were too creaky, so I contented myself to
walking back and forth on the sidelines, dribbling a ball, right foot
to left foot and back again, as I paced.  The desire to get out onto
the field was almost tangible.

Eric and Rich started out on their laps.  Eric looked as relaxed as
he nearly always did, but Rich was tensed up, taking very short
strides.  I watched as Eric slowed down a little, adjusting to Rich's
pace.  Eric's arms were waving as he talked, and apparently he was
encouraging Rich to pick up speed a little, as they started moving
out just a little more.  By halfway around the first lap, Rich looked
a lot less tense, even though he was nowhere in the vicinity of
relaxed.  It was an improvement, though.  As they passed me, starting
their second lap, Eric shot me a look, never a pause in whichever
joke he was telling to Rich at the time.  That one glance contained
one part irritation, one part bemusement, and a dash of worry.  I
shrugged, letting Eric know that I sympathized, but there was nothing
more I could do, given the situation.  He gave me one last sour look
over his shoulder, and then concentrated on jollying Ingrams.

I was bored, so I took to looking in the stands to see if anybody I
knew was watching.  Matthew Hartigan, the sports reporter from our
local paper, was sitting in the front row, writing in his notebook.
I knew that by the start of the game he would be in his customary
seat, top row center.  Just up from Hartigan was another group I
knew.  Coach Bill was there with a few kids from the Warriors, along
with some parents.  I saw Justin, Davey, Kip, and Joey, and another
group, sitting on the row right above the kids, consisting of
parents.  Lori and Wendy were there, and there were a couple of other
men and women I didn't know sitting with them.  I waved to them all,
and Davey and Kip came running down to the fence.

I jogged over to them, and knelt down so I could be face to face
with them.

"Hey, guys, how are you doing?" I asked.

"We're good, Sean," said Davey.

"What happened to your arm, Sean?" asked Kip.

"Oh, I hurt it a few days ago.  It's okay, though, the doctor said
it was going to be fine," I told them.

They both looked at the bandage covering my cut with big eyes.

"Oh," breathed Davey.  "Mom told us you got hurt and that you
weren't going to be able to play today, but we said we wanted to come
and see you, anyway."

What a pair.  These kids were the best.

"Thanks, guys," I said.  "It means a lot to me that you came.  Tell
your mom thank you for me, okay?"

"Yup," agreed Kip.

I glanced up into the stands.  "Say, who are those other people with
your mom, Davey?"

Both of them looked up to where Lori sat with the other grown-ups.

"You mean Mrs. Marcus?" asked Davey.

"No, goof, you know I know her.  What about those others?"  I pointed.

Davey and Kip both started giggling, looking at each other
conspiratorially.

"Can't tell you," said Kip.

"Can't tell me?  Why?"

"'Cause," was all he answered.

"Okay, guys, I've got to get back," I said.  These kids always put
me in a good mood.  "Enjoy the game."

"See you later, Sean!"  "Bye, Sean!"  And they both raced back up
the stands to be by their friends.

As I was walking back toward the bench, I looked back into the
stands once again, curious to see who was here.  I was a little
surprised to see that Kayla was there, about halfway up the stands,
sitting with a couple of girls I didn't know.  I thought she would
have been at the football game, watching her brother play.  I was
also a little surprised at who I didn't see, and after warm-ups, as
the team was gathered around getting their gear packed up and
drinking some water before going out to play, I knelt down next to
Jorge.

"Hey, where's your sister?" I asked.

He looked at me a little sourly.  "I think she gone to the J-V game
to watch Paco play, man," he said.

That stabbed me a little, even though I really couldn't blame her
for going out with somebody else.

"Papa, he still pretty pissed at you, Sean," he continued.  "He
still telling Kristina that she got to stay away from you, whenever
your name come up.  I fixed her up with Paco, just so she have
somebody to go to the dance with, you know?  But he really likes her,
and he's been moonin' over her ever since she agreed to go to
Homecoming with him.  It's gettin' on my nerves, I got to tell you,
but she's kind of digging it, you know?"

"Yeah," I said disgustedly.  "I know."

"Besides," he said, looking at me critically, "I t'ink some other
little muchacha is workin' on putting her mark on you."  He glanced
up into the stands to emphasize his point.

While that news didn't really surprise me, I was startled to know
that others had recognized it.  Oddly, it didn't displease me at all.
In fact, it felt kind of good.

The announcer's voice came out of the loudspeakers with the starting
lineups, and Rich started looking a little green again.  He was
sitting on the bench, like I had told him, but he was sweating as he
anticipated hearing his name.  Finally, the announcer said, "Playing
right defense, a junior, Richard Ingrams!"  Rich stood up quickly,
intending to run out onto the field to join the starting lineup.  He
took two steps, and tripped over a gear bag, and he tumbled to the
ground, rolling in a heap.  He leapt up and ran as fast as he could
out to his teammates, never looking back.  The rest of us, the
substitutes and the equipment manager and me, groaned over poor
Rich's bad luck.

Unfortunately, Rich's troubles were far from over.  By the end of
the first half, he had been pummeled by our opponents, who had been
able to penetrate from his side almost at will, even with Mikey's and
Kevin's help, and they had capitalized on their opportunities twice.
On the other hand, their defensive players were also fairly weak, so
Eric, Javier, and Trent were able to keep us in front on the
scoreboard, 4-2.

Rich slumped down on the bench at halftime, panting nearly
uncontrollably.  Exhaustion oozed from his pores, flowing out with
his sweat, as he sat there, arms resting on his knees as he leaned
forward, head down.  There was no way he could go back on the field
for the second half, and everybody, Rich included, knew it.  Adam
Prince was pacing back and forth, anxious for Coach Neville to give
him the word that he would be going in.  He was smart enough not to
press things by bugging Coach, but his attitude of anticipation was
obvious.

Finally, just before the referee blew his whistle to get the teams
back on the field for the start of the second half, Coach gestured
for Adam.  He jogged over to Coach, who quietly told him to prepare
to join the starters.  Weasel was practically jumping in place, he
was so giddy, and he hopped and jigged over to where the rest of the
starters were standing, preparing to run out onto the field.  Kevin,
Mikey, Brett, and Jorge surrounded him, and started haranguing him
about how to play the position.  With the four of them in his face,
he had no choice but to stand there and take it, but even from where
I was standing, I could see he was mad about their instructions.

I walked over and sat down next to Rich.  "Tough game," I said, by
way of consolation.

He glanced up at me, misery in his eyes.  "I fucking blew it, didn't
I?"

"Don't worry about it," I tried to reassure him.  "They saw a new
player in that position, and they attacked.  Nothing you could do to
help that."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," he said with some heat.
"Don't try to sugarcoat it, Porter.  They blew right past me, and
there wasn't nothing I could do about it."

I shrugged.  "What do you want me to say, Rich?  You sucked?  Okay,
you sucked.  So what?  We all do, at one time or another.  It's a
game, that's all."

"Easy for you to say," he said disgustedly.  "You weren't the one
out there getting your ass torched."

"You'll do better next time, Rich.  Look on the bright side.  Maybe
Weasel will do even worse."

"Now there's a thought to brighten even the darkest day," he said,
but he didn't sound like he really meant it.

I stood up and paced up and down for almost the entire second half,
watching as we played out the second half.  Weasel didn't play very
smart.  He was all over the place, running around the defensive side
of the field and chasing the ball at nearly every opportunity,
tending to get in the way a lot.  The Huskies managed to score one
more time by attacking the right side, but it was only a salve for
them, since the final tally was 7-3.  After the final whistle, I saw
Kayla wave to her friends and come out onto the field toward me, but
before she reached me, Matthew Hartigan found me.  He eyed my
bandages and my lip.

"Okay, Sean, I can see you're injured, and that's why you weren't
playing.  How did you get hurt?"  He reached into his pocket and
started up a small battery-operated cassette recorder.

"It was just... an accident at home," I said.

"Okay," he said dubiously.  "What are your injuries?"

"I... uh, I've just got an injured arm," I tried.

"Uh-huh," he said, looking at me.  "And the mouth?"

"Oh, yeah, and the mouth," I agreed reluctantly.

"And?"

"And that's about it," I said.  I certainly didn't want to bring up
the bruised ribs.  What kind of accident at home could have accounted
for three different and varied injuries like these?

"What is the injury to the arm, Sean?" he persisted.

"I just... it got scraped up pretty bad... when I... fell..."

Just then, Coach Neville stepped up.  "Hello, Mr. Hartigan," he
said, as he gently but firmly took his elbow and steered him over
toward the bench, away from me.  "Did you have some questions about
tonight's game?" I heard him ask politely as he walked Matthew away.
I smiled, grateful for his intervention before I found myself trapped
into actually spilling the truth.

Meanwhile, Kayla skipped over and took my good arm in hers.

"Hiya, Sean," she said, tilting her head back to look up at me.
God, she looked so kissable, but I was not going to do that in front
of everybody.  She had a wide, happy smile on her face, and the look
in her eye indicated that she knew exactly what I was thinking, and
was getting a big kick out of my embarrassment.

I will never, ever understand the female mind, I thought to myself,
for perhaps the thousandth time.

Keisha, Ayesha, Danielle, and some of the other girlfriends of my
teammates were going to wait in the school hallway outside the
gymnasium for us to shower and change, and Kayla walked with them in
that direction, while I rejoined the team as they were headed toward
the outside entrance to the locker rooms.  I jogged to catch up with
Eric and Trent, feeling the tightness in my ribs as I breathed a
little deeper.  I kept going, however, unwilling to give in to it,
and unwilling to give Matt Hartigan anything more to speculate upon,
just in case he was watching.

"Hey, Seanster, what's up?" Eric said with a smile.  He glanced
quickly over to where Kayla was joining up with Keisha and Ayesha.
"Got another one on the line?"

"Hey, Eric," said Trent.  "What was that joke you were telling me
earlier?  Something about cradles and robbers?"

They both laughed uproariously.

"Very funny," I mumbled.  "She just happens to be Jake's little
sister.  She's a friend."

"Unh-hunh," agreed Eric with great humor.  "If you say so, Porter."
He chuckled.  "If'n you say so, boss."

The post-game analysis from Coach Neville was brief.  He was not
happy with the way the entire defensive team had played, and though
he carefully refrained from specifically mentioning the right side,
nearly all of the players in question knew they were standing in the
unwanted glare of his attention.  The one exception to that awareness
seemed to be Adam Prince, who was still acting like he was full of
nervous energy.  You could practically see him quivering as he
attempted, and failed, to stand still.  He was looking around the
room, as if he was wondering why he wasn't being congratulated for
playing such a stellar game, unaware that Coach was referring to him,
along with the other defensive players.  I had a feeling that the
thick skin he was exhibiting would do him ill among his teammates
again sometime.

Rich Ingrams, on the other hand, was sitting on a bench.  Even
though he had Anthony sitting next to him on his right, and Jorge on
his left, he still looked as if he was sitting all alone, hunched
over and depressingly introspective.

Coach finally dismissed us.  The guys who didn't play in the game
headed out the door, while the rest wandered to their lockers, so
they could strip off their sweat-stained game uniforms and get into
the shower.  I waited around for the guys to finish up, swapping
jokes and lies with Eric, Jorge, Trent, and the rest, and pointedly
ignoring Weasel's pathetic attempts to join in the comradeship.

I waited for Eric and Trent to finish up, and the three of us walked
out to the hallway to meet up with the girls.  As we all headed out
to the parking lot, I couldn't help but look around nervously, on the
lookout for potential trouble, but there were just a few cars in the
lot, and no sign of any of the Bulls.  Kayla, perhaps sensing my
mood, took my right hand in her left, and we followed Eric and
Keisha, also holding hands, over to my car.  Kay and I hopped into
the front seat, and I draped my arm around her as she slid over quite
naturally, across the bench seat, next to me.  Eric and his
girlfriend got into the back seat and cuddled up close as I drove us
all over to Mike's Pizza Palace, where we were meeting Trent and
Danielle, along with Anthony and Ayesha.  We commandeered a big round
table, and the eight of us spent the rest of that Friday night
stuffing our faces with fried mozzarella sticks, pepperoni pizza, and
Cokes.  I still had to chew carefully, because of my lip, but I was
willing to accept a little pain in exchange for the good times we
shared around that table.

The other three couples were going to a movie, but since my evening
with Kayla was kind of improvised, we decided that she should be
getting home.  She was just turning 15, and even though her parents
knew she was out with a group of kids that included me, she still had
a curfew she needed to obey.  Besides, even though I wouldn't have
admitted it to any of my friends, I was looking forward to crawling
into my own bed.  I was pretty tired, and it wasn't even 10:00.  I
was beginning to feel old and creaky, and I didn't even play in the
game.

We waved goodnight to the others, and got into the car.  As we were
waiting for it to warm up, Kayla once again slid over to sit next to
me.  She took my arm and purposefully wrapped it around her shoulder,
and she leaned lightly against me in the car.  I figured, what the
hell, now was as good an opportunity as any, so I leaned down and
gingerly, softly, kissed her willing mouth.

She put her hand to my neck and held me there, kissing me back very
gently, ever mindful of my cut lip.  She turned slightly to me, so I
wouldn't have to contort myself to be kissing her, and we stayed that
way until hot air was churning out of the vents.


We stopped kissing, and just held each other closely for a few
moments, each lost in our own thoughts.

"Kay?"

"Hmmmm?" she answered.

"Do you think your parents would let you go out on an actual date
with me?"

She looked over, into my eyes.  "Why wouldn't they?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, looking away.  "I'm older, and... I don't
know..."

"Besides," she said with a giggle, "don't you think you should ask
me first?  Maybe I won't go out with you."

I whipped around to look at her, just a little panicky at her words,
until I saw her smiling.

"Hey, Porter, I'm just teasing you.  Why don't you ask me and find
out for sure?"

"Uh, okay. Do you want to go out with me sometime?"

She hesitated, evidently enjoying my discomfort.  "I don't know,
what did you have in mind?"

Well, I didn't have anything in mind, just a general idea that I'd
like to go out with her.  Now I had to scramble to come up with
something.  "Well," I said lamely, "how about a movie?  Tomorrow
night?"

Now it was her turn to be embarrassed.  "I can't, tomorrow night,"
she said quietly, turning away.

"Oh."  I was very disappointed, and very confused.  Didn't she just
indicate that she wanted to go out with me?

"But next weekend I can," she offered, turning back to me, an
anxious look on her face.

"Really?  Okay, next Saturday?  Because, like, I'll have a game
again on Friday, and..."

"Saturday is good," she said as I fumbled for words.  "And maybe we
can meet your friends again after the game on Friday," she added.

"Sure!"  Now I was excited.  She did want to go out with me, after
all!

Kayla sat back, looking satisfied about the arrangements, but
something was still bothering me.

"Kay?  Why can't you go out tomorrow?"

She turned away from me just a little.  "I already have a date," she
said quietly.

My heart thumped once, and then seemed to stop.  I felt like I
should pound on my chest to get it going again, but before I did, it
started back up again on its own.

"A date?" I repeated stupidly.

She turned back to me, and put both arms around my neck.  She gave
me a soft peck on the lips, careful to stay clear of my stitches.
"Yes, a date," she said, no longer embarrassed about it.  "I just
couldn't wait forever for you to notice me again, could I?"

"What?"  I wasn't sure I understood.

"But next weekend is for you," she said with a smile.  She
disentangled herself from me, and sat back in the seat.

My mind was buzzing.  "Say, is this date tomorrow with Bronson, or
Branson, or whatever his name is?" I asked.

"Brandon," she corrected.  "And yes, it is."

"You've been going out with him since the summer," I said.  "If
you're willing to go out with me next weekend, what about him?"

She looked at me coquettishly.  "Drive," she said.  She pointed at
the clock on the dashboard.  Yikes.  I had to get her home, and
quickly.  I dropped the car into drive, and we headed down the
street.  The time distracted me from getting an answer to my
question, which might have been her plan.  However, as we pulled into
the driveway at her house, she leaned over one last time, gave me a
soft kiss full of promise, and whispered, "Brandon's okay, but I've
just been using him for practice, and he knows it."

I really wanted to kiss her back, but I also had to ask the question.

"Practice for what?" I asked.

She looked at me, a small and enigmatic smile on her lips, before
she slid over to grasp the door handle on her side and open the door.
"For when you finally saw me there again, waiting for you," she said.
She slipped out of the car gracefully, held the door open as she
gazed back in at me meaningfully, and then closed the car door and,
without a glance back, walked up her driveway to her front door,
opened it, and entered her house.  The door closed, leaving me
feeling unaccountably alone and a little emptier without her presence.





(Continued in Chapter 25)



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