Chapter 9: Part 9 - Friday Night

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Part 9: Friday Night

I’d never been to a state soccer tryout before. I mean, I’m pretty good, but I’d always shied away from drawing attention to myself. And this thing with Ms Pike seemed to suggest that was a good decision. I figured I’d spend most of my time up in the bleachers watching, but at least that would give me time to get to know Jessie’s family. They’d all be there, surely. Maybe I could get to the bottom of this ‘family stuff’ that she didn’t want to talk about. The stuff that was making her hurt herself.

I once read that a detective’s greatest asset were her ears. I figured I’d let my mom chat with Jessie’s mom and just see what came out.

“That’s my Jessie there,” Mrs Marina announced, when her daughter took to the field wearing number 9. “She’s going all the way to the nationals,” she declared a moment later. There was pride in her voice, but there was something else nesting in her face too. I couldn’t quite place it.

“I’m surprised Ella didn’t try out too,” Jessie’s mom declared. Then added, “Ella’s all Jessie ever talks about at the moment.”

I tried to hide the smile that was erupting on my lips. I honestly don’t know where it came from, but — when I realized that I was about to break out into a beaming giggle — I cheered, “Come on, Jessie. Let’s go!”

Jessie waved at me from the pitch and I waved back, then blew warmly into my hands to hide the beaming grin that had formed on my face anyway. Fall nights can be so cold.

“I’m not sure Ella’s ready for that level just yet,” my mom replied with measured restraint. The smile crept away from my lips.

I watched the tryouts for about another 10 minutes or so — a series of drills, running, passing, penalty kicks — before they started a game. Pink shirts versus blues. I didn’t even notice him arrive until I heard his voice.

“Come on, Jessie! Kick their asses!”

The voice was deep and gruff and had a slightly twinge to its delivery, an accent, maybe. I turned around to see the owner, a man in his late-forties, sitting next to Jessie’s mom. He had linked his arm with hers; she wasn’t looking at him. Probably too engrossed in the match. That must be Mr Marina, Jessie’s dad, I mused.

“Daddy’s little girl can sure play, huh?” he asked, peering around the front of the two other women and at me. There was something hiding behind those eyes. A look. Kinda like Todd Sanderson had. He looked me up and down; I felt like he was undressing me beneath my winter coat and hoodie. Then, emerging from his mouth – kinda like Bobby Brandon had – that leering, knowing grin.

“You must be Ella,” he said with a smirk that I didn’t like. Then he leaned over to shake my hand. I could smell it on him even before he took hold of my limp fingers in his strong fist; on his breath and somehow on his clothes too. Alcohol. My hand disappeared into his powerful mitt and I did my best to shake his hand politely before shrinking into my hoodie.

I’m pretty sure my mom smelled it too — the alcohol — cos she shuffled a little in her seat, kind of like whenever grandma was around. Like she was worried about what might happen next.

“Why don’t you go down pitchside?” Mom said to me, and pointed in the direction of a few other kids who were watching by the advertising boards. I didn’t even reply. I just stepped out of my seat like I was bouncing on a trampoline and headed down pitchside.

I tried to run through in my head what I’d just experienced. Tried to put it into the context of what I knew about Jessie. What I’d seen when she reached up into that locker and exposed her scarred, bruised midriff. Her father smelled of alcohol. That didn’t necessarily mean anything. It was Friday night. The tryouts were right after work. Maybe he’d stopped for a drink with his buddies. My dad did that sometimes. It didn’t mean anything.

But then there was that look. And the other look that followed it. I didn’t know what any of that meant, but I knew it made me uncomfortable. I wanted to look back at my mom; make sure she was okay up there. It was stupid, I knew. There were hundreds of people at this thing and she was a grown woman. She’d be fine. I resisted the temptation to look, and trained my eyes on Jessie instead.

She had the ball. She was dribbling it through the defenders. There were just two girls between her and the goalie. I felt sure she was going to make it. Then she passed the ball out to a tall girl to her right.

No! I thought. This girl is going to score instead. Take Jessie’s moment of glory.

But then—

The girl squared the ball back. It was just Jessie and the keeper. She took the ball in a single touch, lined up and hammered the shot past the goalkeeper. The whole crowd went wild. It was what people call a Great Team Goal.

Then I heard it behind me.

“F—k yeah!! That’s my girl!!”

I didn’t have to ask who it was screaming.

I felt sick.

But it didn’t matter. Jessie had scored and been unselfish at the same time. Those were the things the coaches were looking for, I felt sure.

Suddenly, it was over. The referee blew her whistle and the match was finished. Jessie’s team had won. 2-0. She started hugging and high-fiving everyone. Then she saw me.

Then, she came running over to hug me and straight away I wished she didn’t. Something was starting to happen with me. I didn’t like to talk about it. It had happened a couple of times before, before I started taking the blockers. But it hadn’t happened at all since I did. But it was happening now!

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ my mom told me the first time it happened.

‘It’s a perfectly normal thing that happens all the time.’

And she was right.

It did happen all the time.

To boys.

Below my belt, in the hiding of my denim jeans, the mistake was rebelling. Something had told it it didn’t have to play ball. That it could show how excited it was. And it was rising. Rising like a signal of All Things Boy!

I couldn’t hug Jessie like this. She’d feel it. Against her. She’d know. Straight away she’d know what Bobby Brandon knew and Leierna Scott knew, and Jessie’s dad probably knew.

I did the only thing I could. I leant in with my arms and tried to keep the lower part of my body as far away from hers as possible.

And there — right there, where I had my butt stuck out at a stupid angle to hide what was going on in my pants — right there my mom decided to take a picture of me hugging Jessie.

I could have died.

Submitted: January 03, 2025

Young Adult teen drama ya lgbtq trans