Chapter 9
Nine
KIERAN
Why did I do that? Why on Earth did I turn her away? The look of disappointment on her face haunts me. It was the perfect opportunity to face my fears, to get to know her beyond my sleep.
I’m a coward. The minute I laid my eyes on her, my heart started racing. All I could think about was hiding. Away from her view, away from everyone else.
Coward.
I just can’t risk her seeing my unfinished paintings. What if she stumbles upon my sketchbook littered with scrapped attempts at art? She’d be terrified. She’d think I’m a complete and utter creep.
My own shame has me shoving the sketchbook deep into the drawer of one of the desks pressed against the wall. I should get rid of it, but I can’t bring myself to. I shouldn’t have even brought it. I just can’t bear the thought of my mums finding it—or my being away from it.
I dream of her again. It’s the same as always: we’re in one of the rooms in my Granny’s house.
The walls are an emerald green brocade accented by dark wood.
She sits in front of a vintage wooden vanity with floral carvings, wearing a white nightgown that billows down her legs.
She’s combing her long dark hair with a golden brush.
She smiles at me through the mirror. When she turns around, her mouth moves as if speaking.
But I don’t hear what she says. I never do.
I wake with a jolt. Sunlight streams in through the drawn windows of my bedroom. Cisco is already up, slipping on thick white socks. “Get up,” he says to me.
“What time is it?” I ask groggily.
“It’s past four,” he answers. I huff. I’ve slept half the day away.
“What time did you sleep last night?” Cisco asks. He stands and hobbles over to the door, where we keep our shoes. He sits on the floor and begins lacing his cleats.
“Don’t remember. Must’ve been around four or five.”
“Jesus, man.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, get up. We have football at five.”
I would rather stay home and sleep longer, but I know I have no choice. I promised Cisco, who was part of the football varsity in college, that I would play with him. He’s been looking forward to it. He even bought me my own jerseys and cleats to wear. My asthma, he says, is no excuse not to play.
I groan as I pull myself out of bed.
“Atta boy.” He pats me on the back. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
* * *
The pitch is an oasis in the middle of a city packed tight with tall buildings. The bright green turf is demarcated by bold white lines and encased on all four sides by chain-link fences. Netted goals sit on opposite ends of the field.
Cisco leads our warm-up. During a side lunge to stretch out our legs, Bo, ever the clown, yells, “Ball tap!” and fakes as though he’s going to punch Jaime in the balls. Jaime dodges and nearly loses his balance in the process. It’s crude and stupid but I laugh.
“Careful,” Cisco says. “He needs those for Isabel.”
Another chorus of laughter. This time, I don’t join. Jaime grinds his hips into the air, hands outstretched in front of him as if holding someone’s hips.
Pig.
A stray ball rolls in our direction from someone else training on the pitch. I send it flying back, pouring all my irritation at the way my friends are talking into my kick.
Cisco watches the ball soar with brows raised. He turns to me and grins. “Where the hell were you in school? We could’ve used a kick like that on the team.”
Coming from him, that’s high praise. We resume our warm-ups with no further interruptions.
When the ref whistles, we slip on our colored bibs and get into place.
Bo’s height makes him a perfect keeper, while Cisco plays striker.
Jaime takes the midfield, and I play left-back, just as I did the few times the guys convinced me to play back home.
I’m not as good as Cisco and Jaime, and definitely not as fast, but I know I’ve got great touch if nothing else, and a good aim.
I assist my teammates in potential goals, two of which we actually scored, so by the time the game draws to a close, my heart is pumping adrenaline straight into my veins.
It’s three to four, with the other team in the lead.
I see an opportunity to even the score, but it requires me to pass the ball to Jaime so he can take a shot at the winning goal.
The image of him humping the air and pretending it’s Isabel floods my brain. In a split second, I make my decision. I pretend to hesitate, giving the other team the chance to steal the ball. The play goes nowhere, and the referee blows the whistle. We lose by one point.
We amble back to our bags to take a water break while the next pair of teams get on the pitch to play.
“Dude, what the fuck,” Jaime says to me as I drop down to sit and catch my breath. “I was wide open.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“We could’ve won that.” Jaime tears his bib over his head and kicks the turf. I try not to enjoy his frustration too much.
“We’ll do better next round,” Cisco says, patting Jaime on the shoulder.
“Tell Kieran that,” Jaime scoffs.
I can tell him it’s just a game and rile him up even further, but the sight of him knocked down a peg is enough for me. “I’ll do better next time,” I say. “I won’t hesitate.”
He glares at me. “You better not.”
I can’t help it. I grin.