Chapter 4 Kai
I’m shifting my weight, wearing my Ashworth Academy Hawks hoodie over my phys-ed uniform. I’ve been ready for ten minutes and still no one has driven me to the school’s soccer field.
Man, I can’t wait to get my license.
Two more weeks.
Just two more weeks.
“Wait five minutes,” she calls from the kitchen. “Your brother isn’t even downstairs yet.”
“So?” I call back. “Can’t we go without him?”
“Malakai,“ she scolds.
I curl a finger inside the collar of my hoodie, wincing at the use of my full name. It only comes out when she’s truly peeved with me. Since I cost her a trip to the emergency room, and another lecture from the head doctor, she’s been particularly prickly.
“But, Mom,” I whine, dragging my feet into the kitchen. “Milo’s probably not even dressed yet. You let him have all those dang books up there. You know he gets sucked into them.”
“Let him have books?” Mom mimics me in a mocking tone. “What? You mean in his bedroom? Can you stop complaining and have a glass of OJ or something?”
I groan. “I don’t want OJ. I want to be at the field.”
“It’s not even a legit practice,” Mom says, flapping a hand at me.
“So?” I question, broadening my shoulders. “Are you saying I shouldn’t take soccer practice seriously?”
Mom huffs. “No, of course not. But your stitches are still fresh. Shouldn’t you be sitting this one out?”
“Coach Lyle is especially meeting with me and Tyler this morning. If I don’t show, he’ll probably bench me.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing after your recent injury.”
I glare at her, too appalled to respond.
Knowing it’s useless to argue with me about soccer, she sighs and shoos me out of the doorway. “Okay, I’ll call your brother downstairs.”
“Can’t you take him to school later?”
“I’m not making two trips. You go to the same school for goodness’ sake.”
“But you heard him last night. He doesn’t want to go to school this early.” I grab onto her arm. “But I do. So can we go? Please?”
“Stop annoying me.” She frees her arm from her grip. “Milo, we’re going! Come downstairs!”
I tap my sneaker against the timber floor, waiting to be proven correct about my brother.
“He’s not gonna show,” I mutter under my breath.
“Shush,“ Mom whispers, not wanting to be proven wrong about him. “Milo!”
“What!” Milo yells, hanging over the top landing banister.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” Mom calls back with hands on hips. “We discussed this last night. You’re going to school early this morning.”
“Why?” Milo throws an arm in my direction. “Because he wants to?”
“Yes,” Mom replies matter-of-factly. “You told me you’re reading for an assignment. Well, guess what? You can do that in the school library.”
“He just went to the hospital for a really stupid reason. Why does he call the shots?”
“He doesn’t,” Mom says bluntly. “I do.”
Milo huffs, pushing off the banister and disappearing out of view. “Fine.”
I gesture at the top floor. “He’s not even dressed yet.”
Mom waves me off. “He’s only missing his tie and blazer. He can get himself dressed on the way downstairs.”
I deadpan at her back as she moves further into the open-plan living area. “Mom, this is Milo we’re talking about.”
She halts, hesitating as she turns back to me. “Mmm. You’d better go upstairs and help him hurry up.”
I point at my chest. “Me?”
“Do you want to get to the soccer field?” Her stare hardens. “And I also hope you don’t want your brother tripping down the stairs.”
I sigh and make my way to the staircase. “No. That’ll only make my morning take longer.”
I bound up the stairs, two at a time, dart across our upstairs living room, and land at Milo’s open doorway. “Dude. Hurry up.”
Milo’s shoving books into his backpack. “Gimme a minute. I’m doing you a favor, you know.”
“No, you’re sabotaging me. You’re not as clever as you think you are.”
Milo fusses with his bag, and no longer able to stand it, I move across the room and retrieve his tie.
“What are you doing?” he complains.
I place the tie around my neck and start loosely doing it up. “I’m getting you ready. Put your blazer on, would you?”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
I roll my eyes. “Mom told me to. Now just get your stuff together so we can go.”
Milo relents, grabbing his school blazer from its hanger. I finish tying his tie and pull it off my neck. “Here,” I say, flinging it at him. I then lift his backpack off his desk chair and march toward his doorway. “Move it.”
Milo follows me out. “Why are you acting like I’m a child?”
“I don’t want any clumsy accidents this morning.
I just want to go for a run and do some drills before boring classes begin.
” I throw my head back in annoyance, descending the stairs as fast as I can.
“Can I just have this, Milo? Can I have a good start to my day? You get to read, and I get to run. It’s a win-win. ”
Milo thuds his way downstairs behind me. “Okay, okay. Whatever.”
“Finally,” Mom says, and it takes all my strength not to blow up at her.
What does she mean, finally? It’s both their faults that this has taken forever.
“Doof,“ sounds behind me.
My shoulders tense as I turn back toward the stairs. “Ugh. Seriously?”
Milo’s straightening himself out after tripping on the last stair.
“You okay, honey?” Mom asks.
Milo smooths down his blazer and then grabs his backpack from me. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Mom, maybe you should look into if there’s such a thing as walking lessons,” I half-joke as I follow Mom out to the garage.
“Pfft. You’re one to talk,“ Milo mutters behind me.
I hurl my soccer bag and my school backpack into the trunk of Mom’s SUV. “What are you getting at?”
“You’re the one who ends up in the emergency room all the time,” Milo replies, sitting his bag next to mine.
“What a bunch of bull. I don’t end up in emergency all the time.”
“It’s enough times to have lost count.”
“Whatever.” I reach up and lower the rear door of the SUV. “It has only happened because I go out and live in the real world. I don’t just fantasize about it in books.”
He looks down his nose at me, his glasses slightly sliding. “So, what’s your point, Kai? Do you want me not to trip over? Or do you want me to follow what you do and get hurt worse?”
I roll my eyes. Obviously not the latter. But the words don’t come out.
“Boys, move it!” Mom shouts from the driver’s seat.
I shove Milo to the side so he’ll get in the car and then book it around the other side to the front passenger seat. “What are we waiting for?” I ask, jumping in and pulling my seatbelt across. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Mom drives to the soccer field first so I can stop complaining, and then she’ll drop Milo off at the north entrance.
Ashworth Academy is a ritzy private school, colossal in size.
How anyone who attends this school is unfit is beyond me.
It’s a marathon getting from class to class, between different wings, and on different floors.
“You make sure Coach Lyle knows about your stitches!” Mom calls from the car. “I’m not taking you to get them fixed if any pull or tear.”
“Yes, Mom!” I call back. I don’t know why she says things like that when it’s not true. She’d definitely take me out of school to have my stitches redone.
Anyway, it’s moot. Soccer is known as football for a reason. I’m not throwing or catching a ball. Today’s practice is all about footwork.
“Morning, Nelson,” Coach Lyle says with a wave as he stands with Tyler. He then tilts his head at the parking lot. “West isn’t with you today?”
I drop my bags to the ground and pull off my hoodie. “No, she’s at her aunt’s cafe.”
Coach shrugs. “I just figured when you begged me for extra practice time, she’d be here too.”
“We get it, Coach,” Tyler cuts in. “It’s shocking Jamie isn’t here.”
I do love an excuse to train with James, but she doesn’t need this. She’s the best on the girls’ soccer team by a long shot. I’ve got some competition on my team, but no one I can’t smoke out.
“It’s cool,” I say. “I need to work on my technique, and if she were here, I’d blow it by competing with her.”
“Showing off, you mean,” Tyler snickers.
I smirk at him. “Shut it.”
“Both of you shut it,” Coach cuts in. “I thought we were here to train.”
“We are,” Tyler and I say at once.
“Then get out there and give me three laps of the field.”
“Yes, Coach,” we reply in unison again.
I change into my cleats, toss my hoodie into my bag, and set out on a jog with Tyler.
Before I get very far, Coach barks, “Nelson.”
I skid to a halt. “What?”
He waves a finger toward my arm, tilting his head. “What’s with the bandage?”
Instinctively, I lift my hand to cup the bandage. “It’s nothing.”
Coach huffs. “Out with it.”
I slouch with a sigh. “Got some stitches yesterday after school. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal, 'ay?” Coach says, scrutinizing the location of the bandage. “Do your parents know you’re training this morning?”
I nod. “Yeah, Mom drove me here.”
“For practice?” Coach presses.
“Yes, Coach,” I yelp in frustration. “Can I just run some drills?”
Coach waves me off. “You’re a pain in my rear, Nelson.”
I give him a salute as I run onto the field. “Thanks, Coach.”
After my three laps, Coach helps me with my footwork.
Tyler and I are co-team captains, but part of me wants to kick the co and be fully in charge when it’s game day.
Ty’s like a brother to me, but I hardly play equals with my twin.
If soccer will be my career, every decision I make matters.
What I eat, how I exercise, what time I go to bed, and when I wake up.
I’m going to be in the World Cup one day.
People in stadiums will be cheering my name.
Coach Lyle sets up a cone six-feet from the goal. Ty’s an awesome goalie and gets into position.
“Work on your one-touch,” Coach tells me. “As a striker, you need to be everywhere. Glory doesn’t come from scoring some goals. You need to hold up play to give our defenders time. Whenever they pass you the ball, I want you to kill it with one touch.”