Chapter 2 ZAYDEN
ZAYDEN
THE BALL LANDS IN my hands and I propel myself down the field.
Noticing Mason Jameson out of the corner of my eye, I pass him the ball before being tackled to the ground.
Rolling back onto my feet, I drag my hand through my sweat-drenched hair, breathing hard.
The heat of the sun and the intensity of this training has sweat pouring down my face.
I squint after Mason’s retreating form as he runs, sliding belly-first over the tryline.
I glance to the sideline where Coach Kennedy stands with his hands on his hips, jaw set in the defiant clench it’s always in.
His face remains stoic as he nods – that’s all the approval I need.
Mason and I have mastered that play to the point where we could do it with our eyes closed.
Mase is one of those guys who only needs to see something once to get it.
I have never been like that, but I’ve learnt so much from him.
He’s made me into the player I am today.
Mason strolls back from the tryline, breathless.
My lips curve upwards as we exchange a brief glance of acknowledgement.
Our team knows how we play, yet we still manage to outrun and outsmart them.
We work together like a well-oiled machine.
It’s the kind of teamwork that can only come from knowing the other person completely inside and out after a decade of playing together.
I know Mason’s moves and what he’s thinking, and he can say the same for me.
Last year when he was travelling, I realised how much I rely on him. Since he’s returned, we’ve fallen into old habits very quickly. It’s hard not to, when winning is the goal and I know we’ll win if we do our plays together. Our drive and energy are unmatched on the field.
‘Good,’ Coach says, adjusting his cap as he strides over to us.
‘You’ve both proven time and time again that you can get through any defence, even with players who know how you both work, but you might not always have each other to secure the win.
You need to utilise all your players.’ Coach’s gaze connects with mine, and it’s as if he has just read my mind.
‘You should know that from last season, Zayden.’
I hate the thought of that. Football wouldn’t be the same without Mason – it wasn’t – but I know Coach means if one of us is sick, away or injured, which is always a high possibility when it comes to this kind of sport.
We have always had this feedback, no matter what team we play for.
They all say it, and I’m aware that we don’t use the whole team enough, but Mason is quick, reliable, and I know he’ll get us the try every time.
‘Switch out,’ Coach grunts, gesturing to me. ‘You and Mase aren’t to play on the same side for the next few training sessions. I want you to focus on building a similar style of attack with the other players.’
Mason and I have similar sour expressions on our faces, but we nod at Coach – it’s a good call to make.
The other guys look over at us. I don’t think they harbour any sort of resentment about our play, but there is a little tension when it’s pointed out blatantly like this.
It makes it seem like we’re purposely leaving out our teammates, when that isn’t the case at all.
Peeling off my shirt, I slingshot it over the side and join the other half of the team.
I turn my focus to Parker, another brilliant player.
I don’t know him much off the field, but he is one hell of a footballer.
He’s quick and reliable, too, so we quickly find a rhythm with each other.
Coach’s eyes follow us closely, but he seems impressed with our play.
I find some of my teammates a bit hit or miss when it comes to being people I genuinely want to be around.
Parker is someone I gel well with, but he often leaves practice so abruptly that I don’t get much of a chance to speak to him off the field.
My muscles scream in protest after another half an hour of running, catching and throwing.
I definitely notice the difference when Mason’s not there.
Planting my hands on my hips, I take a moment to catch my breath, my chest burning from the exertion.
We’ve been training extra hard for the upcoming games as we’re reaching the point of the season when most of the weaker teams have fizzled out.
‘Check it out,’ one of the guys says, followed shortly by a low whistle.
My eyes swivel to the side of the field where a group of girls are standing. It’s not uncommon for people to come watch our training. It’s become more likely to have people spectating than not, especially girls.
My heart sinks when I recognise long, thick hair and those cat-eye sunglasses that I bought for her.
Leasa. My ex. My fingernails bite into my palms before I quickly flex my hands, not even aware I’d fisted them so tightly.
We had a tumultuous relationship that had become more toxic than not in the end.
We both knew we weren’t good for each other, and yet she keeps turning up everywhere I go.
‘What the fuck?’ Mason mutters, staring at them.
She’s here with a couple of friends of hers that I recognise from class.
Leasa started at a Summit University, but since she’s been around a lot lately, I fear she may have transferred here.
That’s the last thing I need. This is a big campus, but it isn’t big enough to avoid her.
There are only so many places we can all hang out, and being part of the footy team, everyone always follows us around, thinking wherever we go is the latest ‘hot spot’.
I don’t want to be running into her all the time.
I don’t want her occupying any space in my head.
She knows I’m on the team. She knows I’d be here. She knows that I would know she is watching. What is she playing at? Why is she doing this? She was the one who initiated our final break-up, and yet she keeps coming back.
‘I know,’ I exhale, dragging my eyes away from the group and back to the field, jaw tense.
‘Is she stalking you?’ Mason asks, shaking his head. ‘I swear she just keeps popping up everywhere all of a sudden.’
‘To be honest, I think she still tracks my phone.’
Mason levels me with a horrified look. ‘What?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know for sure, but we used to share locations. I deleted the app but it might not have wiped the memory, or whatever. I don’t know how it works, she set it up.’
‘Dude.’ He shakes his head, lips spreading into a thin line. ‘You need to get that sorted.’
‘Sorry to interrupt your gossip session, but we have a training session underway,’ Coach barks at us, making an exaggerated look at his watch.
Sighing, I jog back into position, trying to get my head back in the game.
‘Okay,’ Coach says, blasting the whistle. ‘Let’s go again.’
I can’t focus.
My leg jitters up and down, knocking lightly into the desk, making it wobble. The man’s eyes dart down at the movement. Michael, I think his name is, pauses mid-sentence, his lips tugging down in a slight frown.
His greying moustache flicks up at the sides and I wonder if he purposely styles it as part of his morning routine or whether it naturally sticks up that way. It’s sort of hard to concentrate on anything else when it moves around as he talks.
Dressed in khaki shorts and a collared shirt that is two sizes too small, he looks like he belongs on a school camp. My eyes drift to the pen that’s leaked in his chest pocket, staining the fabric with a dot of blue ink.
‘Are you even listening to me, Zayden?’ he asks.
He leans forward, interlocking his fingers together, giving me the stern and disappointed look that I have grown quite accustomed to. I can’t recall anything this man has said in the last few minutes.
‘I am,’ I say, running a hand through my hair, trying not to look as exasperated as I feel.
‘It’s important to have no distractions. Partying, girls – I understand that it is all a part of the university experience, but when it comes to grades and scholarships, if you can’t keep it all together, sacrifices need to be made.’
Dragging my thumb against the side of my pointer finger, I try not to let frustration get the better of me.
This guy has no idea who I am, or anything real about me.
He has assumptions, and grades, and he thinks he knows me from those alone.
I know a lot of the guys on the team have a reputation, but it’s not like I’m purposely pissing my grades away for booze and a tumble in the sheets. I genuinely struggle.
I hate talking about it, and I hate that this problem always follows me.
Rod, my stepfather – may he not rest in peace – often commented about how I should have dropped out of school as early as I could have and done some sort of trade.
He would always tell me how stupid he thought I was.
I think half the reason I pursued my football scholarship was just to piss him off and prove to myself that I can get a degree, despite people thinking that I’d never amount to much.
‘What are your thoughts?’ he questions, pursing his lips in a way that has his moustache quivering. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the amused smirk. After a moment, he clears his throat. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘On what, exactly?’
Michael leans back slowly, looking more irritated by the second.
‘I need you to take this seriously, Zayden.’
‘I am.’
‘It doesn’t appear you are, and I’m losing patience with you,’ he says bluntly, voice gruff. ‘We are happy to support you, but you need to be willing to meet us halfway here, and it’s frustrating to see that you don’t care.’
‘I do care.’ I pause, rubbing my neck. ‘I have trouble keeping focused in conversations,’ I admit. ‘Can you repeat what you were saying before?’
Michael’s face softens a little, and I grit my molars at the sight of it. I hate that pitying look.
‘It’s essential you pass your studies to keep your scholarship. I think you should consider hiring a tutor, or some extra support for your assignments. You’re on the edge of losing your position on the team if you don’t improve your results.’
Scrubbing a hand down my jaw, I let my eyes drift closed.
School has always been hard for me. Harder than it was for anyone I was friends with.
Things got better when I was prescribed ADHD medication, but that’s only when I remembered to take it.
It was easier when I had my routine at school, but now I’m on my own and my schedule is all over the place.
I’m supposed to make checklists to make sure I stay on top of things, but doing that every day seems to be a challenge I haven’t quite conquered yet.
If it wasn’t for Mason to cheat off in class and Anya’s help with assignments, I wouldn’t have made it to high-school graduation.
‘Got it,’ I say stiffly.
‘I’ll email you a list of tutors that the university recommends.’
‘Sounds good.’
Pushing to my feet, I flip the cap in my hands and place it on my head backwards. Michael eyes me for a moment.
‘Thin ice, Zayden,’ he says, giving me a pointed look. ‘I mean it.’
Unable to help myself, I give him a salute. I don’t think he appreciates it.
I knew this was coming. I scraped by last year on pure luck and the fact that all the classes were entry-level. This year, everything has ramped up a gear and I am struggling to keep up with the change of pace.
Heading out the door, I feel the coastal air spill across my skin, thick with salt and the faint scent of sunscreen.
I drop my board onto the footpath, jump on and glide in an ‘S’ shape, cruising down the hill past a cluster of magpies.
The Queensland heat presses down on me as I roll towards the university carpark.
The sound of the wheels rolling along the cement is soothing. A familiar sound that reminds me of the countless hours I spent at the local skate park.
This is what I love. Being outdoors. Surfing, skating, riding, running.
Anything physical is like a drug to me. It fuels my body.
Sitting down behind a desk, a computer in front of me and notepad to the side does the opposite, but I know I need to do the hard yards now to secure myself for the future. It will be worth it.
I glide up to the cafe door and step off the skateboard. The cool air washes over me as I stroll inside. I drop into the back booth, joining my teammates.
‘Where did you run off to after practice?’ Andy asks, his mouth full of food.
Chatter breaks out across the table and I purposely ignore his question, stealing some of the fries from Christian’s plate.
The last thing I need is a guy like Andy getting up into my business.
Since Kai’s dismissal from the team, Andy’s been more bearable to be around, but I still don’t like him much – or trust him.
Vibrations in my pocket pull my attention from the banter around me. I withdraw my phone and stare down at the screen, seeing Mum’s contact. Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I sink back into the booth, feeling a headache forming behind my eyes.
That’s a problem for another day.
‘I need a beer,’ I mutter.
‘Already ordered you one,’ Christian says.
Smiling, I lean my head back and close my eyes.
‘Want to go out tonight?’ Christian asks me. I slowly open my eyes and he leans forward, drumming his fingers onto the table. ‘I feel like having some fun.’
My mind briefly wanders to the assessment due next week that I haven’t started. My headache pulses at the thought of it.
‘Sure,’ I reply. ‘Count me in.’