High School Again? Ugh! Ch. 02

It's amazing what you forgot over the years. I actually had to watch one or two guys put on their equipment for some of it. I shook my head and dressed as quickly as I could. The truth was that I had no real desire to go out on the field and play. Looking at all of other players only made me feel old. Hell, I'd coached girls this age in soccer when my niece was old enough.

Coach Riley came out of the building with the five assistant coaches. It didn't take him long to find me once practice started. We were lined up and stretching. I knew he was focused on me.

'Oh boy,' I sighed to myself. 'This was going to be fun.' I tried to remember what my father said about doing a crime and having to face the time, but it didn't help much.

"We have our first game tomorrow," he said as we finished stretching. "And some of you think you don't need to earn your positions. You think they're yours by right because you're seniors or because you had them last year. Well, they're not. You need to work for them, and skipping school and practice isn't doing that!"

'Well, so far he's being pretty fair,' I thought. 'He is right after all. I did miss practice two days before our first game.'

"Simmons here did exactly that," coach Riley. "And because of that he won't be starting tomorrow. Brian will."

'Ouch,' I thought, but again I could see why he made the decision. After all it was his team and he couldn't just let people skip practice with no repercussions. I felt oddly unconcerned. That lasted until I saw Brian's grin. I shook my head as I remembered just how much I didn't like him. I refused to let a teenage punk get to me.

"Do you have anything to say?" Coach Riley asked me.

"Sorry coach," I replied. "I let you and the team down and it won't happen again."

It was the right thing to say. It's what I would have wanted to hear if I were the coach. Clearly, coach Riley didn't agree.

"Sorry!" he yelled. "Well sorry doesn't cut it! You're a worthless slacker!"

I stood there listening while he continued to rant for quite a while. I figured if he said only a quarter of what he said to me in my time he'd be barred from not only coaching, but working with kids altogether. I certainty wouldn't let him near Becky.

I did notice something odd while he continued. All of the other players' and most of the assistant coaches' eyes were locked onto coach Riley as he reamed me out, but one of the coaches looked away in disgust. He was a relatively young guy. I frowned and tried to remember his name.

'Coach Bo!' I sighed happily when it came to me. He'd joined the coaching staff the year before. I didn't remember how long he lasted, but from his expression it wouldn't be long.

"Are you listening to me?" coach Riley asked angrily. Enough was enough.

"I was for a while," I said. "But you're starting to repeat yourself." I could hear the players collective hold their breath. Coach Riley turned bright red, and I mean bright red!

For a moment I thought he was going to snap and actually hit me. So did one of the assistant coaches because he stepped forward and took a hold of the head coach's arm. Coach Riley was a bully. That much was obvious, but he wasn't stupid bully.

"If talking won't get through your thick skull," he nearly growled. "Lets see how you feel after running a bit. Start doing laps!"

"Yes coach," I said respectfully. I think it was more to confuse and irritate him than anything else.

Coach Bo followed me to the sideline. The football field was surrounded by a track. Coach Riley gave me one more nasty look and turned his back on me.

"That wasn't smart," coach Bo said.

"I know," I shrugged. "But he asked."

"Yes, he did," the coach said, holding in his smile. "Take off the helmet and shoulder pads. I expect you'll be running for quite a while."

"You think?" I asked. He was unable to hide his smile this time.

"Just get going," he said, shaking his head.

"See you at the end of practice," I joked and started jogging.

Now, I was never one for running, but it amazed me how easy it was. I finished the first lap without much of a problem. It slowly came back to me and I remembered how much I ran the summer before senior year in order to get ready for football. I picked up the pace.

It was a beautiful fall day and perfect for running. The wind felt good against my skin as I moved. Coach Bo saw me moving and with his back toward everyone else motioned for me to slow down. He was right. I'd burn out too quickly at the pace I was setting, but it felt so good!

The only downside to running was when the cheerleaders came out and started practicing on one side of the track. Tiffany was with them and kept giving me nasty looks. I made an effort to ignore her and enjoy the day.

I must have been running for forty minutes with no end in sight when I realized that I was starting to get seriously thirsty. I didn't want to pull anything so the next time past the water cooler I stopped to get a drink.

"What do you think you're doing!" coach Riley cried as soon as I reached for the water.

It was almost as if he was waiting for me to get a drink. He probably was. I sighed, shook my head and drank.

"Simmon!" he cried. "Get away from there! Who said you could stop?"

"I'm not stopping," I replied, taking another swallow. "I'm just pausing for a drink."

"A drink! A drink!" he cried. I could see his anger building. Coach Riley was once again bright red. I was tempted to see what would happen if he kept going. I wondered if he would just seize up and crumble.

"Break time is over," I said and started jogging again. I thought he was going to call me back, but he didn't. I got into a rhythm quickly enough again, but I was a little tired now. Twenty minutes later I was still going. I wondered how many miles I ran, but then shrugged to myself. I lost count of the laps a long time ago. Jogging for an hour wasn't that big of a deal I guess, but I had on leg pads and a rib protector, not to mention a cup that uncomfortable as hell.

A part of me wondered why I continued. I could just stop and walk off the track. What could coach Riley really do to me? But another part of me didn't want to let him win. Okay, and I was also a bit curious just how far I could push my eighteen-year-old body.

"Here," someone said as they came up beside me. I frowned, but I'd know that accent anywhere. Ms. Valente jogging up next to me. She was holding out a water bottle.

"Thanks," I said, slowing, taking the bottle and drinking some. It helped.

"You know," she said. "You're in pretty good shape for a football player." I couldn't help myself.

"Ms. Valente, you aren't hitting on me are you?" I joked. She burst out into laughter.

"No," she replied. "I took over the track team this year and I could use someone at cross country. I was hoping you might consider switching."

"No thanks," I answered, taking another sip from the water bottle. "I hate running."

"Figures," she sighed. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your season."

"Oh, I doubt it," I laughed, but then added with more honesty than I planned, "I'll probably quite football soon."

"Why?" she asked.

"Um, let's just say the head coach and I don't see eye to eye," I replied.

"Well then," she said. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"Simmons!" coach Riley called at that moment. "Pick up the pace!"

"After today, I'll probably never want to run again," I sighed, trying to hand the water bottle back to her. This was before you could get the store bought water bottles. This was a hard plastic one that was reusable.

"Keep it," she said. "You'll need it."

"Thanks," I said. "I'll wash it out and get it back to you."

"Maybe at the next track practice?" she asked hopefully.

"I was thinking that I'd stop by your place one night..." I teased.

"That's enough of that!" she snapped, actually blushing. I smiled at her accent, which clearly got worse when she was surprised.

"Simmons!" coach Riley cried angrily.

"That's my queue," I sighed.

"Do yourself a favor and pace yourself better. You're going too fast if he's going to make you run the entire practice."

"Tell that to coach Riley," I sighed, but then smiled and added, "Thanks again Ms. Valente for the water. I owe you one." She nodded as I picked up the pace and moved on.

I let the time pass by daydreaming about Ms. Valente. She was an attractive woman and I was sure she wouldn't begrudge me my fantasies if it helped me stay focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

The soccer team showed up in a bus not long afterward. They did not look happy. I frowned and tried to remember their record my senior year. It wouldn't come to me. The only thing I was certain of was that they weren't very good. Most of them went into the locker room, but one of them surprised me by coming to the track and jogging. He was clearly a diehard.

"How did we do?" I asked as he passed me.

My legs were burnt out and I was dripping sweat. I needed something to help keep my mind off of how tired I was. Even fantasies of Ms. Valente weren't working now. Practice usually lasted an hour and a half, but it felt like the coach was holding the team longer. He probably was, just to try and break me. He was close to winning. I'd never run for this long before.

'I guess I'm not in the shape I thought I was,' I sighed to myself.

"It was ugly," the soccer player said, obviously a little surprised that I asked. Soccer was not a popular sport at my school. Frankly, it wasn't popular many places in the United States at this point in time.

"Score?" I gasped out. He slowed up and kept pace with me.

"Six to nothing," he said glumly. "And I think the other team took pity."

"Position?" I asked, hoping he'd understand what I was asking.

"Striker," he said. I nodded. He had the look. The striker was the guy who was supposed to score most of a soccer teams points. The kids frowned and added, "Two shots all game."

"Why?" I asked.

"The ball never came out of the defensive half," he shrugged. "I tried to convince the coach to let me move to midfielder to help, but he wouldn't listen."

"I'm sure he had his reasons," I gasped out and then regretted it. It was too many words for how much air I was sucking in.

"Coach Cox is a good guy," the kid said. "But he doesn't know shit about soccer."

"Sorry," I said. He shrugged.

"So, what did you do to piss off Coach Riley?" he asked. I didn't have the wind to answer. I glanced at him and he nodded in understanding. He shrugged and added, "Not that it takes much to piss him off. My older brother played for him. He still talks about how much of a jackass the man is."

"Come on Simmons!" a voice cried from behind me. I frowned because it wasn't a coach's voice. It wasn't long before Brian came up from behind me. "Coach says you're going too slow. He said you have to keep pace with me on this last lap or you'll have to run again next practice."

"Fuck that," I got out, the sweat stinging my eyes.

"You're making this too easy. You might as well just gift wrap the linebacker position for me," Brian laughed and started moving ahead of me.

"Pleasant fellow," the soccer player said as I started to slow up. "You're not going to let him win?"

I looked at the kid and frowned. What did he expect? There was no way I was going to keep up with the pace that Brian was going to set.

"Can't...keep...up," I got out.

"So?" he asked. "Not everything is about being first. As long as you don't quit, you win."

I shook my head. I went to school with this guy for four years and I had no idea who he was. This kid had possibilities. His attitude would take him far in life. Weird shit.

'I've been saying that way too often,' I thought, but that didn't make it less true. My not giving up seemed to matter to him and I guess it did to me too. Both the old man inside of me and the young man's body both agreed on one thing. We had our pride.

"Here goes nothing," I said, drawing reserves from I don't know where. I picked up the pace. Brian was loping in front of me and not even paying attention.

The soccer player kept pace with me and urged me on. I could hear others as well, but I was too focused to notice who they were. I was almost even with Brian when the people cheering caught his attention. He turned, saw me and frowned. He also started running. There was no way I was going to catch him, but I did my best.

Brian turned the last corner and turned back to see where I was. He saw that I was falling behind. He met my eyes and smiled triumphantly before turning back. I grimaced and fought for just a little more speed. I could hear Brian laughing as I focused on my feet, trying to will them to go faster.

I didn't see what happened next. The first time I realized something had occurred was when the soccer player next to me cried, "Holy shit! He fell! Come on! Move it!"

I kept moving, but I had no way of going any faster. It was all I could do to keep moving. The end was anticlimactic. Brian was still on the ground where he fell as I passed him. I took one look at his ankle and shook my head. It was swollen badly. He'd done some job on it. I finished the last lap and nearly fell. The soccer player steadied me.

"Nice job," the kid said.

"Thanks," I said, walking slowly and drinking what someone had handed me. It felt wonderful as it traveled down my throat. "By the way, I'm John."

"Jake," he smiled. "You run pretty well for a football player."

"And you're pretty cool," I smiled between breaths. "For a Foot Fairy."

"Ouch!" he laughed.

"Well, just one more thing to do," I sighed once I could control my breathing again. Coach Riley was standing over Brian while one of the other coaches and the trainer were checking him out.

"What's that?" Jake asked.

"Tell coach Riley where he can shove a football," I grinned.

"Don't do that," coach Bo said as he walked up. "Wouldn't it be better to watch him squirm when he's forced to play you in the game tomorrow? Brian is going to be out for at least a week or two."

"Hmm," I said. "That does sound interesting."

"Besides, you put all that effort into make the starting squad over the summer," he said. "It seems a shame to throw it all away for nothing."

"How did you know about that?" I asked in surprise.

"It's obvious from how much better you got since last year," he replied.

"Maybe one game," I finally said. I realized that a part of me really did want to play. Maybe Rodger was right that night at the bar before all this happened. Who doesn't want to live his 'glory days' just once more?

"I've got to get back to jogging," Jake said.

"Thanks again," I said. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other around school."

"Sounds good," he said and moved off.

"You'd better get going," coach Bo said. "Practice is over. Go take a shower."

"I'm going to need more than that," I sighed, but went toward the locker room. I was going to be seriously stiff tomorrow.

"That was impressive," Tara said as she walked up to me.

"Not really," I sighed. "It was actually pretty stupid."

"That too!" she laughed. She shook her head afterward and added, "Boys and sports."

"So, you didn't stay after school for sports?" I asked.

"Please!" she snorted.

"Let me guess, you stay after to watch the football team practice?" I joked.

"What do you take me for? A cheerleader?" she asked in reply.

"John!" Tiffany said, almost as if on queue.

"Time for me to go. See you later Johnny," Tara said and slipped away before I could stop her.

"I can't believe he made you run the entire practice!" Tiffany said. Her concern sounded serious and I was too exhausted to be angry with her at the moment.

"I'm fine," I said. "All I need is a shower and a good night's sleep." The funny part was that I was pretty sure what I said was true. Oh, I'd be tired and sore, but I'd be functioning. Thankfully, tomorrow was Saturday and we had a late game. I could rest up all day.

"In that case I'll see you tomorrow night," Tiffany said. "After the game. We need to talk." I didn't bother to respond as she moved off toward her girlfriends. Now was not the time.

The shower felt amazing. The only problem was that I lost track of time while I stood under the hot water and I ended up missing the late bus. I walked outside and frowned when I realized it. I noticed Ms. Valente making her way to her car. I thought about asking her for a ride. I was just about to try and catch up to her when Tara walked out of the building.

"Miss the bus?" she asked.

"Yep," I sighed. "And I'm way too tired to walk home."

"My dad can give you a ride," Tara said.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "But he's going to be a while. He's running late at work."

"Thanks," I said.

I called mom at home and let her know. I had to use a payphone because cell phones weren't available yet. It felt weird putting the change in it. I hadn't even seen a payphone in years, much less used one.

"So, you never did tell me why you stayed after school?" I asked.

"What else?" she grinned. "Detention."

"Not bad," I laughed. "What did you do to get detention on the second day of classes?"

"I'm just kidding," she smiled. "I stayed after for the year book. I'm one of the photographers."

"Really?" I asked in surprise.

"I like to take pictures," she shrugged.

"Cool," I said. She smiled slightly.

Tara's father arrived not long afterward. He seemed surprised to see me. He glanced back and forth between Tara and me while she explained that I needed a ride.

"Sure," he said.

We got in the car. Mr. Kingsley kept a polite, but embarrassing conversation going for most of the trip. Tara was clearly blushing as she remained mostly silent while I responded to his parental probes. I had to fight off laughter once or twice. I could remember having similar conversations with the boys my niece used to bring home the few times I helped out Cindy.

"Thanks for the ride Mr. Kingsley," I said when they dropped me off.

"John, you seem like a nice guy," he said. "I hope to be seeing you again soon."

I glanced at Tara. She was blushing badly once again and her look said that if I dared mention this ever again in the future she'd kill me. It was particularly funny considering the conversation I had with her yesterday. She wasn't shy or easy to embarrass. Frankly, she was a lot more worldly then most girls her age, but right at that moment she looked even younger than she was. I guess parents just have the knack.

I walked into my house. Mom looked relieved. She was clearly still concerned that I wasn't going to come home despite my phone call. My skipping yesterday was obviously a big deal to my parents.

"What's for dinner?" I asked.

"Steak and potatoes," my mom replied. "You look tired."

"I am," I said. "Coach was a real jerk about my missing practice yesterday."

"Serves you right," pop said as he came down the stairs.

"I know dad, I know," I sighed, shaking my head. I was surprised by how I sounded. It was amazing how quickly we can revert to our childhood selves. I sounded so much like a teenager that my tone actually annoyed me. I frowned and added, "Sorry."

"Dinner is ready. Go get your sister," mom interjected before dad could react. "She's in the yard."

"Okay," I replied. I didn't see Cindy at first, but then she came around the corner on her bike. I took one look and stood there stunned.

The sister I remembered had a life that wasn't easy. She raised a child on her own and did it well. I admired her for it. We supported each other through some very trying years and events. Our divorces, pop's death and mom's admittance into a nursing home were just the most obvious. She was my best friend.

Yet, the thirteen year old smiling and riding her bike in the backyard was before all that. She looked like she didn't have a care in the world. I watched her, knowing I'd never forget this picture no matter how many years I lived. My eyes teared up. I wiped them.