Over the End Line (12 page)

"Hello, Jonny-boy," she said.

Out of the darkness, Stephanie stepped up, too. The similarity was startling. Her hair was the same jet-black color as Trinity's, her makeup just as bold. She wore a black coat over black plastic pants, and a metal choker around her neck.

"What do you want?" I said. "I've got a mac and cheese in the oven."

"Tsk ... tsk," Trinity said. "Two hotties on your front porch and all you can think about is food?"

"That is a shame," Stephanie said.

"Silly little sophomore girls..." I shook my head. "I gotta go."

"Worried we silly little sophomore girls might be too much for you to handle?" Trinity said.

"Are we 'untouchable'?" Stephanie said. The girls looked at each other and giggled. "Kyle's out. Why aren't you, Jonny-boy?"

"I'm busy."

"Wankin' it?"

"You enjoy being a wench?" I said.

"Wench?" Stephanie said. "That's a bit dated, don'tcha think?"

"How about 'bitch'?"

"Now, now," Trinity said, "no more name-calling. Let's just cut to the chase. We need something from you, Jonny-boy."

I laughed. "And why in the world would I wanna give you two
anything
?"

Trinity smirked. She crossed her arms so that her breasts pressed together and lifted high, while the neckline of her top slipped down. Stephanie unbuttoned her coat, revealing a black lace bra that seemed at least a size too small. I thought I saw the edge of her nipple.

I looked back inside the house to make sure my mom wasn't coming down the stairs, then closed the door behind me. I'd let Trinity and Stephanie take things as far as they wanted. Why not? They weren't ordinary sophomores; everyone at school already knew that. Girls in their grade stayed away from them. Most juniors did, too. They had already served a day of detention for knocking the snot out of a girl who teased Annalisa in the gym bathroom. Mr. Zoffinger was only the most recent target of their cruel intentions.

"Like what ya see?" Trinity said.

"Nothing special," I said.

"Maybe if I..." Stephanie said, leaning over and pretending to brush something off her shoes, her eyes fixed on mine. Slowly, she stood up. "Or maybe, if this slipped a little." She ran her thumb under a bra strap, sliding it off her shoulder. "Want some more?"

I shrugged, trying to seem as disinterested as possible.

Trinity laughed. "Ha, I'll bet you do, Jonny-boy. Gotta little rise out of you, didn't we?" She put her hand on my crotch with a practiced touch. "There's more where that came from," she said, with a gentle squeeze before letting go. "First, we need to establish a little quid pro quo. You do for us; we do for you. We noticed you have an interest in our Annalisa."

"She's adorable," Stephanie said.

"With a hot body," Trinity said.

"We think she's homesick," Stephanie said.

"She needs some lovin' to distract her, Jonny-boy," Trinity said. "You can swoop right in and make her a very happy Italian girl. Of course, as you know, there are plenty of guys at school who've noticed her, too."

I wanted so badly to laugh in Trinity's face and tell her I talked to Annalisa all the time—practically every night—and that we hung out together at South Pond, and at the library, and had private moments at school whenever we could. Best of all, that I knew things about her that the two of them would never know.

"Get to the point,
Beverly,
" I said.

Trinity did her best to smile, but I knew I'd pissed her off. "See, Jonny-boy, we wanna go to a party at the circle. Now, we know your rep's not too good. You're not that high on the—" She turned to Stephanie. "What's it called again?"

"The ladder," Stephanie said.

"Yes, the ladder," Trinity said. "You're not high enough on the ladder to go to the circle yourself."

"You're wasting my time," I said.

"Hey, don't kill the messenger," Trinity said. "It is what it is."

"Why the circle?" I asked.

"Where you been, Jonny-boy?" Trinity said. "All the coolest older guys go to parties at the circle. It's
the
place to be. I bet it's the place you wanna be, too. Now, we heard some senior girls talking about hanging out there the night of the county championship game. Win or lose, it's gonna rock."

"The key is my brother," Stephanie said.

"Kyle?" I said.

"All you gotta do is convince him," Stephanie said.

"To do what?"

"To let us go," Stephanie said. "
All
of us."

"Simple," Trinity said.

"Why me?"

"Why not?" Trinity said.

"Why
me
?" I repeated.

Stephanie feigned a sigh. "Because you wanna go as bad as we do. And Kyle might say yes to you. You want it; we want it. Everyone'll be happy."

I leaned back against the front door.

"Jonny, we know you're not a loser," Trinity said in a syrupy-sweet voice. "If you get us to a party at the circle, this won't be the only time we get to"—she pretended to search for the right words—"share an experience like this. And you won't have to stay home all by your lonesome self." She giggled. "Well, at least for one night."

Inside, the oven buzzer went off.

"Now run along to your mac and cheese," Trinity said. "We've got plans to make."

The two girls were down the front walkway and crossing Lake Road. They looked back at me, laughing and carrying on. Soon, the front door of the Saint-Claires' house opened and closed, and Trinity and Stephanie were gone.

Flames reached high into the night's sky. On the stage behind the bonfire, Pennyweather waved to the crowd. To his left and right, the eleven starters stood, chests out, hands clasped behind their backs, pompously serious expressions on their faces. Camera flashes were going off, the school band was playing, and the varsity cheerleaders were chanting, along with the crowd, "We will, we will ... rock you! We will, we will ... rock you!"

Pennyweather stepped up to the microphone and pointed from one end of the line of players to the other. "This is your fifteen-and-oh undefeated varsity team, Millburn. These are your boys. I'm proud of every one of them. They're good students, good citizens, and all season long they've given every bit of their heart and soul, every ounce of their sweat and pain." He pumped his fist.

Hundreds of townspeople, young and old, roared their approval.

"It's been another successful season, so far ... But our team needs your support for this last regular season game. And, after that, for the county and state tournaments," Pennyweather continued. "Show how important this team is to this town—our town!"

Someone cried out from the back of the crowd, "Go get 'em, Millburn!"

"Yes! Yes!" Pennyweather shouted. "That's what we need, some real emotion."

Another man bellowed, "We're gonna beat Scummit!"

"We will, we will," Pennyweather said, nodding. Someone handed him a red jersey. He held it up high. On the front, it said
SUMMIT SOCCER
. With great fanfare, Pennyweather wadded the jersey in a ball and tossed it in the bonfire.

The fans erupted.

"Let me introduce our lineup," Pennyweather said. "Our goalie ... with fifteen career shutouts and an oh-point-eight goals-against average ... Stuart Masterson." Stuart stepped forward and waved to the crowd.

The backups had gathered at the side of the stage. Pennyweather told us to meet there. Everyone on the team was equal, he assured us, but he would be able to introduce only the first-stringers. I guess some players were more equal than others. Screw that. I wasn't going to look lame standing next to the stage, staring up at the starters like they were gods.

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"
Ciao,
Jonathan," Annalisa said.

"
Buonasera,
" I said.

She smiled and said, "This is so wonderful. I cannot believe there are all these people. Should we move up closer?"

"I can see fine from here."

Annalisa seemed to understand. She looked toward the stage again. "Yes, I think I can, too." The flames flickered in her eyes.

"So you like it?" I said.

"What?"

"The bonfire?"

She looked at me. "I do not understand."

"The fire." I pointed. "When it's big like that it's called a bonfire."

"I
do
like it," she said. "But I do not understand—why is it there?"

I wasn't sure what the connection was between our high school soccer team and a fifteen-foot-high fire, with hundreds of people standing before it like they were worshiping a pagan deity. Tradition, I guess. But there had to be more to it than that. Maybe it was human nature to be drawn to something so mesmerizing yet at the same time so dangerous.

On stage, Pennyweather was finishing the introductions. "Last, but certainly not least ... Millburn's season and career record-holder for goals and assists.... an all-conference, all-county, and all-state selection each of the past two years ... your captain ... Kyle Saint-Claire!"

The crowd's cheer was louder than for any of the other players.

"Will you win tomorrow?" Annalisa asked.

I nodded toward the stage and said, "Yeah, I think so."

Kyle moved behind the microphone. "Tomorrow's a, uh, big game for our team. We'd like to take home the conference title again. But we need your support. We don't do it alone. We can't do it alone..."

Kyle went on, but with Annalisa beside me, I stopped listening. I leaned into her, smelling her perfume.

"'Love Among the Ruins' by Robert Browning," I whispered in her ear. "Where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles. Miles and miles on the solitary pastures where our sheep, half-asleep, tinkle homeward thro' the twilight."

"You remembered," Annalisa said with delight. "
Molto buono.
"

"I'm still trying to figure out what it—"

"Annalisa," Trinity interrupted. She and Stephanie stepped in front of us. They both reeked of pot, and I could see a bottle of liquor hidden inside Trinity's jacket. "We were looking all over for you," she said.

"We thought you were lost," Stephanie said.

She wasn't lost," I said.

"We thought she was," Trinity said.

"She was right here," I said.

"And that's lost." Trinity stared at me pointedly. "Now she's not."

As the two girls led her away, Annalisa called out in her sweet accent, "Good night, Jonathan!"

Before I could return the same, Trinity looked over her shoulder and motioned to the stage. "Quid pro quo, Jonny-boy."

I opened my eyes and propped myself up on an elbow. When the cobwebs of sleep cleared, the nervousness came quickly.

Game day.

Away, against Summit.

Our undefeated record at stake.

The Suburban Conference title on the line.

My equipment bag sat beside my bed, packed the night before with my uniform and gear. My cleats were waiting in the garage. I needed to quell my nerves, so I lay down on the floor with my legs outstretched. I touched my knees ... ankles ... and toes ... then grabbed the soles of my feet. I stretched my hamstrings and quads ... my back and arms ... Still, I was tight.

As the season wore on, I'd earned more playing time. In fact, during the last few games, I'd played nearly as much as some of the starters. I guess I could thank Kyle for that. All that damn training this summer was finally paying off. Today I was sure Pennyweather would sub me in a few times. His call down the bench, "Fehey!" could come at any time. I had to be ready.

I looked toward the window. It seemed cloudy. I just hoped it wasn't raining. I stood up, walked over, and pushed open the curtains.

"Oh ... my ... God..."

I wasn't sure what I was seeing.

I blinked a few times, but still wasn't sure.

The Saint-Claires' house was swathed in red-colored toilet paper. It was everywhere. Crisscrossing the roof. Hanging from branches. Draped over bushes. Scattered on the lawn. Wrapped around Kyle's BMW so much that you could hardly tell the car was black. He and his father came from the back of their house, each with armfuls of red paper. Mr. Saint-Claire tore down what he could reach, while Kyle gathered the rest on the lawn with a rake. Both were fuming, I could tell.

I thought about going outside to help, but a couple of our neighbors had already walked over to pick up whatever they could.

Within a few minutes, a Millburn police car stopped along Lake Road. Mr. Saint-Claire spoke to the officer, shaking his head and pointing to where the toilet paper had been hanging. It seemed all the officer could offer was a sympathetic nod.

It was a stunning prank, in its target and execution. Of course, whoever had done this now had surely awakened the beast in Kyle. That wouldn't be a good thing for the Summit soccer team.

***

In the cramped visitors' locker room, Pennyweather wrote
SUMMIT
in caps at the top of the chalkboard—the chalk chipped each time he scratched a letter—then underlined it twice. Below that, he continued:

14-1 overall record.
Ranked 10th—New Jersey
Ranked 1st—Union County
Ranked 2nd—Suburban Conference

Summit was nearly our equal, and the final team that stood in our way of a perfect regular-season record and a number one seed in the Essex County tournament. Pennyweather stepped back from the chalkboard.

"They're gonna come at us differently today," he said. "I'm expecting them to line up five midfielders." He pointed to Kyle. "Two guys will focus exclusively on you."

It was nothing new. Teams had double- and triple-teamed him all season. It might work for a half, maybe even three quarters, but eventually Kyle's speed and pursuit would wear the opposition down.

"They'll put three on their frontline and have just two defenders back," Pennyweather said. "I spoke to the Summit coach yesterday. His players thought our win against them earlier this month was a fluke. They say a couple of their starters were less than a hundred percent. They blame the loss on a virus going around school."

"That's bullshit," Maako said.