Page 14 of A Better World

Linda nudged Russell, who seemed to have no idea what was happening, or whether they were supposed to stand there out of politeness. “I like him,” she said as they headed back. “We’re best friends now.”

“He seemedwrong,” Russell answered with confusion. “Was he mad at us? What was he talking about?”

“I think he’s just mad in general. Like, nuts. Which is an improvement over these jackasses,” Linda answered, index finger pointing at the sideline parents. Russell looked to make sure they hadn’t heard, then pushed down her hand, the ghostliest of grins flitting across his face.

“You’re too much,” he said, amused.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But they’re driving me to it.”

By the time they’d returned, the game was back in progress. A couple of the parents had filled their mugs with the bergamot tea while they’d been gone. “This is pretty good! I appreciate you!” one of them said.

“Thank you!” she answered. She was trying, but her voice sounded fake to her own ears. What kind of jerk-off doesn’t like warm tea on a brisk day? What kind of neighbors don’t eat the snacks you bring, just to be polite? Just pretend, then throw it away when no one’s looking, for Christ’s sake!

The game continued, strikes and counterstrikes, until a fat caladrius wandered onto the field.Fweet!The ref in shining black shorts and a bright orange shirt blew his whistle. Everybody took a knee—Josie a moment later than the rest. The ref rushed to lift the bird, gingerly as balancing an egg in a teaspoon, and carried it off. Another whistle and the game resumed. Two more goals for each team made a tie, then two overtimes, then sudden death.

“They still do sudden death?” Linda asked. Back home, they’d banned it. Even during championships, everybody just lived with a tie game.

To her surprise, the coach’s husband, Amir Nassar, answered. He was eating a donut, which he must have just grabbed. Was it possible that the Farmer-Bowens were, ever so slowly, growing on these people? “Yes. It’s rough on the goalie, but it’s the only way to know who wins,” he said without taking his eyes from the field.

“There’s only four teams in their age group. Do we need to know that bad?” she asked.

“They’re used to competition,” Amir answered. And then: “Josie’ll get used to it, too. She’s good.”

“What’s sudden death?” Russell asked. Back home, he’d always worked weekends. He’d never been to a game. She explained. Sudden death meant seven penalty kicks each against two very stressed-out goalies. The Gryphons went first, scoring three points. The Rocs went next. After six efforts, they scored two goals. One kick left.

But then, anotherfweet!The ref beckoned the coaches to the field, then pointed at the bench. With a dawning horror, Linda realized that the ref was pointing at Hip. According to PV rules, it wasn’t legal to have a kid on your roster and bench them the whole game. There were six other subs and they’d all played. Even the runt of the team had gotten five minutes on the field. The ref was clearly telling everyone that Hip needed to play.

Oh, no, someone moaned.

Linda looked around, couldn’t determine who’d said it. But she didn’t like it.

The ball was placed. Coach Farah Nassar, who’d never responded to Linda’s text, beckoned Hip to kick it. Linda’s hands closed into tight fists. He was going to be the last player to kick the ball—to tie or lose the game.

The entire field watched. Because the game had gone on for so long, the nine- to thirteen-year-old division and all their parents were on the sidelines, waiting to take possession of the field. Beside her, Russell got still and tall while Linda’s center of gravity went low. She followed it, leaning her hands against her thighs. “You can do it,” she whispered.

Hip secured his safety glasses, measured five paces back.

“Kill it, Hip!” Josie hollered from behind the halfway line, forgetting, until the ref flashed his yellow warning card, that even players weren’t allowed to cheer.

Hip charged. His foot missed, mostly. The ball dribbled lazily. The game was lost.

Except for the Roc parents, everybody—and there werea lotof people—burst into uproarious, syncopated clapping. What an incredibly close game!

“Unacceptable,” a parent nearby whispered, and another whispered back, “Why’d the ref wait until now?”

“That kid does NOT belong on the team!” Amir Nassar shout-whispered, kicking the grass hard enough to peel a divot from the dirt.

Linda caught his eye. The guy’d just publicly blasted her fifteen-year-old—a kid!—but he didn’t mug shame. He held his ground. For Linda, a bull of a person when it came to her kids, this was the equivalent of waving a red cape. She started toward him. Russell’s long hand clamped her shoulder, squeezed a soft warning.

The moment passed.

The Rocs congratulated the Gryphons by lining up from opposite directions and slapping hands. Afterward, they didn’t separate but formed a clumpy swarm that headed for the north end of the field,where their spectators joined them. Like stray bees banished from the hive, Josie and Hip stayed behind. The next four teams took possession of the field, moving goals and sidelines to make two smaller fields of play. Linda and Russell approached their twins with cautious smiles. “You guys, what a game!” she cried.

“I suck,” Hip answered.

Josie eyed the departing Rocs and their parents. A few, including Amir and even Coach Farah, were looking in the Farmer-Bowens’ direction, accusation written on their faces. “They suck,” she said.

Linda tried to console the kids—Gee, these people really do love their sports!AndJosie, you were open so many times. I can’t believe nobody passed! Still, you’re both playing so much better. I was really impressed.But they weren’t having it. Even Russell stayed pensive. He gathered all the uneaten snacks. Halfway between the garbage and the car, he halted. Everything here was free. No point carrying twenty-two donuts back home, where they’d just go stale.

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