Page 15 of The Game Is Afoot

Her tone makes it clear that she meanscutelike some other four-letter words. Last week, she brought nontoxic, made-in-the-USA wooden cup and ball toss toys, and the week before that Franklin’s parents passed out a set of mini bilingual books.

“Let me set this up for you.” Her face is puckered with barely concealed distaste as she takes the Target bags from him. She turns on her heel toward the lace-covered snack table, and we follow behind her like two scolded children.

As we reach our group, Corey leans down to hug my dad before he can stand up. “Good morning, Pops.”

“Here, let me make you some space.” Jack doesn’t give Corey a chance to protest, moving his chair back so there’s room right on the sideline, next to me.

“Hey, thanks, man.” Corey speaks just to the right of Jack’s face, and Jack stares at his chair with great focus, like the thing is going to wrestle itself from his grasp. I don’t know if they’ve looked straight into each other’s eyes more than a handful of times these past few months of coexisting—though they’reverypolite about it. And as I try to avoid possibly awkward eye contact with either of them, I notice Jack’s only able to move because Bethany is gone. Which is strange, since she was all up in our business before. Why would she give up her coveted spot so easily? But I’m not complaining.

Leon shakes Corey’s hand and slaps his back, and Jasmine jumps up to greet him, too.

“Better you than us, Corey, to be up for snack parent on the third game. I was telling Leon, we need to show up with thosecigarette candies we used to get from the ice cream truck when we were kids—you remember those things? Just to dare her to say something. Fight the power!”

I know she’s trying to distract from any weirdness, and I love her for it.

Corey waves her away, though. “Nah, Mavis is right. I should have followed the guidelines. You just gotta play the game sometimes if it’s what’s best for your kid.”

Wait, what? I’m…right? Corey and I have so many years of fighting between us that it feels almost as natural as breathing sometimes. But this is new. There’s been a lot of new lately. It makes me feel…well, I’m not sure. My stomach is doing something strange.

“Um, thanks.”

I sit down and grab my water bottle, sucking down what feels like all thirty-two of these ounces. Hopefully that’ll take care of that.

Five

Here’s how these games go:The kids all run toward one side of the field and half of the parents clap and cheer, “Good hustle!” while the other half yells, “Defense!” And then the kids chase the ball to theotherside of the field and half of the parents yell, “Hold it!” while the other half cheers, “Get out there!” Followed by a goal that results in either Taylor Swift concert–level screaming or groans like they all simultaneously took a jagged, rusty dagger to the gut.

I guess I could investigate the details of what’s going on a little more—because the way Coach Cole hugs his clipboard and shouts out directions, pounding can after can of energy drink, it’s clear there might actually be some method to this. But I mean, Pearl’s highlights of this morning’s game seem to be the special edition flavor of Gatorade my dad brought her as a special treat and the white butterfly that landed on Axel’s finger at halftime. So I think we’re both content in our soccer ignorance.

The person who’s not so content is Hank. When Axel ran offthe field before the ref blew his whistle to chase the aforementioned butterfly, Coach Cole shook his head and chuckled. “He’s just in his own little world, isn’t he?”

Hank stepped up to him so closely the brim on his stupid hat nearly touched Cole’s forehead and growled, “What did you say about my kid?”

Coach Cole smiled with his hands up in surrender. “I just meant he’s doing his own thing. Didn’t mean anything by it. It’s sweet.”

Which I think was a very kind response considering Axel tripped over the ball on his way out, sending it right into the Aquamarine Alligators’ goal—and evenIknow that’s a gut-stabbing, groan-worthy offense. But Hank’s neck vein looked about ready to pop like an overfilled balloon as he muttered something about “bad plays.” But that’s all part of how these games usually go, too.

Whatdoesn’tusually happen is a giant mower pulling up to the edge of the field with two minutes left on the clock.

Before we can even process what’s happening, it’s chaos. The parents’ cheers quickly turn to cries of confusion, and soon they’re all drowned out by the roaring engine of the machine. Grass cuttings shoot out in its wake, covering everyone nearby in a hazy layer of green. The Blue Badgers’ goal blows over, nearly taking their pigtailed goalie with it. But the guy sitting on top, controlling the thing, doesn’t make any moves to stop. He’s wearing giant headphones over the top of his ratty baseball hat and a tan jumpsuit that looks like a uniform. So, he works for the park, probably, and isn’t some, like, kids’ soccer protestor? But he doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that he’s interrupting the game. In fact, I think he might actually be…smiling?

“Oh, come on!” Coach Cole throws his empty can to the ground and runs after the mower, just as it makes a sharp turnand nearly takes out the Pink Penguins’ neon banner the next field over.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Who is that jerk?”

“No, you stay right there, Donovan! Defense!”

“Oh no! Axel’s allergies! Hold on, my sweet boy—it’s going to be okay!”

That last one is Florence, clutching the sides of her face like some white lady version of Edvard Munch’sThe Scream. She dives toward her giant leather backpack, probably digging for some natural remedy she blended herself.

Coach Cole stalks toward the interruption, and as the man sees him, he stops moving but keeps the engine running. His eyes are covered by dark sunglasses, but it seems like his gaze is locked on Cole in a challenge. He straightens his posture, sitting taller on his throne on top of the mower. His chest is broad and his body is braced, as if he’s ready for a fight.

Corey leans in, raising his voice to be heard over the mechanical roar. “Does anyone have the scoop here? ’Cause I feel like this is more than just a mix-up in the park maintenance schedule.”

Jasmine closes her eyes and shakes her head, likeWhew, chile, jutting a thumb out at Leon.

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