For the Win (6 page)

“Ah, there are my stars,” McDowell says with a clap of his hands. The others swing their attention to us. The woman’s eyes light up, her gaze travelling from our heads to our toes.

“Stars?” Allie glances my way, bemused.

“Allie and Julian Anderson, meet Veronica Weathers and James Houseworth. Veronica is a filmmaker and James is her camera man. They’re creating documentary-style promotional material on you for the Games.”

“Just us?” Allie asks, checking them out. I can’t lie—Veronica is kind of a knockout, with long, shiny brown hair, big blue eyes and legs that go on for miles. Clearing my throat, I focus my attention on the guy next to her.  James? Well, he looks like he just crawled out of a dark room with the other film nerds.

“Veronica and James will work specifically with you,” McDowell says. “There are dozens of teams working with other high profile athletes.”

“Uh, exactly when did we become high profile?” I can already see the wheels spinning in my sister’s head. She always has a million questions, but this may send her into over-drive. I try to arrange my face into something that resembles aloof curiosity.

Veronica steps forward and shakes both of our hands. “You’re the first opposite gender twins to ever make it to the Olympics. It’s a very big deal. The US Olympic Committee has asked that we profile you specifically.”

McDowell jumps back in. “They’ll be following you through the training program over the next couple of weeks. You’ll make time each day to answer questions or film whatever they need. These mini-documentaries will show during the actual games.”

“Interviews?” No one said anything about interviews.

“I’m thinking of really focusing on the two of you and how you grew up—especially with Julian’s Diabetes. I want to show the challenges you both went through to get here.”

Allie’s tongue pushes into her cheek—a sure sign she’s not convinced about all this. “You don’t think this will be distracting? What about the others? It’s Maria Thomas’ last year on the team. If we win she’ll be the only woman to have three gold medals.”

“Don’t worry,” McDowell says. “Everyone will get coverage. You two are just a special angle we’re taking. You’ll see other film crews around campus interviewing people from different sports.”

I’m sure Tyson Rickman has a full crew at his disposal.

“I’m not comfortable exploiting Julian’s health for the IOC,” Allie says.

“Think of it as an educational opportunity,” Veronica says with a smile.

I nod to give my approval, hoping Allie follows. She’s right about this being a potential distraction, and there’s definitely a good chance our teammates won’t like it. But what she doesn’t realize is she’s holding on to her spot by a thread, and this is the only way she’ll get to Brazil.

“I’m in,” I say, lifting my chin. “Tell me you’ve got some title like, ‘Can the Bad Boy of ACC Soccer Go for the Gold?’ Because that would be amazing.”

Veronica blinks, like she’s not sure I just said that, while Allie pinches me viciously on the back of the arm. “Ow, just kidding. Only kidding.”  McDowell nods dreamily, eyes glazed over like that was the best pitch he’s heard all year.

“When do we start?” Allie asks, which is her way of giving her approval. “I’ve got to meet with the PT in ten minutes.”

“Where will you be this afternoon?” Veronica asks me.

“This afternoon?” I open my phone and scroll down the schedule sent to me by Coach Mitchell. “On the field.”

She smiles. “We’ll see you there.”

Reporter
: What was the hardest part about joining this team?

Julian:
Facing my new teammates.

Reporter
: Really? Why is that?

Julian
: The elite soccer community is pretty small. We’ve all known one another, or have known of one another, since we were kids. Everyone on the team has heard some version of my downfall.

Reporter
: Were you embarrassed?

Julian
: No one wants to be the guy that brings all the drama to the team. I mean, there’s always going to be drama but I’ve spent the last year owning my mistakes. This matters to me. Walking onto that field was another step toward personal responsibility, but just because I was ready to accept it and move on didn’t mean everyone else was going to and that’s something I have to deal with.

Chapter 16

(2010)

Jumping to my feet, I squinted down at the field. We were in the stands today, watching the girls play. They were tied one-one, but the game had paused as Allie was currently sprawled at the tip of the box. Melina trotted over and bent down to talk to her.

“Foul!” Marcus cried, his voice mingling with others from the stands.

After a moment, my sister took Melina’s hand and stood, brushing grass and dirt off her knees.

Marcus was nearly beside himself. “Ref! Foul! Call it!”

I chuckled, watching as Allie shot him a dirty look from fifty yards away. “Oh man, she’s not happy.”

“She hurt her ankle again. See how she’s carrying it?”

I frowned and leaned forward, observing how she favored her left foot. Sure enough, when the ref positioned the ball for the penalty kick, the girl’s coach shouted from the sideline and Melina, not Allie, lined up to take it.

We’d practiced these a million times, but anything could happen. Melina didn’t look nervous, though. She rarely did. Readying herself by pushing her shoulders back, she got into position.

“You got it,” I muttered under my breath.

She tightened her ponytail and moved decisively, striking the ball on its sweet spot. The goalie tried—I would have had a hard time stopping it—but Melina scored with perfection, hitting the bottom left corner. Allie rushed over, throwing her arms around her best friend as cheers erupted from the stands.

“That’s how you do it!” Marcus shouted. I stood and clapped, offering a thumbs-up when she glanced in my direction. “You totally would have missed that.”

“Probably.” I nodded. “Her leg’s a rocket launcher.”

Our game was next. Coach called us down, directing us to the adjacent field for warm up. Grabbing our gear, we joined the rest of team.

“So did you ask her?”

I didn’t need Marcus to clarify the question. Senior prom was all anyone cared about lately...those stupid ‘Prom-Posals’ were everywhere. It was too much pressure. What if I looked like an idiot? I wanted to ask Melina, but after years of tip-toeing around our relationship I was terrified to pull the trigger.

“She’s not going to say no,” Marcus said, reading my mind. He nodded at me to head to the practice goal. I slipped on my gloves, and he lined up to take shots. The girl’s game continued on the field next to us, but their scoreboard was ticking off quickly. Three minutes left.

“I don’t know,” I said, conflicted. Melina
could
say no, but if I was being honest with myself I didn’t think she would. She never moved when I reached for her hand or sat too close on the couch. She still had my hoodie, and she wore it whenever it got cold.

Me? I couldn’t keep my hands off of her, even in a platonic way.

“You don’t think someone else will ask her?” Marcus asked, leveling a ball at my face. I slapped it away just as the buzzer sounded, ending the girl’s game. We all stopped what we were doing and clapped, cheering them for their win. Melina caught my eye, and I knew right then I had to do it, because Marcus was right. Someone else would definitely ask her.

We passed one another as she came off the field. “Good game,” I said, holding my hand up for a high-five.

“Thanks.” She slapped hers against mine and I linked our fingers together, holding on. It was now or never.

I glanced over at the coach, confirming he was still busy talking to the forwards. “Listen, I know I should do this with like...flowers or a handmade poster or sky-writing.” I let go of her and tugged at the tips of my gloves. “Would you, uh, you know, prom?”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “What was that?”

“Right.” I laughed, nervous. Sweat dripped down my neck. “Will you go to prom with me?”

“Julian!” Coach yelled. I glanced over my shoulder, cringing beneath his glare.

“You better go,” Melina said, amused.

“Yeah.” I scratched my neck. The question hung in the air between us as a group of her teammates passed by.
Abort!
my brain screamed. Melina probably wanted flowers and fireworks, banners beneath overpasses. What had I been thinking? Damn it, Marcus. “Uh—“

“Jules?”

“Yeah?”

Her eyes softened. “I’d love to go with you.”

I smiled. “Yeah?”

She smiled back.

“Anderson!” Shit. Coach was gonna make me pay, but it would be worth it.

Chapter 17

Mitchell doesn’t give me time to apologize or meet and greet with the other players. He points me in the direction of the practice goal where Brent Dawson, the goalie coach, waits for me with a stack of white and red balls.

“Warm up,” he says, moving his finger in a circle over his head. I take off around the field, spotting Dominic a couple of yards ahead. Dominic Hadley is twenty-five and was second in the last Olympics as well as on the USNT for the World Cup. He’s been to Brazil already, and has the experience I’m lacking. He’s a bit shorter than I am, but he’s broader and incredibly fast.

I jog behind him at an average pace, but Dom’s dragging just enough that I can tell he’s waiting for me to catch up. I pick up the pace, falling into step beside him.

“Hey, man,” I say.

“Heard you got in yesterday.”

“Yeah, spent the day in medical.”

“You got the all clear?”

“Yep. I’m ready. How’s it been going?” I ask.

“The team is looking tight. Everyone panicked when Saxon destroyed his ankle. But I think they feel a little better now.”

“You’re just as capable as Saxon. They’ll fall in line.”

He nods. “I think so. Mendes and Bryant have some sort of rivalry going on at midfield. I’ve got no idea what it’s about but I’m hoping it’ll smooth over.”

We jog around the first goal, passing a group of forwards taking shots. At midfield he lifts his chin to Rory. “That kid is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“We’re rooming together. Seems like a nice guy, but yeah, I’ve played against him before. He’s gotten a couple past me.”

“Me too. I’m just glad we’re on the same team right now.”

We trot past the second goal and make our way over to the separate goal that we use for practice. Right before we get there Dominic lays a hand on my arm, bringing us both to a stop. “I’ve heard a lot of shit about you over the last year. Enough that I’m surprised Mitchell and McDowell let you on the team. It’s got me wondering what this is really about, because I did not work my ass off for the last five years to get bumped because of you.”

I knew this was coming. Taking a deep breath, I hold my hands up. “I’m not here to bump anyone. I’m here to back you up.”

His face hardens, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe me. “Mitchell made me and Johnson captains, and we plan on taking the role seriously. The US men’s team has never taken gold—we haven’t medaled in over a century. I plan on changing that up this year. Do you understand?”

“You want to win. I get it.”

“Don’t undermine me out here, Anderson. I will fuck you up.”

I rest my hands on my hips and think about how I want to punch the smug look right off his face. Gritting my teeth, I say, “I deserve whatever you want to throw at me. I know that, but I’m here to let everyone know I’ve changed. Whatever you’re worried about will not be a problem. I’m solid.”

He looks me up and down, assessing my sincerity—or maybe looking for a weak spot. God knows. Finally he shakes his head and offers me his hand. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Gripping his hand, I nod in agreement. “Let’s make history.”

*

We’re working on lateral squats when Veronica shows up on the field. James follows closely, a camera attached to his shoulder. I spot them through the guys running up and down the field, Veronica’s hand shading her eyes from the sun. She’s changed from her blouse and skirt into something a little less out of place; jeans and a shirt, clean white sneakers.

“Who’s that?”  Brent asks as they come closer. “Press? Out here?”

Dominic stops mid squat, ball in his hands. “McDowell?”

I clear my throat and say, “It’s for one of those documentary things—between the games that they like to show on TV.”

Dom frowns, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He shaves his head leaving nowhere for the sweat to go but in his eyes. “For you?”

“And my sister. The twin angle. It’s no big deal.”

“Fucking McDowell,” Dominic mutters. “Always looking to capitalize on everyone. I’m shocked they’re making space for one of us though. It’s usually the—“

“Swimmers,” I chime in. “I know. Or the—“

“Gymnasts,” Brent says, eliciting a smile from both of us. God, the gymnasts with their crazy coaches and overbearing parents. It would be more annoying if they weren’t so young.

Veronica and James make it over just as Brent suggests we get some water. The temperature of Colorado Springs is cool enough, but the sun unforgivable.

“Hey guys,” Veronica says, stepping over sweat-soaked gloves and the shirts Dominic and I threw off an hour ago.  She thrusts a hand at Dominic. “You must be Dominic Hadley. I’ve seen you play. That overtime save during the qualifiers against Mexico was outstanding.”

“Thanks,” he says, puffing up his chest.

“I’m Brent Dawson.”

“Goalie coach, right?” she asks.

“Yes ma’am.”

“How do you feel about these guys backing up the team?”

“No offense, but I’ll be leading the team. Not backing it up,” Dominic interjects. “Anderson, he’ll back me up, if the time comes.”

Veronica appraises his towering stance, wide shoulders and thighs the size of tree trunks, probably wishing he was her topic instead of me and my sister.

“Break over,” Brent says, waving us back on the field.

“Julian,” Veronica calls. I walk over, tugging back on my sticky gloves.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll be filming you off and on during the next couple of weeks. We’ll get footage of your field training, and maybe around the facility. Obviously we’ll go to the women’s field, too.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to your coaches about setting up an actual interview schedule so we’re not interfering.”

I wrap the Velcro tight around my wrist. “Good idea.”

She turns to confirm with James while I glance over at the other guys. “Look,” I say, approaching her, “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but things are a little tense between me and my new teammates. It would help me out if you did this without a lot of disruption.”

“We’ll blend in the background,” she says. “No worries.”

“Thanks.”

True to her word, they fade into the hustle around the field. They aren’t the only media out there, anyway. Meanwhile, Brent seems determined to keep us focused and busy. By lunch my quads and shoulders are burning; I haven’t had a workout like that in months.

“Jesus,” I mutter, pouring half of my water over my head. “I’m out of shape.”

“Nah, just…well a little.” Brent laughs. “You’ll be sore tomorrow for sure.”

I will be, but it’ll be the good kind of sore—the one you get from pushing yourself hard, harder than nearly any other athlete on the planet. I’ve missed that feeling, the feeling of risk with the ultimate goal of reward.

And I’ve missed being part of a team. Despite the shit talking, and the awkward exchanges with players I’m only now meeting, there’s a kind of chemistry on the field that can’t be replicated anywhere else. Reminds me that this is where I was meant to be.