Page 130 of Sweat

Focus on the ball. Where is it? Stay on it.

Focus on your teammates. Where are they? What are they doing?

Focus on Rowan. Does he need you? He always needs you.

Focus on the opponents. Who’s on them? Who are they on?

Focus on their goalie. Is he focused?

Focus on Coach. Why’s he waving his arms? Stop focusing on Coach. He’s not important.

Where’s Rowan?

“Row!”

The second our eyes connect across the field, he torpedoes the ball across the grass and it smacks me right in the side of my cleat. I don’t hesitate. I can’t. The Ohio guys are coming for me, but I’m faster than them. Because of Rowan and his obsession with running, I’m faster than them.

“Tyson!” Levi calls out to me, which is helpful, because at this point, if Levi yelled my actual name, I’d assume he’s talking to some other Tommy.

I knock it to him, and he makes the shot, but the Ohio goalie is always focused. Dude is a beast. Like the big boss in the last level of a video game.

How are we going to get through him?

By halftime, we’re down 0-1. I’m not a fan of Brandon, our goalie, but he feels like shit for giving up the only goal in the game so far. Rowan pulls him aside for a pep talk, which is awkward, given that time Rowan shoved him against the lockers for talking shit.

Maybe teams are like families that way. They can talk shit, piss us off, disappoint us, but we’re still a team. We need each other.

With the score the way it is, Coach can’t afford to sub anyone who’s still got fight in them, so when it’s time for the second half to kick off, we all go back out.

One of the Ohio guys tips his chin toward me from across the half line. “Heard you suck your captain’s dick, pretty boy,” he leers through a nasally tone.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I’m flush with something close to contempt. That’s what he wants.Wants me to lose focus until the only thing I’m thinking about is how much I hate him for bringing up Rowan like that. If I stay contemptuous, he wins. If I don’t give a fuck, maybe I win.

I tip my chin back at him. “Only when I’m hungry.”

The dude seethes, muttering something under his breath. My ears don’t catch it, but my mind hearsfaggot.

So what?

The whistle blows, and I focus.

Whatever Rowan said to Brandon worked, because he’s not letting the ball touch net again, and Rowan’s able to fake out the Ohio goalie just enough to put a point on our board.

1-1 now, taking a smidgen of the pressure off, but when it’s anyone’s game, it could still easily tip the other way.

Time is winding down, and the team is gassed. Coach subbed Connor out and put in Zeke. Even Levi looks like he’s waning. But I’m good. I feel good, and as long as Rowan’s still out there, I’ll stay good.

The leering dickhead from Ohio has suddenly made it his mission to close me down. He’s scrawny, but quick as a ninja.

“So which one of you has to take it up the ass after we beat you?” he rasps through his labored breaths. He’s losing steam, which is good for me, but I’ll let him think he’s got me covered until the very last minute.

“You sound jealous. Your boyfriend dump you for someone with a bigger dick?”

“I’m not fucking queer like you,” he spits.

“Sure about that?” I’m timing the play, eyes on Rowan, Levi, Raisel, and Zeke. “‘Cause, you sure look like a cocksucker.”

Raisel passes the ball to Rowan, and with a clear path between me and the goal, I see an in. But, just as I make my breakfrom this sniveling creep, something sharp captures me in the ribs, jabbing at my kidney and knocking me on my ass.

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