Page 102 of Sweeper
“I’m Zander’s neighbor, Daphney.”
“Oh, hello,” she offers weakly and takes my hand, but it’s as if I’m shaking the hand of a corpse.
“Can I get you anything?” I inquire, taking the seat that Zander just vacated. “Tea?”
She shakes her head and barks out a wet laugh. “A time machine if you have it.” Her American accent is just like Zander’s, and it makes me miss him.
“How long are you staying for?” I ask, hating that I care because Zander doesn’t deserve it.
Jane rolls her eyes. “I leave tomorrow, apparently.”
“So soon?”
She shrugs. “My son is very upset with me.”
I nod slowly, my heart breaking for the woman in front of me. The fact that Zander flew his mother out here to talk to him means that he loves her enough to have this conversation face-to-face. That has to mean something, right? Zander doesn’t deserve my help here, but I can’t help myself.
“I know you and Zander are figuring some things out, but I know that it’s gutted him not to have you close as he’s been playing in the Premier League this season.”
“Oh, Zander doesn’t care if I watch or don’t watch his games,” she huffs, waving me off as she swipes away the dampness on her cheeks. “Soccer was always his father’s thing.”
“He cares,” I state it simply, making eye contact with her again. “And in a couple of days, it’s the FA Cup quarterfinal being hosted at Tower Park, his team’s facility. It’s a very big game in the world of English footba…I mean soccer. I think it would go a long way for you to surprise him at that game.”
“I wouldn’t even know how to get tickets,” she croaks, staring at me with desperation all over her face. “And Zander is too mad at me to even invite me, I’m sure.”
I reach across the table and cup her hand. “I can help.”
Zander
My body is on autopilot as I dress for today’s match in complete silence, only half listening to Link as he rattles on and on to me about how good Manchester City strikers are.
I already know how good they are. I’ve been watching game footage of them all week, not just with the team but on my own as well. I know those strikers better than they know themselves. I know their tells, and today will not be the day I let my emotions get the best of me. Today, it’sfootball over bullshit.
My mother is back in Boston, Daphney still hasn’t come back to her apartment, Link and Knight are giving me space, and I’m avoiding the Harris family like the fucking plague.
Knight claps me on the back, offering me silent support as Coach Zion hushes the entire locker room to announce Vaughn for his typical manager speech that’s become a regular occurrence on Cup game days. Vaughn probably gives a good speech. Today is a big day, and big days require big speeches. But I don’t need to hear it, not from him. I only need to hear the voice in my head that says…don’t fuck this up, Zander.
Our hands go in, and I’m silent as the team chants, “I am thine, thou art mine.”
On autopilot, I touch the saying at the top of the door as we make our way out of the locker room and file into the tunnel. There are kids there, waiting to be escorted out onto the field. The little girl assigned to me grabs my hand and yanks me down to her level.
“Are you from America?” Her British accent is sweet, and I hate that her blue eyes remind me of Daphney.
I nod and clench my teeth as I attempt to maintain my composure.
“Can you say something funny?” She blinks up at me, and a piece of my armor falls to the ground.
With a huff, I repeat, “Say something funny,” giving a little extra lilt to my Boston accent for effect. “How was that?”
She giggles, and then we’re moving in a single file line out onto the field. The sun glistens off the pristine grass as the fans chant the Bethnal Green fight song at a roaring level.
I look up to see that the stadium is packed, the sun is bright, and the air is cool. A pit forms in my stomach as I drink this moment in because I’ve grown attached to Tower Park in the short time I’ve been here. I love the fans and the atmosphere. Bethnal Green feels like home and in a few months’ time, I will be long gone. Santino and I are scheduled to talk about my future on Monday, and I can honestly say I’m going to miss this.
We line up down the field, and I force myself not to look up because I don’t need to see the Harris family sitting in the front row like they usually do, screaming their heads off for Booker, Tanner, and Vaughn.
The truth is, I’m jealous of them. I’m jealous of their comradery and bond. I’m jealous of the unfailing support they give to each other. But most of all, I’m jealous of their innocence. I know they lost their mom when they were all young, but at least they knew who their mother and father were. At least they never doubted that.
As we stretch out on the pitch and wait for the match to start, I feel a firm tap on my shoulder. I whirl around and come face-to-face with Booker Harris.
