For the Win (5 page)

Chapter 11

I insist on driving Sally to the training facility in Colorado Springs.  It’s a two day journey, with minimal stops. I’d have more time to settle in if I took a plane like Allie and Melina, but I need the alone time to get my head back in the game. Literally.

It’s been over a year since I stepped foot on an actual pitch, playing competitively with other guys. Most of the men on this team are older and more experienced than I am, too. I know a couple of them; I’ve been called up to play with the National Team, once against Mexico and another with Bulgaria. Under the care of the MNT trainers I’ve never had a problem with my insulin levels or keeping on track.

College, though...that had been my undoing. Parties. Women. More parties. I’d gone from a sheltered high school kid that happened to be good at sports to a popular, in-demand athlete. What was the point of being the biggest soccer star on campus, with some of the greatest prospects, if I couldn’t leverage it a little?

In high school I treated my body like a temple. We didn’t have the money for me to get sick, and besides Melina, playing was the only thing that kept me sane. On the field I could forget our shitty, small apartment and the sounds of my neighbors fighting. I was able to focus on perfecting my sport, with small breaks to socialize with other players and flirt with Melina. Terrified of showing any weakness, I pretended the diabetes didn’t exist and did my best to hide it from my teammates. I worked hard, determined to prove to myself that I was stronger than any disease. My mother tracked my blood sugar levels like a hawk tracks a mouse and everything was fine.

Well, it was fine until I was on my own. Somewhere between high school and college I’d begun thinking that not only was my body a temple, but that I was a god.

News flash: God doesn’t like it when you play God.

The sun’s going down now, painting the landscape with orange and gold. I stare out the window at the rising hills surrounding the Ozark Mountains, trying not to berate myself for the many, many crappy decisions I’ve made.

Part 2

Colorado Springs/US Olympic Training Camp

Chapter 12

The US Training Center is a state of the art, multi-sport facility boasting everything from weight rooms, to medical staff, to residence halls nicer than my dorm in college.  After checking in and locating my room, I report to the physician.

They make me piss in a cup, then the assistant checks my vitals: weight and blood pressure. They plug my pump into the computer, scanning the data for the last three months, and I don’t blink when they withdraw blood and they step aside and let me prick my own finger. Per their request, my doctor sent my records ahead of time, so these people probably know more about my body in twenty minutes than I have in my whole life.

I spend the next hour plugged into a treadmill, popping Sweet-Tarts, while having my blood monitored as they conduct a thorough examination of my entire physique. By the time I’m instructed to change my clothes and take a seat in the waiting room, I’m dripping of sweat.

“What’s next?” I joke to the assistant as we walk down a hallway of offices. “Sign over my first born?”

“You’ll meet with Dr. Archer and Robin, who is the head PT for your team.” A quick glance in the room alerts me to a third person, a guy in his mid-thirties, glasses on his nose but definite athletic build.

“Who’s that?”

“Dr. McNair. He’s the sports psychologist.”

“Psychologist?”

“Everyone has to see him,” she says, looking down at my chart. “But for you it’s especially mandatory.”

Realizing these are the real gatekeepers to my future, I step into the room and close the door.

Looks like my past might be catching up to me.

*

“Well,” Allie says, dropping her tray on the table. Sitting in the seat across from me, she unwraps a pat of butter. “How did it go?”

I finish chewing and search for her shadow, but there’s no sign of Melina in the cafeteria. “It was okay. I’m in good condition—great really. I think they were surprised, especially after hearing about my living conditions for the last year.”

“I’m sure. Living in a van and maintaining the body of an Olympian doesn’t really make sense.”

I shrug. “I had a gym, food, a bed and a soccer ball. Not much different from here except air conditioning.”

She lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. “So you’re cleared to play then?”

“I start tomorrow.” An unexpected current of anticipation prickles through me. Despite my sketchy involvement, I’m looking forward to getting back on the field.

Allie attacks her own food, hungry from a full day of training. Spearing broccoli on a fork she asks, “Have you see the team? Dominic?”

“Not yet, but I think they were working out when I got in. I spent the rest of the day in the med center.” None of my teammates are in the cafeteria yet either, but it’s early. So far there’s just a handful of swimmers and a table of weight lifters. I’m pretty sure the gaggle of fourteen-year-old girls in the corner are gymnasts.  

“How do you think it will go?”

I push my empty tray away. “We’re a team. It won’t be the first time I’ve played with guys that don’t like me.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, her eyes meeting mine. “But this is the first time they don’t trust you and there’s a difference.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Brat.

Like she can see the word in my head, she flashes me a grin. “I’ve missed you.”

I grab her head and rub hard to mess up her hair. “Same.”

Reporter
: We’ve talked about your health issues before, Julian, but you’re an inspiration to so many people, especially kids diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. For the most part you’ve managed to really control your disease and perform at the highest level possible. Do you want to tell us more about the time you had to stop playing?

Julian
: *
holds up a hand
* Stop recording.

Reporter
:  Okay. What’s the problem?

Julian
: I’m not sure the story of my epic downfall is going to make good material for documentary.

Reporter
: People love a comeback. It will inspire them.

Julian
: I don’t think so. I look like a total dick and to be honest, it’s not the G-rated television the IOC likes to show. There’s also the chance it will make Allie look bad and that’s a deal breaker.

Reporter
: You were a dumb kid; everyone can relate to that to a degree.

Julian
: Maybe. I’m just not ready to talk about it.

Reporter
: I don’t want to take it off the table. Think about it.

Julian
: *
pauses, taps fingers on knee
* Fine. But not today.

Chapter 13

My roommate is sprawled across his bed when I get back to the room. He hops up, dropping the motorcycle magazine he’s reading when I enter. An ice pack slides to the floor, revealing his noticeably bruised calf, visible even with his dark skin. He quickly offers me a hand and says with a slight English accent, “Hey man. Good to see you.”

“Rory, right?” I ask, shaking his hand. Rory Vickers is a legendary defender. We’ve never played on a team together but we have crossed paths during the youth divisions and summer leagues.  

“Yeah.” He’s tall, at least six-foot-three to my six-foot-one. Tiny dreadlocks cover his head, sticking out in all directions. The bio I read said his father played college basketball, and his mother is a physicist from England. He grew up with her overseas until returning to the states for college.  All it takes is for one parent to be a US citizen to be able to qualify for the team.

On a personal note, he’s known as one of the friendliest guys in the game. I don’t think it’s a coincidence we’re roommates.

“They told us you were coming in today,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed with his ice pack. “Everything go okay with medical?”

He might be asking in general—everyone was given the same extensive physical when they arrived—but somehow I doubt it. Granted, every player needs to be cleared, but most of these guys play professionally and have had regular checkups for months.

“Cleared for tomorrow,” I say, unzipping my bag. There are two dressers. One already has a couple of framed photos, three empty water bottles and a large wooden cross propped against the wall. Claiming the unoccupied one, I unpack my clothing, settling in for the four weeks we’ll be here leading up to the games.

“Everyone was a little shook up after Saxon’s injury. They said he’ll be out for at least 6 months,” Rory says. “Dom’s stepped up though—and everyone agrees you’ll be a good second.”

Ah, so they
have
talked about me. Not a surprise; most men’s locker rooms are the gossip equivalent of a teenage girl’s bedroom. “I’m excited to be here. The line-up, from what I’ve seen, looks great.” I nod down to his leg. “You better keep that on ice.”

“Yeah. Took a cleat today in the box. Hurts like hell.” He eases back in the bed and lays the pack back over the bruise.

“Looks like it.” I unpack the rest of my belongings; journal, iPod, books. Grabbing the bag with my pump kit, dozens of needles and the blood sugar tester, I shove it in the drawer next to the bed. Rory eyes it, but doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything either. If he asks I’ll tell him, but I don’t advertise my health issues.

“So,” he says slowly, and I just know there’s a question or twenty coming. “Did you really spend the last year sleeping in a van?”

I can’t help but smile. “Yeah.”

“Seriously?” The look on his face is nothing but incredulous.

“Seriously.” Pulling my phone out, I find a picture. “That’s Sally.”

He shakes his head. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

The bedsprings squeak as I sit on the bed. “So I’ve heard.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.”

“Did you really used to go out with Melina Diaz?”

“Ah.” With a short, bitter laugh I swing my legs on top of the bed. 6 AM will be here before I know it. “That’s not an easy question to answer.”

I wait for Rory to say something else, like how awesome Melina is on the field or—God help him—how beautiful she is, but he just nods and goes back to his magazine.

Shutting my eyes, I roll to the wall, adjusting to the fact I’m sleeping on an actual bed in an actual building for the first time in months.

              “This light gonna bother you?” Rory asks after a second, magazine crinkling.

              But I’m already half-asleep.

Chapter 14

(2009)

By the summer before junior year we all had to work and playing time on the field was more sporadic. Allie worked at a summer camp and I found a job with a landscaping crew, both of us scraping together money for soccer camp in late July. Melina’s mother needed her to watch the younger kids and keep them out of trouble and Marcus worked at the crappy theater down at the mall. Allie wanted to practice on her own, but neither me nor Marcus felt like it was safe; the fields were too male-dominated. Not that they’d have let her play, anyway. To get any real practice one of us had to go with her, so she waited each day like a caged tiger dying to get outside.

“What the hell, Jules?” she cried one afternoon. “Let’s go!”

I’d just gotten home from a nine hour day. One of the mowers broke, and it was 97 degrees outside with a humidity of 105. I was beat. All I wanted was to crawl into the shower and sleep. In the actual shower. Just put my pillow in the bathtub. Unfortunately I’d promised Allie I would take her to the field tonight. It had been a week and she’d threatened to go alone.

“If Melina was coming you’d be down there already.”

Fair enough.

I grabbed a snack and my bag. She tossed the ball at my head the second I exited the apartment but my reflexes were quick and I caught it with one hand.

“It’s like you’re trying to get me to stay home.”

“I’m trying to get you to lighten up.”

We walked down the busy, four-lane road and waited for the light to change to cross the street. “I’m tired as fuck, Al.”

“You think I’m not? I chased twenty-five rug-rats all day. I never want to see another kid again.”

The crosswalk sign flipped and we headed over the steamy street. “Then why are we out here?”

“Why? Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t start with this.” Now that we’d passed into the neighborhood surrounding the school, I dropped the ball to the grass next to the sidewalk and dribbled it down the hill.

“This isn’t a joke to me, Julian. I’m working my ass off to get out of this dump, with or without you.”

It was such a long-shot; getting an offer to play on a college team, much less the money that goes along with it. Scholarships for soccer didn’t flow like other, bigger sports. Regardless, my mother encouraged her. She encouraged both of us, actually, but one of us had to be the reality check.  

“I’m glad you’re so hopeful, Al. For real. One of us has to be.”

She ignored me the rest of the way to the field, only stopping when she got to the top of the stairs that overlooked the game being played below.

“You see those men,” she said, pointing to the guys on the field. “The one’s that won’t let me play?”

“Yeah, they’re dicks.”

“I’m not putting up with their crap anymore. I’m ten times better than they are.” She gave me a look. “Better than you.”

Even though I’d played with these guys for years they still intimidated me. The difference in age. In our cultures. Definitely in the way they treated women. “Don’t push it, Allie.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be treated differently just because you’re a girl. I’m sick of it. I need the practice and yeah, they are really good. These guys grew up playing in the streets in a country where soccer is king. I want to learn from them as much as prove what I already know.”

I sat down and rested my arms on my knees, exhausted. “Go for it.”

She glared, but took off down the steps. I watched from afar as she dropped her bag at the sideline and approached the field with her chin up. One of the players, Zia, watched her walk up. He held his hand up and the game slowed. Allie’s hands were on her hips and she was talking, God, I could imagine what she was saying and couldn’t help but laugh. Zia was getting a mouthful I’m sure.

I thought about going down there and dragging her off the field, but my sister needed to learn a lesson—just because you deserve something doesn’t mean you’ll get it. Life sucks like that, I learned that at seven when my body turned on itself.

She turned and I waited for her to walk back over, but she stopped by the bag she’d left and bent over, fishing out her shoes. Without looking back at me, not even once, she took the field and the position they offered her (center back—not her strongest) with a determined set to her jaw.

They let her play and from high up on my perch I kept watch, making sure they treated her fairly and that she was safe, but allowing her this moment on her own. She’d earned it and predictably, she kicked their asses.

*

“Stop.”

I turned the wheel, ignoring her.

She held up her hands. “Stop, Julian.”

I didn’t though. Through the windshield I saw Melina mutter something under her breath, probably cussing me out. She needed to calm down.

I’ve got this.

Through my peripheral I saw her jump up and down, waving wildly in the parking lot. Yeah, like that helped my concentration. When she jumped, things…jiggled and crap. Why did she have to wear those shorts?

Focus, Julian
.

Biting down on my lip, I glanced in the rearview mirror again. Just a little tap and I’d be fine.

Outside Melina shouted, “Stop the car!”

My eyes jumped to hers right as I heard an awful scraping sound. Slamming on the breaks, I jerked the car to a stop, but not before ramming the back bumper into the trashcan we’d been using as a makeshift perimeter.

Mel’s eyes narrowed as she walked over to the driver’s side window. I slowly rolled it down, letting in the humid, afternoon heat.

“What the hell?” she asked, all flushed and impatient.

“I couldn’t hear you!”

She leaned her hands against the car, which only made the V-neck of her shirt gape. The gold cross on her neck glinted as a reminder of her father and all the reasons I needed to get a grip, but then she shifted and my brain turned off. Maybe having Melina help me before my driving test wasn’t the best idea.

“Your test is in two weeks. You have
got
to figure out how to parallel park.”

“Parallel parking is stupid,” I argued, tapping my fingers over the wheel. “When am I going to need to do it?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. What the hell was going on with all the chest movement? I tried looking at her eyes, but then she moved her mouth and I was distracted by her lips.

“Sorry, what was that?” I asked, swallowing.

“You’re not even trying,” she said.

“I am. I’m just really bad at this.”

That confession brought a smile to her lips. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I offered to help you. I couldn’t bear to watch you struggle. And suck.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean, I’m the master of parallel parking,” she continued, smirking.

“Maybe if you yelled at me from inside the car instead of outside the car it would be more helpful.” I gave her my best persuasive smile.

Unaffected by my attempts at charm, she snorted. “Yeah, maybe.”

But she came over, repositioning the trashcan on her way to the passenger seat, bringing the mixed smell of shampoo and clean sweat into the car. The truth was, I wasn’t that bad of a driver. I had outstanding reflexes—the kind that might earn a kid from the wrong side of the highway a college scholarship—but I’d do nearly anything to spend time with Melina. Even over-exaggerate my inability to parallel park my mom’s two-door Toyota.

It was a brilliant ploy, really, because even if I hadn’t been too chicken to ask Melina out, she wasn’t allowed to date. But helping a friend pass his driver’s test? That was the work of a Good Samaritan. A hot Good Samaritan that sometimes smiled at me and brushed my arm with hers, one that chose to spend Saturdays with me, not hanging out with anyone else.

“Ready?” she asked, buckling her seat belt.

“Yeah.”

“Just make sure you position the wheel right, like turn it all the way to the left. Hard left.”

I followed her directions and within minutes we were parked in the tight space between the two trashcans we’d borrowed from the side of the middle school building.

“You did it!” She smiled wide, bright white teeth against her perfect, tanned skin.

“Finally. Bet you were about to give up on me.”

I sat back in the seat and put the car in gear. Melina’s hand covered mine, and I wondered if energy rippled up her arm the way it did mine. “Nah,” she said, eyebrow arched. “I’m all or nothing, Jules. You should know that by now.”

Chapter 15

After a quick breakfast I head out for a run. Our afternoons are pretty regimented, but morning workouts are up to the players and trainers. Some guys hit the gym, but I’ve learned to manage my levels pretty well after a run so we decided during the medical assessment to keep that part of my activity schedule the same.

I’m sweaty and breathing hard when I get back to my bag. My phone shows a missed call from my mom. Two in fact, even though I’d explained how busy we would be and having daily calls would be difficult to manage. Old habits are hard to break, I guess.

I dial her number.

“Hey mom,” I say after she answers on the third ring. “Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“Just thought I’d catch you before the day got started.”

I laugh. I’ve been up for two hours. The swimmers have been rotating through the pool since four. “There’s no such thing as too early around here.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Really good.”

“Are you testing enough? You know the altitude can change things. Plus the extra workouts. You’re not used to that.”

“I’ve been monitoring more frequently, I promise.” I’ve actually got my blood tester in my hand now but don’t say anything.

“What about the food--can you find what you need?”

“Mom, everything is under control.”

“I know you say that but…”

“Hey,” I say, in a soft voice. “I know you’re worried but this place is amazing. Full medical team. Trainers all over the place. Water, food...anything we need is available.” I don’t mention that McDowell has made it his personal mission to make sure I’m in top physical health when we get to Rio. No one is letting me slip up while I’m here. Not with so much on the line. “I’m in the best possible hands.”

She sighs loud enough for me to hear it over the phone. “At least your sister is there to keep an eye on you.”

I roll my eyes. I’ve got a full clinic and trainers at my disposal but my mother doesn’t trust anyone (including myself) better than my sister. Once again I keep the fact to myself that Allie, as amazing as she is, is not actually perfect.

“What are you doing today?” I ask, hoping to get her off the subject.

“I picked up another shift at work, trying to earn a little extra spending money for the trip.”

“Don’t work too hard.”

“It’s not so bad. You know I like it.”

Most parents can move on from supporting their kids once they graduate. Our mom got an extra couple of years with Allie and I playing like this. I know she does it because she wants to, because we’re her pride and joy, but I’m looking forward to the day
we
can take care of
her.

“Love you,” I say, walking toward the center of campus.

“Be good, Julian.”

“I will.”

I pass Allie and Melina on my way back to the dorm as they’re leaving the cafeteria with a group of athletes. Allie gives me a tired “good morning,” but Melina continues her conversation with the tall, built guy beside her. With excessively broad shoulders and a face made for Olympic Gold, there’s only one person that square jaw and never-been-elbowed straight nose could belong to: Tyson Rickman.

Fucking swimmers.

They’re the undeniable royalty around here, fawned over by the IOC, media and other athletes. I’m not denying they work hard, like really hard, but they’ve never had to fend off a two-hundred pound forward—cleats first.

I’m unconsciously touching the scar over my eyebrow when Allie grabs my arm, letting the others walk away. “Did you get the message from McDowell?”

“No. But I haven’t checked. They told me to report in with Mitchell at nine.”

“Change of plans. McDowell is here and he wants to meet with us.” She peers up at me. “Both of us. Any idea why?”

I suspect it’s about the marketing plan they have for the two of us, but I shrug. “Not a clue.”

Back at the room I shower quickly, eating one Powerbar before I get in and another when I get out. The altitude here is different, and I’ve had to make some adjustments, but so far everything seems okay. As long as I don’t go off on a bender or get sick, and I don’t plan to, I should be fine.

Allie and I meet up outside the dormitory and walk together to the main office. McDowell’s is the largest, reserved for when he comes in from Chicago. We’re ushered in to find him speaking with a woman and man.