“That was very good thinking,” Meg said.
“How’s the game going?” Ahmed scanned the field until he found Henry, scrawny number nine in his black uniform shirt that hung to the middle of his thighs. “There he is! Playing his guts out. He’s sure fast on his feet. Fearless, too. That’s great. The less fear you have of getting knocked around, the better off you’ll be.”
“Their team pretty much sucks,” Meg said. “Plus, the coach and the team parent think Henry’s the devil incarnate.”
“No,” Ahmed murmured more to himself than to her. “How could anyone think that?”
Man, oh, man. He knew exactly how to turn her heart to mush.
They watched the game, pileup after pileup on the ball. When after a few minutes Ahmed asked to borrow her phone, Meg got it from her blanket and handed it to him. She considered asking him to join her on the blanket, but the thought of sitting so close to him made her shaky, which was
not good
, no matter what Amy said.
Ahmed flipped open her phone, dialed a number, and hit SEND. Instantly, a buzz sounded from his shorts pocket. He clicked off her phone and handed it back and the buzzing from his shorts stopped. “There. I’ve got your number. That solves that problem.” His smile was broad. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to call you this week.”
Be still, be still, be still my heart.
“And I can’t tell you how many times I wished I’d given you my number this week, as much as it pains me to admit that,” Meg said. “I’m really not in the market to date right now.”
“There’s a part of me that doesn’t believe you,” Ahmed said.
They looked at each other for a long, conflicted moment. It was that starting/not-starting something feeling again, and all Meg knew for sure right then was that the way he looked at her made her feel as if they were alone. As if she was tucked into him, dancing in the moonlight, and they were looking into each other’s souls and finding a kindred spirit.
It was disconcerting, the feeling. Disconcerting in the loveliest of ways.
“There’s a part of me that doesn’t believe me, either,” she admitted.
Even though the rest of Henry’s team played like a soccer version of the Bad News Bears, he performed great. Several times, he emerged from a pileup of kids with the ball and twice he scored. The quarter ended with the other team up, 5-2. Red-faced and sweaty-haired, Henry ran over to gulp from his water bottle.
“Excellent job, Henry,” Meg said. “You’re playing very well.”
“Did you see my goals?”
“Absolutely, I did. Didn’t you hear me cheering?” Meg waited for Henry to acknowledge Ahmed’s presence, but he gulped and gulped from his water bottle and completely ignored him.
“
Pssst,
Mr. Self-Absorbed,” she said. “Can you say hello to Ahmed, please? He just
happened
to be jogging by.” She gave Ahmed a friendly smirk.
“I knew you’d come,” Henry said to him. “Did you see my goals?”
“Hi,” Ahmed said.
Finally chagrined, Henry smiled. “Hi.”
“I did see your goals,” Ahmed said. “I was very impressed. I was telling your mom that your fearlessness is going to take you far in life. And you know what? If you played halfback, you could probably stop numbers five and eight from the other team. Those are the real tough guys.”
“Coach Debbie told me to play forward,” Henry said.
“No one else is playing his position,” Ahmed pointed out. “They’re running around all bunched up wherever the ball goes.”
“Thank you!” Henry said. “That’s what I keep telling them:
stay in your stupid positions.
I don’t know why it’s so hard for them to get it right. It’s not that hard.”
“Henry’s on a bit of a tight leash with the coach,” Meg said.
“I wouldn’t exactly call her a coach,” Henry said.
Ahmed laughed. Meg did, too, for while disrespectful, his sense of comic timing was impeccable. Besides, it was true. Coach Debbie wasn’t much of a coach.
When the whistle blew, Henry ran back to his teammates. Meg finally felt composed enough to invite Ahmed to join her on the blanket.
“Henry, you’re still in,” they overheard Coach Debbie say. “But I expect you to pass more this quarter.”
Ahmed, who’d been casually leaning back on his arms and stretching his legs in front of him, now tilted toward Meg. “Who’s he supposed to pass to?” His lips grazed her hair as he spoke confidentially in her ear.
Electric.
“Be nice.” Meg leaned against him ever so slightly as she murmured back, “They’re doing the best they can.”
“They need a better coach.” He said it seductively, so seductively in fact that what Meg heard was,
I want to make love to you right here, right now.
“Oh my God,” Meg said, blushing. “What did you just say?”
Ahmed tilted his head at her in curiosity. “I said they need a better coach.”
She burst out laughing. “I thought you said something else.”
“What’d you think I said?” It was an invitation, the way he asked.
“I’m not telling.” But she did tell him, with her eyes. And she could tell he understood what she was intimating, or something close enough, because he chuckled, pleased.
“Pass it!
Pass it!
” Coach Debbie’s screeching voice interrupted them. Her scream was directed at Henry.
Ahmed frowned. “He’s got an open path to the goal.”
“They really do need a better coach,” Meg said.
“Pass it!” Coach Debbie’s face was blistering red.
“Pass to me! I’m open! To me! To me!” It was Bradley, who indeed was open, but Meg knew what Henry was thinking. If he passed to Bradley, it would be intercepted because Bradley waited for the ball to come to him, and there were plenty of kids from the other team who could easily get in the ball’s path before it did.
Meg could see Henry’s hesitation as he went against his better instincts and passed the ball to Bradley. Sure enough, it was intercepted.
“Bad pass,” Catherine said loudly to the other parents.
“This is ridiculous,” Ahmed said.
The other team scored. Henry kicked the ground. Almost immediately after the kickoff, he again got possession of the ball from midfield and Meg winced in worry. She had a feeling things would not end well.
“All the way, Henry!” Ahmed shouted. “Take it all the way!”
“Pass it!” yelled Coach Debbie. “Pass to Bradley!”
Meg could see Henry’s confusion.
“Pass to Bradley.”
Henry passed to Bradley. Meg flinched as Bradley blocked the ball with his arms. Would this kid never learn?
“What’s he
doing
?” Ahmed said. “What’s he touching the ball for?” He shook his head. “This is crazy. He’s old enough to know better.”
Henry’s face had turned cold white. He ducked his head as he tried and failed to shake off his anger. And then the moment turned slow motion in the most horrible of ways as he charged across the field.
Toward Bradley.
While Meg froze in absolute horror, Ahmed jumped up and waved wildly to get Henry’s attention. “Henry, no! Stop! Henry!”
There was a horrible thud when Henry knocked Bradley to the ground.
Catherine reached the boys first, grabbed Henry’s arm, and hauled him off her son. “What’s
wrong
with you? Don’t you have
any
self-control?”
The referee raced to intervene, as did Coach Debbie and Meg and Ahmed. Ahmed arrived first.
“Your kid’s out of control!” Catherine hissed and shoved Henry to him.
Meanwhile, Meg arrived and pulled Henry close. The poor kid was shaking. Ahmed let Catherine’s incorrect assumption about his relationship to Henry stand and instead of answering her turned to Bradley, who remained sitting on the ground, flanked by a half-circle of players. Bradley was watching his mother in frightened awe.
Ahmed offered a hand to help Bradley to his feet. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Bradley brushed himself off. “He shouldn’t’ve done that, though.” He walked over to Henry and abruptly punched him in the arm. That set Henry off again.
“Why do you keep messing up?” Henry yelled. “You’re not supposed to catch the ball!”
“I didn’t mean to!” Bradley said. “I can’t help it!”
“Yes, you can!” Henry yelled. “You need to get it right!”
“Enough, boys! Henry, enough.” Meg turned to the referee. “What happens now?”
“He should be kicked out of the league!” Catherine said.
“That’s enough from you, too,” Meg snapped at her. “Try being decent for a change.” She sensed Ahmed’s discomfort, but he remained silent beside her.
The referee ejected Henry from the game and asked that they leave the park. The three of them left the field together, with Henry in the middle and Meg hugely embarrassed. They paused to collect their things and then continued on their conspicuous walk of shame. After they were a good distance from the rest of the team, Ahmed stopped and turned Henry by the shoulders so they faced each other. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Henry’s eyes glistened as he nodded.
“There’s this Persian saying I want to tell you,” Ahmed said. “ ‘If you want a rose, you’ve got to respect the thorns.’ Do you know what that means?”
Henry sniffed and shook his head.
“It means that if you want Bradley to be a good player and someone you can pass to, you should respect the fact that he needs help to get better,” Ahmed said. “I was on the sidelines getting really upset with him myself, but then when I was over by him, I felt bad for him, because it sounds like he really wants to get better but doesn’t have anyone to help him. Did you have that same sense?”
As Henry nodded, Meg was delighted to see actual sympathy in his eyes.
“Maybe you can be the one who helps Bradley,” Ahmed suggested.
“Could you help him, too?” Henry’s voice came out raspy, as if he were afraid Ahmed would say no.
Ahmed glanced at Meg before answering. “How about I give you some tips and tricks that you can then use to help him? Would that work?”
Henry nodded and latched on gratefully to the decency in Ahmed’s eyes. Ahmed’s return look was fatherly, and seeing it, Meg was struck with a longing she thought she’d left far behind.
On the way to Meg’s car, Ahmed caught her eye over Henry’s head and mouthed,
Ice cream?
Meg processed it as
I scream
and gave him a puzzled look.
Ice cream,
he mouthed again. As he did, Henry caught the exchange. “What’d you say?”
“I was asking your mother if we should take you for ice cream,” Ahmed said. “I know that mint chocolate chip ice cream always makes me feel better when I’ve had a rough day.”
“Ice cream?” Meg laughed. In retrospect, it was obvious what he’d been saying. “I don’t know—that’s really a harsh punishment. I mean, it’s not like Bradley lost an eye or anything.” The beginnings of a smile crossed Henry’s eyes.
“What were
you
thinking?” Ahmed said. “Hanging him upside down by his ankles?”
Meg loved being on the same humor wavelength with a person, and she and Ahmed definitely were. “Something like that,” she joked back.
Even as Meg was still embarrassed by and mad about what Henry had done, her heart melted when he laughed. As a mom, she constantly worried that some big trauma was going to come along and break his spirit. His laughter told her that
this
—getting kicked out of the soccer game—wasn’t it. His little psyche would survive.
They reached the parking lot and stopped in front of Meg’s car. “Can you imagine what Catherine would think if she saw us having ice cream after Henry just pounded on her kid?”
“Come on—please!” Henry said. “We’ll be done by the time the game’s over!”
“That’s not the point,” Meg said.
“I learned my lesson,” Henry said.
“Yeah, right.” Who did he think he was kidding? “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy.”
“Sorry,” Ahmed said. “I didn’t mean for him to hear.”
“I thought you were saying
I scream
,” she said. “I just couldn’t figure it out.”
“I scream.” Ahmed laughed. “That’s cute.”
Meg blushed. It was as good as if he’d called
her
cute.
“I know!” Henry said. “We’ve got Popsicles at home. Can Ahmed come over and have one?”
Whish.
The idea of Ahmed in their apartment felt dangerous. Delicious, yes. But dangerous, too.
“That still doesn’t seem like a punishment,” she said.
“Please?” Henry said. “I won’t have any fun. I promise!”
“I won’t, either.” Ahmed’s smile was sexier than hell. “I promise.”
Hoo-rah.
Meg considered. It would be letting Ahmed in, which was one thing in and of itself, but even worse were these wild impulses she kept having where he was concerned. The entire past week, she’d seen her storage closet at school or the laundry room at the apartments or even her kitchen counter, and she’d gotten lusty little thrills and thought,
There’s a nice place I could shove him up against.
She wasn’t sure she trusted herself where he was concerned.
She shook her head. “That won’t work.”
“Come on! Why not?” Henry said.
“Because first of all, you misbehaved,” she said. “And boys who misbehave don’t get treats.”
“Ahmed’s not a treat.” Henry stuck out his lower lip in a pout.
Oh, yes, he is.
Meg carefully avoided looking at Ahmed because he’d know exactly what she was thinking. And he’d be very, very amused.
“My mind’s made up,” she said.
“What’s the second reason?” Henry asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said
first of all
. That means there’s a second of all.”
“Oh, right.” Meg glanced at Ahmed before answering. “We don’t know Ahmed well enough to have him over.”