“This is so weird,” Chase said as Colin turned into the McGuire’s driveway and cut the engine. “I feel like a celebrity.”
“Tonight, my friend, you are,” he said, playfully punching his arm before he exited the car. Chase hopped out, grabbing his soccer bag and walking quickly up the drive with Colin behind him.
“I’m starving. Can we eat something?” Colin asked.
“Yeah, let’s grab something quick and then we can shower and head out,” Chase said as he opened the front door and turned into his expansive kitchen, looking over his shoulder at Colin. “I just want to get to this party.”
He turned back around and stopped short for only a second before he continued on into the kitchen, his eyes now downcast. “Dad,” he said, his voice lacking the inflection of surprise even though he had not expected to see his father there.
As he heard the sound of Colin coming into the room behind him, Chase couldn’t decide if he was more annoyed at having to deal with his father when he was trying to enjoy his good mood, or more embarrassed that his father was sitting in the kitchen reading the paper instead of at the biggest game of his high school career.
“Hey, Mr. McGuire,” Colin said from behind Chase, a hint of surprise in his voice. “I thought you had to work.”
Chase’s father did not lift his eyes from the newspaper in front of him, but rather he brought the paper up a bit higher, shielding part of his face. “I did. It was paperwork. I got it done in the home office.”
“Oh. Well, you should have come to the game,” Colin said, still riding his own high. “It was unbelievable!”
The silence that followed Colin’s enthusiastic voice seemed to pull the air out of the enormous kitchen, and his smile slowly faded as he glanced toward Chase.
Chase immediately turned away, giving undue attention to unpacking his soccer bag and tossing the dirty clothes into the adjacent laundry room, his hands fumbling with the simple task as he tried to make it quick. He just wanted to get out of there. They could get something to eat on the way to the party.
“It was amazing, Mr. McGuire,” Colin added, trying again, and Chase closed his eyes and exhaled softly. Stop, he thought to himself. Please, just stop.
“We were down two to nothing at the half, and then we scored with about five minutes to go, and then with six seconds left to the game, Chase scored the tying goal,” Colin said, slapping his hand on the counter, the excitement taking over his voice again. “But that’s not even the best part! The best part is, this kid then gets the ball and scores again like fifteen seconds into sudden death! You should have heard the crowd.”
Chase heard the rustling of a newspaper, his father’s exaggerated sigh.
“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Chase said dully, his back to the kitchen as he quickly zipped up his soccer bag.
Colin whirled on him. “Dude, are you kidding me?” he asked, his eyebrows nearly in his hairline.
“For once, I’m inclined to agree with my son,” Chase’s father said.
The room fell silent again, and Chase finally stood and turned, catching sight of Colin’s uneasy expression before his eyes landed on his father.
“I keep telling you, Chase,” his father said, his voice detached and his eyes still on his paper. “Do you really think soccer is what’s going to make you a great man? If you spent half the time and effort you put into that ridiculous game on something that was worthwhile, you might have been able to make a name for yourself at that school.”
Chase dropped his eyes before he turned away, his jaw flexing as he reached for the handle of the fridge, just to be doing something. He wasn’t even hungry anymore.
Did his father have to do this now? On the tail end of his victory?
Right in front of his friend?
“We have cold cuts,” Chase said to Colin, his voice straining with the effort to remain upbeat. “You want a sandwich?”
But Colin wasn’t listening; his eyes were focused on the man sitting at the island counter. “Um, with all due respect, Mr. McGuire, Chase’s name is known,” Colin said, and Chase knew his friend well enough to detect the irascibility behind the politeness in his voice.
Chase pulled his brow together, trying to focus on the food in the fridge instead of the conversation behind him. He knew Colin was trying to defend him, but to Chase, it was like watching a puppy playing on the side of a highway. He knew how it would end, and he didn’t want to watch.
“And not just for soccer,” Colin added. “I mean, he’s graduating in the top five percent of our class.” Colin’s eyes were wide, as if he couldn’t comprehend having to explain the merits of such a thing, especially to Chase’s father.
The newspaper rustled again, and Chase turned to see his father staring at Colin over the top if it.
“But not at the top, right?”
Chase closed his eyes and shook his head, wishing that Colin would just realize he couldn’t win, wishing that his dad would get fed up with the conversation and leave.
Wishing that he hadn’t come home in the first place.
“I’m sorry?” Colin asked, clearly unnerved.
“He’s graduating in the top five percent, but not at the top. There were kids above him, correct?” his father asked, his eyes still on Colin and his voice even.
Silence.
“That’s my point,” he said, folding his newspaper. “He could have done better. He should have done better.”
Chase closed the fridge and turned then, knowing he had to save his friend from what he had inadvertently started. Colin’s eyes were downcast, and Chase was relieved that he didn’t have to look him in the eyes.
“You want the shower first?” Chase asked, not even trying to maintain his cheerful façade now.
But before Colin could answer, Mr. McGuire turned toward Chase for the first time since they’d entered the kitchen. “A little focus is all I ask from you,” he said with a reproachful sigh. “I know you’re not worthless. I wish you’d stop acting like it.” And with that he stood and walked out of the kitchen without a backward glance.
It was quiet for a few seconds, the only sound being his father’s heavy footsteps fading down the hall, until Chase cleared his throat softly. “So…you want a sandwich?” he asked, turning back toward the fridge, his forced indifference pathetically transparent, even to him.
“No, I’m good,” Colin said softly. “You wanna just shower and get out of here?”
Chase didn’t answer. Instead he shut the fridge as he leaned over and grabbed his empty soccer bag, swinging it over his shoulder and walking briskly toward the stairs. He could hear the sounds of Colin following him, although he said nothing.
Chase walked past his room, throwing his bag haphazardly into the doorway as he continued down the hall to the linen closet, reaching in and grabbing two towels. He walked back toward Colin, tossing him one as he turned into his room.
“I’m sorry,” Colin said suddenly. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Chase forced a smile. “He would have found a way to make that point without your help. Don’t worry about it.”
Colin looked down, nodding softly as he turned the towel over in his hands. He was just about to turn and head toward the bathroom when he stopped and faced Chase again.
“Can you do me a favor?”
Chase looked up at him.
“Can you just try and remember how you were feeling ten minutes ago?”