Emerson Castell loves facts.
Enjoying the how and why of everything, she never fails to let her obsession seep into every aspect of her life, including her relationships - or lack thereof.
Leo Caruso is no stranger to a busy social life, but after...
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Sunday evening practice had grown more miserable as the weeks had gone by, because the sun set earlier and the air was bone-chilling without the help of the sun. But we were approaching the last game of the season, and if we wanted to end with an ounce of dignity, practicing wasn't optional.
As I sat back on the field, my hands leaning against the cold, stiff grass, I looked around for Santiago. All the texts I had sent him had gone unanswered the whole Thanksgiving break, and I'd even called him. Nothing.
An unsettled feeling coursed through me, but it was eased by the sight of him jogging down the length of the field. I pulled myself off the ground.
"Are you okay?" I asked. He stood in front of me now, and as far as I could tell, he wasn't dead. Dark bags weighed down his eyes, as if something had been keeping him up at night. He was a shell of the lively Santiago I had met almost three months ago.
He didn't answer verbally, instead giving me an unconvincing nod. He began to stretch, darting his eyes between me and the grass. "Coach hasn't started yet, right?"
"Dude, look, if something is going on, you don't have to hide it. I'm not going to judge." His head tilted upwards amid a calf stretch.
"Why do you think something is going on?" It was hard to read his tone, but there was a twinge of defensiveness.
"I don't want to say it's obvious, because maybe it isn't. But I'm not blind. Or heartless."
Santiago stood up straight once again and took a careful step forward. "Leo, you're not wrong."
"Wait—"
He stepped even closer and his voice lowered. "I would tell you, but you can't tell anyone. This—this is something not a lot of people know. And they can't know. Or else things won't end well in my family."
So it has to do with his family? "I won't say anything."
He paused once more, and at this point I was itching for him to just tell me. Because like I expected, the moment he opened his mouth, Coach Ed's voice boomed for us to make our way across the field.
I glanced at Santiago, but he took off in a sprint.
The beginning half of the practice was as mundane as the rest of them, and I wished Coach could've sent us all home, because I already was sure we were going to lose the final game of the season. Maybe I was pessimistic, but I like to call it pragmatism.
"Okay, guys!" Coach yelled, clapping his loud hands together, even though we were all within five feet of him. "Divide yourselves into two, and we're going to have a scrimmage. After that, our practice is over."
I was sure this scrimmage was going to go as usual, with no one understanding the art of passing and our goalie running at the sight of an airborne ball. You know, because that's not his position or anything.
