Obscure

Chapter 5

"Camouflage"

     You're worst nightmare.
     It takes only five minutes into practice before I decode the cipher of Genevieve and Wren. The man on the phone I presumed as the nice guy is anything but. Off the field he may be a great person but on the field, he's the devil.
     I was an innocent jogger. Running a lap at an easy pace to warm my muscles and save energy for practice. I froze in place when a tall man looked behind me, yelling in my ear to run faster. It was startling but I had no reason to be terrified until the same man was in front of me, commanding me to make up for my slow place by running another lap. As I ran, he shouted a promise.
     "You're not playing on my field until you run a good lap!"
     I thought he was joking. After I had ran almost a mile and a half, I found out he was not.
     That was just the warmup. At that moment I concluded I didn't sign up for another soccer team, I had involuntarily joined a bootcamp that lasted a year long.
When we had finished warmups, my energy had been drained. I still had to go through practice so somehow I had to muster up the courage to get through whatever else the General threw my way. At the time, the idea of practicing in the humid weather in my tired state seemed impossible and the closest thing to death I could get. I needed something to hold on to. A reason to keep going. Something to push me. While Wren, Genevieve and I were on good terms we weren't that close. We hadn't even known each other for twenty four hours. It's absurd to fathom some friendship between us three because as far as they're concerned, I'm a stranger in their posse.
     I don't believe in God or a grand puppeteer pulling the strings behind the scenes. The thought of that scares me, but I can't deny that there's some strange force working things together in the background because something heard my silent prayer.
     In the distance, kicking around a ball in the neighboring field, there was a tall figure. He was too far to see from where we set up camp on the girls' field. When I wasn't needed as a player, my eyes dared to wander to where he was. I was drawn to this mysterious person for some inexplicable reason. Thinking back now, it only supports my growing theory on a possible higher authority.
     The next piece of evidence was the near-death experience I almost encountered thanks to this unnamed stranger.
     A dirty soccer ball came hurtling straight to the group of girls I was playing with, or more specifically, to me. They saw the ball in the air and scattered like birds while I remained oblivious to the flying UFO and it's target. By the time I realized, it was too late. The mud crumb coat of the soccer ball had splattered all over me. Leaving my face, practice jersey, and bare, goosebump-ridden legs covered in splotches of earth.
     I became the perfect damsel in distress. Laying on the ground, hurt and confused. These things do not make me a weak woman but rather any other capable human. I stood back up on my own two feet by my own accord. In my peripheral, I could see the disapproving glare of the General. I tried to ignore it and distract myself by wiping off as much of the dirt as I could.
     Of course, being the victim of a loose, killer ball can happen to any one and has no important value. The moment of essence was the exact time of four fifty three.
     After cleaning up as much of the dirt as I could with my hands, I checked the time. The gears in my mind were shifting, estimating when I would have access to a shower to clean up or if I even would have time to spare to do so before the dining hall closed for the days. When I looked up, prepared to resume practice as if I hadn't been hit or marked, the person from before was standing in front of me.
     Looking at him, he was a breath of fresh air. His existence alone is another reason there is a possibility of a mother nature. He stands in front of me now, panting as his body recovered from his full blown sprint just seconds ago. Memorizing his face, I begin to note how and why.  Each reason links to his shy demeanor. A mirror of myself and the individual that hides in the shadows. I can tell by the way he can't look in key eyes and trips over his words. I don't get aggravated at his long, interrupted sentences. I empathize with his struggle to try to find the right words to leave his comfort zone to converse with a stranger.
    "I am so sorry. Are you okay? Does your head hurt?" He finally manages to say. I'm pulled out of my trance forced to register what happened. To think it out and process it in my head. He groans at my delayed response, immediately stringing our curses for his carelessness and repetitive apologizing. He doesn't stop until the General clears his throat. His back is to the legend himself, barring him from seeing the terrifying expression he holds. His nostrils are flaring, his eyes burning with rage. I wince when the boy dares to meet the General face to face, horrified for what lays ahead of him.
      The fire in his eyes are extinguished immediately when the boy turns around. Any and all traces of anger vanish from his face and are replaced with the same deceiving smile I once believed. The same nice guy I conversed with has began to reappear only this time I can see the silicone of his smile.
     "Mr. Cunningham, what a pleasant surprise!"
     I scan the crowds of girls pausing to watch the two males. None of them seem shocked by the General's change in mood. Perhaps his alternative personality is not something new to the girls, but it is for me. The girls aren't even phased by the presence of the supposed 'Mr. Cunningham.' They don't admire him or awe at him. Their stone cold faces gives me the impression that they don't like our practice's new addition. I must be seeing things and misinterpreting. Mr. Cunningham doesn't strike me as a person to resent. His soft eyes and cheeky smile rather give me a sense of friendliness. I mean, the guy barely looks like he can hurt a fly.
     They continue to talk for twenty minutes. I begin to realize this is coming out of my practice time and understand the disapproval of the girls. I may have been tired but the time to rest is out of practice not during but now, because of Mr. Cunningham, practice has been cut short. Before, he may have been refreshing but now he was a nuisance and an obstacle to my training. No doubt he only caught my eye because he wasn't an old, bitter man invading my space.
     My disapproval for him grows when practice is cut short. I jog back to the locker room with the other mad girls. It's my first day and it's been ruined. The repeating variable to its failure? A boy.