Saturday I woke up from the dream just after 6:00 a.m. so wide awake I couldn’t stand to be in bed anymore. Yes, I only slept from two to six—that was the norm these days. I once told my sister about my new sleep habits, but she had just shrugged it off. I haven’t brought it up again.
Almost everywhere else in the world, the further east you live, the sooner the sun hits your house in the mornings. That isn’t the case in the Salt Lake Valley because the tall Wasatch Mountains are on the east. The mountains shade the east side of the valley—the rich side—from the morning sun until after eight. So, opposite the rest of the world, the further west in the valley you live, the sooner the sun hits your house. Needless to say, I don’t live on the rich side. I live in West Jordan. So even this early in the morning my room was nice and bright.
I threw on my gym shorts, tank top, and running shoes. I stopped in the kitchen to grab a bit of cereal and a Gatorade before setting off on foot toward the high school football field. Yes, on foot. A few years back, some drunk in a company delivery van rear-ended my stepdad. Even though he has money from his settlement, he made it clear that Sis and I would never get a dime of it for a car. Mom gets some from him for Sis and me, though. Enough to cover my date money. She couldn’t swing a car, which was fine with me. I liked the exercise.
I looked at my knuckle. It wasn’t so split anymore. After only a single night it had a nice scab that already seemed ready to fall off. I tried not to dwell on the fact that none of my friends seemed to heal as fast as me. I shoved some ear buds in and started running toward our high school while listening to some Chris Daughtry.
Unfortunately, it was Saturday, so the turnout for our unofficial football practice sucked. Mike actually showed up, black eye and all. I just nodded at him as if I hadn’t smashed my fist into his face yesterday. Jason and Gunther were no-shows. Even with Mike playing quarterback for both teams, we barely had enough for five-on-five, so we didn’t have running backs. That forced me to play receiver. Luiz showed up, but the other jeeks didn’t. They must have stayed up gaming all night. Luiz was on the other team. He was a pretty good receiver but a better corner back, and did a good job of keeping the ball out of my hands all morning. The jerk.
“Next touchdown wins,” Luiz called because it was almost time to go.
It was fourth down and my team’s ball. I stepped to the line of scrimmage. I could smell the wet grass and feel victory in the air. “Hike,” Mike yelled. I went about ten yards and cut inside. Mike threw the pass my way and I reached for it but . . .
“¡Bloqueada!” Luiz waved his finger at me after batting down the pass. “It’s our turn now!” If he weren’t my best friend, I’d have knocked him on his backside.
On the other team’s first down, I stepped to the line, guarding Dylan, a fast defensive player who was also filling in as a receiver. Dylan was a pretty good middle linebacker, but he lacked height to play at the next level—and lacked the brains to be a jeek. I followed him uselessly down the field and watched the pass go the other way to Luiz. He caught it and spun around his defender, a nice juke move, allowing him to run the rest of the way to the end zone.
“Gooooooooaaaall!” he shouted, acting like it was soccer and sliding on his knees while stripping his shirt off. I went ahead and yelled and clapped for him. His team tossed some high fives his way, and a minute later, we were all on the sidelines taking off our cleats and getting drinks. As I untied my shoes, Dylan and a couple of his friends were talking about going wakeboarding later.
It was strange to think Dylan wasn’t bigger than me anymore. He was still thicker than me but I had him by two inches. Back when Luiz and I were in junior high, before we turned our geekdom into jeekdom, Dylan used to make fun of us. Now he was always trying to hang out with us. I think he was the reason I originally coined the term piss-ant. I didn’t really want to start hanging out with him now, but wakeboarding was too tempting to pass up.
I sat back on the grass with my arms behind me and let the morning sun hit my face. “I love wakeboarding,” I called over.
“You want to come, Jake?” Dylan asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I want to come, but I was going to hang with Luiz. It’s his day off.”
“Luiz can come too,” Dylan called back.
Works every time, I thought. “You in?” I turned and asked Luiz.
“I’ll come, but I’ll drive separate. I’m on call for the evening shift tonight. They might call me in for some emergency taco making,” Luiz laughed.
“Just tell us where to meet you,” I told Dylan.
Dylan put one hand through his sandy brown hair. His eyebrows lowered and pulled together—probably disappointed that I wouldn’t be riding with him.
“We’re going to Jordanelle Reservoir. Come around noon, and call me when you get close, so I can tell you which beach we are at.”
Neither Luiz nor I had a cell phone, but my sister just got one a few months back when she turned sixteen and started dating. I was definitely bringing her. There was no way I was leaving her home to suffer a Saturday alone with Mom and John. Besides, nobody ever complains about an extra girl—especially since my sister was what the other guys called DDG: Drop-Dead Gorgeous.
Ouch! What the . . . ? I grabbed my chest as something tugged painfully at my skin. I looked in my tank top, but again, I found nothing there but sweaty skin. It seemed like I should know what this feeling meant. It seemed like . . .
Am I being watched?
I had no clue why the tug made me feel like I had eyes on me, but it had. I looked around and didn’t see anyone until I caught sight of an old, white Chevy truck parked across the street. Coach Ferguson sat in it. He wasn’t allowed to coach us until August—state high school rules—but nobody could stop him from watching us. We’d been practicing all summer long, and I hadn’t seen him before. Had he been watching us every day and I just never realized?
“Hey, Luiz,” I said, nodding toward the truck. “Coach saw your touchdown.” Everyone looked and waved.
At this distance, I could barely see the hand gesture he made. He either flipped us off or gave us a thumbs up; it must have been the latter. I should have noticed that the tugging on my chest remained well after Coach drove away.