James
The day I first saw Milten, I was 13. He had shot goals at the regional match, and won for his team by miles. I had heard all about him from whispers between the other kids’ parents, which in the lead up of the game became less like whispers and more like gossip among the soccer mums. Everyone just expected that we were going to be head-to-head for the match. But I had an ego oversized for the space in my prepubescent brain and thought I would win the match.
I was pissed. After the game, I saw him in the change rooms, talking to his mates, and I purposefully bumped into him. I have always been a bad loser, and him being there got on my nerves. He’d turned to face me and asked me “What’s your problem?” to which I replied “Fuck off.” I saw the confusion in his face, and knew that we were never going to be friends. “Well I’m sorry you lost, but you should probably work on your attitude.”
I had grabbed my bag and walked straight out, deciding I would work harder, train harder, just to be better than him.
The following practice session after jarring Sunday weighed on my mind. Asher, Reece and I were messing around in the change rooms, discussing the latest in our lives but Max’s words from days ago were running circles around me.
“You look nervous James,” Reece brought up.
“I’m not nervous, what do you mean?” I was never nervous.
“You’re fidgety, and you only get fidgety when you’re nervous.” He answered, and Asher nodded along.
“I’m not nervous- ” Max Milten walked in the room “I’m just- just I’m fine.”
Never in my life had I let someone play with my emotions like Milten did. That was what I did, I was the one that fucked with people. I was never fucked with.
“Can I talk to you?”
Milten’s voice rang in my ears. I nodded. Reece and Asher oohed comedically, as Max led me outside.
“About last week,”
“You were right. Let’s just put it behind us.” I cut him off, I was already struggling to breathe.
“Okay.”
He didn’t even try to fight it.
Milten’s team won the practice match. We are, and always have been on different pages, it seems.
Before long, the rest of the off-season was over. The soccer season passed by in a blur of matches, sweat, blood and tears. Our final match, like history repeating itself for another year, was against Max Milten’s team. His presence bothered me, especially as we were both centre, neck-and-neck the whole game, but I pushed my feelings for him down to the depths of my mind and focused on the match.
Our team won the whole competition, bringing home a big, golden trophy for our collection.
I was elated, so proud of everyone for winning, I didn’t stop congratulating and cheering for a long time. The high of the win lasted for hours.
Coach Andrews called us all together with Max’s team, the runner’s up – to congratulate and discuss the next few weeks. He then began to tell us about the spring formal that we hold annually after the finals.
“So, as everyone knows I’m sure, we are holding a spring formal in two weeks to celebrate our amazing teams and wins. Everyone can bring one date, and you all better clean up damn nicely.”
Everyone laughed at that.
Out of the corner of my vision I saw Max laugh and watched him turn his head to look at me and my boys. I quickly tuned in to Asher and Reece’s conversation as they brainstormed potential date candidates.
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