Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,9

our left wingback, nodded from across the circle.

And then it was my turn.

“Today in Conditioning, this guy from the football team was being kind of rude to me.”

I couldn’t name Trent, because there was this rule for Circle: You couldn’t say anything bad about other people. At least not by name.

Even then, Coach Bentley opened her mouth like she was about to correct me, so I said, “But Gabe and Jaden had my back. And that was really cool. It meant a lot to me. So, thanks, guys.”

Next to me, Chip shifted back and forth on his feet, and his hand twitched in mine.

He had to know I was talking about Trent.

Right?

On my other side, Gabe bumped shoulders with me and then said, “Speaking of which, Darius stayed and helped me clean up my weights in Conditioning, even though he was running late. That was really cool of him. Thanks, man.”

I nodded and looked at my feet.

I wasn’t used to getting compliments from the guys at school.

My chest felt like a plasma reactor.

I wanted to cry—just a little bit—but managed not to. I didn’t want to have a stuffy nose for the start of the game.

When we finished, Coach Bentley counted to three, and we all shouted together.

“Go Chargers!”

* * *

We were ahead by one, thanks to some excellent goalkeeping by Christian and a sweet goal in the first half by Gabe, but by the last few minutes of the second half, the Crestwood Spartans were living up to their names by not giving up.

I played sweeper for our team—a position Coach Bentley said I was uniquely suited for, whatever that meant—and the Spartans had been hammering our defense, trying to get a goal in.

I was drenched in sweat. My black shorts were stained green, the result of a tricky (but successful) slide tackle against one of Crestwood’s forwards. Sohrab had taught it to me, back in Yazd.

A few minutes later, that same forward slipped around Jaden and faked out Chip, but it was like I got a sensor lock on him. When he dove to my left, to take a shot at our goal, I dove with him.

I got a kick to my shin, but my guard caught it, and I managed to send the ball offsides.

Still, I groaned. The guard caught the worst of it, but I was going to have a nice-sized bruise.

“Hey.” Chip jogged over to me. “You okay?”

I flopped over onto my back. “I think so.”

Chip offered me a hand up.

“You sure?”

I stepped back and forth a few times. The pain was starting to fade.

“I’m sure.”

Chip bumped my fist. “Nice save.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

We won the game, 1–0.

I had never seen Coach Bentley smile so much in all the months we’d been practicing.

After we shook hands with the Crestwood Spartans, I ran over to the stands where Mom and Dad were waiting for me, with Laleh in tow behind them.

Despite me being disgustingly sweaty, Mom pulled me into a hug, but she definitely didn’t kiss me.

Dad laughed, though, and planted a kiss right into my messy hair.

“Good game, son,” he said. “Green’s a good color on you.”

“Thanks.” I looked down at my grass-stained shorts and arms and then back up. “Maybe I have a future as an Orion slave dancer.”

“Might need to work on your dance moves a little.”

“Hey!”

“Really, Darius. You looked great out there. Like you were having fun.” He mussed my hair and rested his hand on my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.”

I got that burning plasma reactor feeling in my chest again, but I managed to smile too.

“Thanks, Dad.” I knelt down so I was level with Laleh. “What did you think? How’d I do?”

“Good,” she said, but then she coughed into the crook of her elbow.

“She wouldn’t stay home,” Mom said. “But at least her fever broke.”

“That’s good.”

I turned back to Laleh.

“I’m glad you came.”

She nodded at me and gave me a weak smile, but then she coughed again.

“We’d better get you home. I’m gonna shower.”

“We’ll get your bike loaded up,” Dad said. “Meet us in the parking lot?”

“Sure.”

“You hungry?” Mom said. “You need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks, Mom.”

I ran to catch up with the other guys as we did a warm-down and some stretches and then headed for the locker room.

Chapel Hill High School had nice showers, where we all got our own stall, but the shower heads were apparently made for Student Athletes shorter than I was. I had to bend down to get my head under the spray, and