The Music of What Happens - Bill Konigsberg Page 0,112

I created the idyllic world of Natick in my head was that the reality didn’t include air-conditioning. Old building, I guess. My window and door were wide open as I tried to get some cross ventilation going, but it didn’t do much to cool the oppressive room or my sweltering pits. So as I stuffed my second empty duffel bag into the dorm closet, I decided on a shower, since I smelled like my expiration date had come and gone weeks ago. A guy zoomed by the doorway, then I heard the footsteps slow and stop. He came back. Standing at my door in a royal blue tank top was a tall, built kid with black hair, blue eyes, and shoulders to die for.

“Hey, guy,” he said. “We’re gettin’ a game going downstairs, do you … holy Jesus!”

“What?” I said, looking behind me.

“You look just like Schroeder.”

“From Peanuts?”

“What? No. This kid. Graduated last year. Megapopular. You could be his brother.”

“Oh,” I said, my heart pulsing fast.

“I’m the first to tell you that?” the kid said, revealing a flawless set of pearly white teeth.

I smiled back, dazzled by him. I hoped I wasn’t blushing. “You’re the first to tell me anything. You’re the first person I’ve met here.”

“You’re kidding. Well, come on downstairs. We’re playing touch football, could use another player or two,” he said. He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Nickelson. Steve Nickelson.”

“Rafe Goldberg,” I said.

“You comin’?”

“Um, sure,” I said. Showering could definitely wait.

We raced down the stairs, and when we got out to the quad behind the dorm, I saw a bunch of big, muscular guys standing around on the grass, tossing a football. Sort of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad come to life.

“So, okay,” Steve said, racing toward them. “Who’s this guy look like?”

“Your mama?” one kid said. Then the guys looked at me, and I saw a bunch of grins.

“Thought we were rid of the Schroedster already. Where’s he at, Tufts?” This came from a guy with a deep voice and acne all over his face.

“Yup.”

“What’s your name?” The comments and questions were coming so fast that I had no time to notice anything beyond the fact that I was facing a group of, like, twelve guys, all built, most very good-looking. They were a huge mass, a giant blob of testosterone.

“Rafe Goldberg.”

“Oh! You’re the new junior, right? Where you from?” a kid with stringy blond hair and a skater T-shirt said.

“Yeah. Colorado.”

“Right. Heard we had a new junior,” a very tan kid wearing an inside-out Patriots jersey said. “You playing?”

“Sure,” I said.

Introductions were barely made. It wasn’t that kind of scene. Deep-voice Acne Guy stuck out his hand and said, “Robinson,” so I said, “Rafe,” back to him. No one else offered.

“Yo! Colorado,” Steve said. “You fast?”

“Yeah,” I said. Other than skiing, that is probably the best thing about me, athletics-wise. I’m an average soccer player, and the crowd I hung with back in Boulder wasn’t much for pickup games of football. Here, though, maybe my crowd was?

They chose up sides. My team was Steve; the tan kid with the inside-out jersey, whose name turned out to be Zack; a quiet black guy named Bryce, who was wearing a T-shirt that read I WANT TO GO TO THERE; and a huge guy named Ben, who was twice as wide as me, with legs like fire hydrants.

“You get the ball first, ’cause you guys are gonna get your asses handed to you, anyway,” Steve said, and we went back to do “the kickoff.” I really wasn’t that familiar with football, so I decided my strategy would be to hang back and watch.

Steve kicked off, throwing the ball really high and far toward the other team, which was facing us. Then we all ran toward one another, the strong sun blaring down on us, the air thick like honey.

It turned out to be pretty fun. The guys on the other team tried to block us as we ran toward the one who caught the ball. One guy put his forearms up in front of him while I ran at him, so I tried to run around him. He knocked me in the chest with his arms one time, which nearly knocked the wind out of me. Then I looked over and Steve was slapping two hands on the guy with the ball, and the play was over.

While the guys on the other team huddled up, Steve told us all what to do. I was supposed to cover Robinson.