Thursdays After School

Four

"I KNOW YOUR FIRST SOCCER TRAINING DIDN'T GO WELL, and because you aren't telling me I can assume the same for the second one." says Dad, looking down at me, His voice isn't angry or accusational or upset. It just sounds blank, and the monotone he speaks in isn't helping.
      "No, it really did!" I protest, my normally deep voice becoming a squeak.
      Dad furrows his brow and looks at me. It's like he can see my emotions plastered across my face, but he needs to squint to see them properly. Me and my brother, Hadley, make jokes about how he squints when he's trying to read us, that lazer beams are coming out of his eyes, or he's about to fall asleep. But I - and probably Hadley too - make the jokes to draw attention away from the fact that it's uncomfortable, and feels like you're being scanned by a death-ray when you can't help it.
      "I don't think it did Keilani. Please tell me about it, and I'll believe you." he says. Once again, there's no emotion in his voice. Maybe that why he's impossible to read - because he reads people a lot himself.
      "Look, you can quit the team now. The quit date is today, but it closes while you're at training today. I can find you another team to play on, but you aren't allowed to go back to the Seekers, do you hear me?"
      I hear him. But instead of saying no the way I want to, I just nod. I can't quit now. I've had two trainings already, and I have a friend now. Maya is friends with me, and I like her back. I have to go through with this, not just because of pride. Because I actually have hope. Because I am not somebody who quits. I've never quit in my life.
      "No, please can I not quit!" I may as well be begging on my knees. I may as well be crying my eyes out and bawling. But I can't leave Accelerate. They won last season, and I have people I like on there. Well, a person I like. "No, it's going really great, and I have friends. So please, please can I stay on Accelerate?" It's more of a demand than a question really. I say this all quickly, as my voice goes up to the next decibel.
      "Are you sure this is what you want, because if you have a bad training, you can't leave the team. You have to be absolutely sure that you want this, okay? You can go to your room and think about it for a while if you want." he says. I can tell he's confused. I smile at the idea of Dad being confused. No more Mr Monotone.
      "I don't need to think about it. I'm sure. I love my team, and I want to stay. The coach is nice, the pitch is nice and the people are nice. So please don't move me back!" Most of what I just said is lying. The coach is nice, but they don't know how to train us properly. The pitch is horrible. The people on the team are the worst of all. But to persuade Dad, I need to tell him how amazing everything is, and why it is I want to stay.
      But do I want to stay? I could move to a fresh new team, and they would take me. Most of them would be nice soccer players, and I might even win some matches. Winning. That word sounds so good. Winning was a foreign concept when I was with the Seekers, but if I'm on another team, then I could win so much more, and feel that satisfaction that people tell me about all the time.
      And then I remember exactly who were the season premiers last year, and I go stiff. If I want to win, I stay with Accelerate. If I want to make friends without starting over, I stay with Accelerate. In fact, whichever way I look at it, I need to stay with Accelerate.
      "So how was your first training?" Dad asks. I suck in my breath through my teeth, a habit that comes out when there's something I don't want to say. And if I can pick it out, than Dad can pick it out too. He knows that I'm reluctant. He knows that I don't want to say. I wonder how many other things he can point out about how I'm feeling just from my body language. Does the way I'm crossing my legs tell me that I'm nervous? What about the way I'm clutching my knees? And could looking not into his eyes, but over his left shoulder tell me something about me? I have no idea, and I want to know it all.
      "Umm, yeah it was pretty good. The girls were nice, but the training itself wasn't very good." I say in a light conversational tone. It sounds too breezy if you ask me, but Dad doesn't notice it. Maybe he's more of a body-language person.
      But his forehead creases up again. "The training itself wasn't very good? What happened, was the coach mean? Did somebody hurt you?" as he asks this, I can see Mr Monotone finally melting around him. He's giving stuff away now, just as a normal person would. It puts meat ease instantly, knowing that he really is human.
      "Oh no, I just mean we ended up doing penalties and one vs ones the whole time." I assure him. But the lines on his forehead don't fade away to nothing. Instead they intensify, and get even deeper. I can tell he disapproves.
      "Is the team still good? Do they train fast?" he asks. I'm so glad that he's zeroed in on the training, not on the people that were part of the training. I can just keep him like this for al little bit longer, then he will go away entirely. And this won't be happening anymore.
      "Yeah Dad, the team's really good and fast. I guess they just picked it up really. Or they used to have a different coach. You do know that they're the premiers from last season right?" o say, just making sure he knows the vital facts, and that he really has been paying attention to my soccer matches and season.
      "Yes, I do know." he says in a way that tells me that he really doesn't know, and is just lying.  "So they're good? Are you sure everything is alright, because I get the feeling that there's something going on." he says the words 'going on' like I'm guilty of some terrible crime, when I know for sure that I'm not.
      "No, there's nothing going on." I say this so casually that I surprise myself. O didn't know that I could lie like this. I make a mental note not to lie to my team. Not that I ever had or ever would lie to them. Especially not when I'm trying to be cool and gain their approval. And I can't tell Dad that there is in fact something going on because then he'll bring it up with the coach, who'll bring it up with the team who'll just hate me even more. I need to be cool and laid-back, and they'll like me. Easy.
      "Good." says Dad. I wish I could be honest with him. I wish that I could trust him not to bombard me with questions and to know when to stop. I wish that I could tell him everything, and he in turn would be nice to me.
       But when he says good, I get the feeling that he doesn't quite believe me.