Preath: Head In The Game [Complete]

5: I Can't Stop Saying Protocol

I grabbed a ball. "Have you ever played soccer tennis?"

"I don't think so," Christen replied.

"I'll show you. It's just tennis with a soccer ball."

Somebody had clearly pulled a Karen down in the front foyer, probably over something stupid like a leaky faucet, because there was nobody behind the front desk. I went on the other side of it and the desk became our net. We began heading the ball back and forth and Christen's competitive spirit re-ignited.

"Ay!" A voice shouted. "Whatcha doin' back there?"

Oops. I looked at Christen and we both bolted for the door.

The air outside was a little cool coming off of the lake and the sun had set, leaving only faded pinkness in its wake. I was experiencing what I referred to as "soccer body" from the long day of training, but though I was tuckered out, somehow I was light as though the breeze was the only force necessary to move me along. Perhaps my muscles were numb, or perhaps it was purely Christen's vitalizing magnetism keeping me afloat.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked.

"I bet there aren't many people at the beach."

"Perfect." The beach was less than an hour-long walk, and, honestly, the longer I got to be with Christen the better. Her presence, I knew, would never quit thrilling me.

There was no proper sidewalk to keep her walking close to me, but she did anyway. Actually, she nearly bumped right into me.

"Sorry," she said. "I have a bad habit of running people into the road."

"You spend your life running around defenders," I said. "I'd be surprised if you still knew how to walk straight."

"I can't walk straight at all."

Eventually we came to a little park on our way. The trees were beautiful but the benches and playground equipment was ancient.

"There's something I've always loved to do," Christen said, running up to one of two little speaker-shaped tubes attached to the playground. "Go to the other megaphone thing."

"What're these really called?"

"I'm not sure. I think they're called telephone funnels or something like that."

"Interesting." I put my ear up to the other funnel, about twenty metres away in time for Christen to say, "Hello Tobin."

"Hi Christen," I said.

"You can call me Chris." The tube gave her voice a walkie-talkie quality.

"Alright, then what'll you call me?"

"What do you like to be called?"

"Hmm... anything but Toby."

"Okay, Toboggan."

I chuckled. "You know, I never thought these things actually worked. Every time I tried to use one with a friend as a kid the other children were too loud so we had to shout. I just thought they were fake."

"Not fake."

"I sound like an announcer," I said. "'Ball falls to Heath. She has some space and she takes it. Cross into Press, brings it down and GOOOOOOOAL! Hammered into the top right corner by Press! The keeper couldn't reach it!'"

"I love that," she said, then she lowered her own voice. "'Press goal! Heath assist! USA one... Antarctica nil!'"

"That's the first place you thought of?" I laughed. "You think there's a bunch of people in Antarctica playing soccer in winter boots and twenty layers of socks?"