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First Chapter - Thunderbirds
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SoccerAfter snoozing too much, I finally drug my legs over the bedside and stood up as straight as I could manage. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I felt the sting of freshly needle-popped blisters. A few steps forward and I paused to curse. My legs still ached from doing hill sprints on Topeka’s only hill large enough to become a personal hell in the clingy heat of late August. My team barely won our semi-final game, so our pissed-off coach decided to punish us for most of the following week. Today, with one day to recoup (recoup meaning only a two-hour scrimmage for practice), we’d play in our region’s championship game against rivals who’d battered us for the last two years. With my teammates all sharing in my pain, I had little hope we’d change the streak. But who knows; adrenaline does funny things for an athlete.
Decidedly unmotivated, I hit a hot shower. I turned the spout until the water came out in one hard-pounding stream. The hot water slashed against my back, leaving red marks from its crude massage. Eventually, I turned off the water and opened the curtain. The cold air hit my body, causing a shiver. I reached for my towel and trotted back across the hallway to my room, feeling the pain with each step, but too cold to care. Losing the towel, I dove into my bed naked and tucked myself beneath the warmth of my heavy down comforter. For this was my body’s favorite part of every day.
After I had sufficient time to warm up, I once again drug myself out from the bed—muscles still aching but much more limber now. I dressed in my favorite pair of designer blue jeans and donned a plain black fitted t-shirt to offset any appearance of a blatant attempt at fashion. At Topeka High, it was ironically more popular to express fashion apathy than to embrace the latest trends. Mostly because the majority of the students lacked funds to shop anywhere other than thrift stores -- or Target at best. I wasn’t so unfortunate myself, but I did my best to blend.
I spent a half hour drying my stubbornly thick black hair and I tied it up in a ponytail and used a foot-long piece of rolled foam underwrap to hold back fly-aways. If it’s good enough for the boys’ team, it was good enough for me. (Only “uneducated” freshman girls ever showed up wearing pink-ribbons with their names written out in puffy-paint—much too west-side for my school.) I grabbed my backpack and soccer gear and headed down to breakfast. Something on the way down tickled my nose and I sneezed.
“Bless you,” said Mona, my grandmother—who was already frying egg whites and turkey bacon. I came to live with Mona when I was eight, after I lost both of my parents. (My father passed away in a motorcycle accident. Shortly after his death, my mother lost her mind. Seriously—she’s a total lunatic now. Mona put her up in Oak Ridge, a psychiatric facility in Wichita.)
Aside from her duties as my grandmother, Mona is the epitome of a wealthy Midwest socialite. Her money came from my deceased great grandfather who helped Frank Phillips found Phillips Petroleum Company. He met my great grandmother, a native Cherokee, on a trip to the see Seabiscuit win the 1940 Santa Anita Handicap and brought her back to Oklahoma as his wife. The whole thing sounds kind of romantic if you stop there. But the truth was that the interracial marriage only lasted long enough to thoroughly scandalize all of Bartlesville -- and to produce Mona. After the divorce, my great grandmother and Mona moved to Topeka to the house we live in now, alimony in tow. To add to the family fortune, Mona grew up and married a bank CFO. They bought a sprawling home on the west side of town and raised one child, my father. My grandfather eventually died from lung cancer, even before I was born. A few weeks after his death, Mona sold their west side mansion and bought out the owners who were living here. Now, with time and money on her side, Mona keeps herself busy attending countless ladies luncheons and serving on dozens of non-profit committee boards.
Yet for all the good she does for the community, she rarely shows me the same charity. Not that she is unkind, just unloving. I can’t blame her though; she’s lost everyone she’s ever really cared about. She and I are the only ones left.
“Morning, Chloe. I thought you might like a hot breakfast today. Big game tonight, right?” Mona attempted to add a smile, but as if rejecting the idea her lips only quivered a bit. Her attempts to be caring were comedic.
“Thanks.” I mumbled in her direction as I moved with great effort to pour myself a cup of joe.
“You shouldn’t drink so much caffeine at your age – it’ll stunt your growth.”
She always said that, I always ignored it.
Despite my desire for less conversation, she continued.
“After the game, shall we head over to the country club for dinner?”
I opened the pantry and searched for where I’d last hid my contraband Frosted Flakes (Mona was a health fanatic).
“Not unless there is room for 20 smelly girls. I think the team will want to celebrate together. Even if we lose, we still have the end of the season to cheer about.”
“Well, maybe tomorrow after we visit Judy we can grab burgers at Bobo’s.”
Mona never wanted to eat at a place like Bobo’s. It was an old-fashion drive-in only burger joint not far from our downtown neighborhood. My friends and I ate lunch there about once a week, but Mona turned her nose up at dining establishments that neglected offer white tablecloths, hot tea, and a steamed vegetable medley. If she was willing to bribe me with Bobo’s just to get some talk time, she was clearly desperate to discuss something she felt was important.
“Sure.” I mumbled again and rolled my eyes while I still had my back turned. The last time we had a heart-to-heart it turned out to be an awkward now-that-your-sixteen sex talk. She made a lot of references to various STD’s, birth control, and the effects drugs and alcohol have on a teenager’s judgment. Then she handed me a stack of pamphlets she must have picked up at one of her non-profit meetings. They were all stuffed in a bag with a year supply of birth control. It just went to show how little she knew about my life. But, at least it was a three-for-one talk; I figured we were good for at least another year. Plus, one of my teammates paid me fifty bucks for the birth control.
So, since we’d already hit on all the majors, I wondered what she could possibly want to discuss this time. I could have thought up an excuse not to go, but I knew how persistent Mona was when something was important to her. Whatever this talk was about, it would come whether I wanted it to or not. I might as well get a free burger out of it.
When I arrived, I found a handful of my friends slumped against our set of lockers. Most of them played on my club team as well as the varsity team at school. We’d all known each other since we were old enough to tie our cleats, which meant that we weren’t the most naturally compatible group of friends. We came from varied incomes, cultures, religions, and even neighborhoods— since several of them transferred into High so that we could stick together. Despite our differences, we were bonded for life by the common experiences: victories, losses, injuries, yellow cards (some red ones, too), unflattering tans, foot funguses, and the sweet smell of sweaty shin guards and muscle cream. We’d known each other for so long our periods had synched years ago.
One glance at them and I could tell they were as unmotivated as I was to play tonight against Club Lawrence. My best friend, Heather Frasier, smirked as I hobbled over.
“Looks like you’re feeling as good as the rest of us.”
I rolled my eyes as I slowly sunk down next to her, “How are we going to win like this? Every muscle in my body is pissed at Coach.”
The bell rang for class. Time to move again.
Literature was my final class on Fridays. I hated the subject, but looked forward to the company: Blake Johnson. Blake was the captain of our two-time state champion boys’ soccer team and the picture of male perfection from head to toe and everything in between. His sex appeal was bolstered by his athletic ability and how stunning he looked in his Trojan-embroidered black and gold warm-up.Despite our extra-curricular commonalities, Blake and I ran in different social circles. And under normal circumstances where seventeen-year-olds are allowed to choose their own seat in class, he would have sat in the back of the classroom with the toxically-inclined Heidi, Chelsea, and Brice, while I would have chosen a desk in front beside teammates Lori and Annie. But thanks to Mr. Ramsey’s OCD, I was assigned a seat behind Blake. While it made for the best opportunity I’d ever get to become acquainted with him, my plans for a seamless and quick seduction were beginning to seem futile. Every day I searched my brain for witty conversations starters—and every day my nerves got the best of me. I was all too aware of Heidi and Chelsea staring me down every time Blake and I spoke.
As class began, Mr. Ramsey’s work study helper handed out the results from Monday’s quiz over Romeo and Juliet. I received a perfect score, as I usually did. Mona was strict when it came to schoolwork and threatened to ban soccer if my grades ever fell below an A average. I snuck a glance at Blake’s paper. He’d received a D--same as last week. I guess you can’t have it all. I wouldn’t hold it against him.
This week we were reading The Scarlet Letter. I tried to keep focused on the lecture, but oh hell, what 17-year-old girl could have? Blake sat as he did most days with his right arm across his desk and his left hand dangling at his side. He was slouched back coolly yet making a real effort to take notes -- just on all the wrong things. I watched intently as he twirled his pen around during each of Mr. Ramsey’s key talking points -- perfection in every rotation. I willingly admit that I know very little about Blake and most of my obsession is based on unabashed superficiality on my part. Judge me as you will; the boy is like opium.
So as usual, after getting board with mere observations, I drifted into a Blake Johnson daydream. I had to pause a moment to think of where we’d go. We were a few weeks into the school year already, so I’d already had time to dream up the usual: dinner, a movie, his house, my house, a bonfire (Hey, it is Topeka--it’s not like we could go wind-surfing or parasailing on lake Shawnee). Today, I decided we’d break into my neighbor’s pool and have a late-night rendezvous. Small boobs aside, I didn’t look so bad in a two-piece, and I’d already seen him shirtless, so I knew that was good. With the pool lights creating a soft, blue glow on our skin, Blake swam toward me with a grin. My body pulsed at all the major touch points as he pinned me poolside beneath his arms. He leaned in and…
The bell rang in dismissal.
“Don’t forget their will be a test over this material on Monday.” Mr. Ramsey shouted over the clamor of exiting students. As this was the third test in three weeks, a few choice words came collectively streaming from my classmates. Someone pounded a heavy fist on their desk and another kicked a small metal waste basket out into the hallway. Stuff like that never rattles the teachers here. It happens so often that unless a student threatens bodily harm, everyone learns to tune it out, and eventually the wastebasket gets magically returned to its place.
The exit stood in the rear of the room, and as Blake and I filed down the isle of desks, several peculiar things happened. First, I got a funny feeling in my head. I felt a tingling and then the oddest sensation of my life. I could feel the edges of my mind as if it were a part of my physical body…something touchable. It felt like someone had installed a nervous system to run through my brain. I’ve never had a migraine, but I’ve known others who have. I’ve heard they are completely overwhelming. While I didn’t necessarily feel what I’d consider to be pain, I had no other explanation for the sensation. As soon as this happened, I also heard Blake speaking to me from behind. He said something about the quiz on Monday and how ridiculous it was. I could feel his distress.
Finally, the sensation in my head subsided and I realized I had yet to answer Blake. I was also standing frozen in the isle and was holding Blake up form exiting the classroom. I started forward again and turned my head slightly back as I spoke.
“I know, as if we don’t have anything else going on over the weekend.” (I rarely did have anything else to do on the weekend. My life was soccer and school.)
“What?”
When I turned fully around to make eye contact, he looked surprised. I glanced around to check if he’d been talking to someone else, but no one was in speaking distance. I figured out that must have been talking to himself and in my moment of head drama, I’d thought he was talking to me. Damn.
“Sorry, I was just saying that I agree.” I started to turn back around and walk away.
“Agree with what? I didn’t say anything.”
I turned back around. He was frowning at me now, but with a slightly amused curve about his perfect lips.
“I know, sorry. I thought you said something about all the tests we had on Mondays.” My face burned with humiliation. I swear I had heard his voice.
“I was thinking about it. I’m terrible at tests. I practically failed the first two. I don’t understand why we can’t write papers once in a while.” Blake tilted his head and then gestured toward the graded test in my hand. “Would you be willing to help me study this weekend? Edwards said you got the only perfect score on the last two tests. I’d just like a few B’s! I’ve had college scouts tell me I needed to pull my grades up to a C average if I’m going to play for them.”
He flashed an irresistibly bashful smile. It was unnecessary but appreciated.
I crossed my arms, trying to seem as casual as he did. “College scouts, wow. That’s great. Yeah, I could probably help. I’ve never tutored anyone, but I guess I can give it a try.”
“Great! Could you meet up tonight?”
“Uh, actually, my club team has a game tonight. It’s kinda a big one.” Even if he promised a make-out session, I couldn’t give up this game.
“Oh, that’s right. I have a cousin on the Lawrence team. She was talking about it online all week. Well, maybe we could meet up tomorrow at Barnes & Noble, say twoish?”
“Sure, twoish is good.” This was huge.
“Great! I really appreciate it. And good luck with your game, I hear the Lawrence forwards are badder than ever this year.”
I smiled cruelly, “Yeah, well tell your cousin to bring it—we’re not losing to them for a third straight year. I don’t care how bad my ass is hurting right now.”
He looked at me as if I was the oddest person he’d ever met, and then must have decided he could deal with it anyway. He clapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, “See you Saturday.” His touch held a magic that sent an electric current through my body that was better than any sexy daydream.
“Cool, see you then.”
I hadn’t noticed that as we talked, we’d also walked our way to the room’s exit. Blake was halfway down the hall when I finally snapped out of something resembling mild shock. I tried to piece together what happened. I wondered why my head had felt so strange.
Was it a migraine…or maybe a quasi-stroke? Did I just imagine it? No, it really happened. More important questions broke through my health concerns. Was I really going to meet Blake for a study session on Saturday? It was unbelievable! With that thought, I resolved to get my head back together and focus on the game ahead. I took a deep breath and darted for the refuge of my teammates.
The hype about Club Lawrence was just that. By halftime we were already up by two and we all had a lot left to give. For my teammates, just knowing it was the last game of the club season seemed to fill up their tanks. For me, it was the prospect of a study date with Blake that kept pumping my body with overwhelming excitement and adrenaline, even causing me to overshoot each time I cleared the ball to the midfielders. (Early in the game it worked to my advantage as our forward picked up my ball and ran it in for the goal. It’s not every game that a sweeper gets the assist!) While Coach could look past that one, he wasn’t pleased with my latest move. Two minutes out in the second half, I slid into a breakaway forward with more speed and strength then I intended. My legs overshot their target, the ball, and slammed the player’s ankles from the side. Thankfully, the ref let me off with a yellow card. But the Lawrence player nailed her penalty shot, narrowing our lead by only one. Before the end of the second half, each team posted one more point. With ten seconds left, it looked like we had the game in the bag. My team started celebrating the win as a Lawrence forward continued to push the ball downfield. I realized she was getting close enough to our goal to be able to put up a decent shot. I pushed up toward her and focused my attention intently on her foot movements, looking for any hint of which direction she’d break. When she was just ten feet away, my mind went funny again. Once again, I felt like the edges of my mind were stretching out from me.
“Okay, do what you know best, fake right and shoot to the left.”
When I heard the player plot her next move, I stopped looking at her feet and looked up at her face, mostly out of surprise. The player’s eyes quickly stole a glance over my left shoulder.
“Yes, the right is open for taking. I can get a perfect shot off from there. Oh God, hurry Brea you have only seconds to pull this off…”
I was staring directly at her face this time. I heard the words, but her mouth never moved. I felt my mind grab on to her anxiety and excitement. Fortunately, I tripped a bit and I was brought back to my own thoughts. How was I able to hear her without her lips moving? Was she doing some kind of freak ventriloquist act to mess with me? And why did my head feel so strange?
Whatever was going on with my head, I had a bigger problem on my hands. The girl was one sweeper and a goalie away from tying this game, and the sweeper was me. As she came within a few feet, I instinctively ignored her quick fake to my left and tracked with her as she tried to push to my right. It completely threw her off for me to read her moves so well. There went my ventriloquist theory. Within seconds I had the ball free of her feet and sent it soaring out of bounds. The clock ran out of time, and every thought about my head issues disappeared as my teammates rushed over and pinned me to the ground. When they finally let me up, Coach came over and joined the huddle of thankful teammates.
“That was a close one, Chloe!”
“Thank God you saw her coming!”
“We were all watching Katie do a handspring!”
“Those were sweetass moves -- you schooled her!”
“Yeah, it was like you read her mind!”
Or a more likely option: I was going mental like my mother. Perhaps she had the same experience before she lost control of her mind.
I did my best to push the whole ordeal from my thoughts. It was too much to process right now. After making my way out of the crowd of cheering teammates, I grabbed a squirt bottle of cold water. I dumped half of it on my head and drank the rest. I tore off my shoes, socks, cleats and ankle tape and threw on a pair of ratty flip-flops. Once I piled everything into my duffle bag, I headed over to the home team stands while my team accepted their trophy. I figured I better get going while they were distracted, or they’d never let me bail.
Mona was waiting by the stands with what looked like a measurable amount of pride on her face. Just seeing her think about me like that made my nose itch.
She side-hugged me as she spoke, “I guess all that time practicing paid off. I’ll see you at the house, kiddo. Don’t be a minute past eleven.”
“Actually, I think I’m going to skip on dinner with the team, my head feels strange today. I could use some sleep.” My adrenaline rush had to crash sometime and right now, I was as exhausted as much as I was troubled.
“Alright then kiddo, let’s go then, you do look worn out.” Mona patted my back and we turned to leave the field. As we walked to the car, Brea stomped by. She gave a weak smile, clearly pained by efforts to be sportsmanlike. I felt my mind reaching out again as I heard Brea’s angry voice, “Lucky Bitch.” I could feel her resentfulness as if it was part of my own thoughts. But just as quick as it happened, it stopped. I realized then that in my moment of insanity, I had stopped walking and stood staring, no glaring, at Brea as she nervously hurried past.
Mona showed no emotion and only nudged me to keep moving. “You really do need to get home to bed.”
Thunderbirds
By M.B. Watson
"These Thunderbirds are part of the Great Spirit. Theirs is about the greatest power in the whole universe. It is the power of the hot and the cold clashing above the clouds. It is blue lightning from the sun. It is like atomic power. The thunder power protects and destroys. It is good and bad; the great winged power…. It brings you power, but you have to pay for it."
American Indian Myths and Legends, 1984.