Score Page 10

  “You worry too much,” I said. “No-one will give it a second thought. I’m just getting a tour of the grounds from an employee. Worst case scenario, they will find out you happen to be my stepsister.”

  “No, the worst case scenario is they spot the way I look at you, and realize there is something going on between us.”

  “Well you’re just going to have to control that look of lust and desire in your eyes while we’re out in public,” I joked.

  Jenny smiled, but only after looking around to make sure no one had heard. New Yorkers rarely paid much attention to other people’s conversations. Unless you walked into them they wouldn’t even acknowledge your existence.

  We hopped in a taxi and took the short ride to the stadium. I’d heard rumors of how much it cost to build the stadium, but I was still blown away when we pulled up outside. A fair chunk of the money must have gone towards purchasing the land in such a central location, but even so, the stadium was on par with many of the newer ones in Europe. It was better than the stadium I currently played in, which was over one hundred years old at this point.

  The staff at the stadium were expecting us, so it only took a few minutes to get through security.

  “Where do you want to start?” Jenny asked. “I’m not sure what you care about most. The changing rooms? Fitness center? Medical cent...”

  She trailed off and looked down at her feet as she no doubt remembered that this tour was not real, and that because of my tumor I would not have a chance to complete this signing.

  “The changing rooms aren’t that important,” I said, “and the fitness centers in stadiums are rarely used because most of that will be done on a separate training complex. There are only two spots I really care about. The view the fans have and the feeling of walking out onto the pitch.”

  “Okay, we’ll start with the stands,” Jenny said, as she pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and unfolded it.

  “Is that a map of the stadium?” I asked, laughing slightly.

  “Hey, I haven’t been here before either,” Jenny said. “I’m as new to all this as you.”

  “Follow me,” I said, heading towards the nearest set of stairs that led out to the terraces. We emerged behind one of the goals, about halfway up the stand.

  In England, the most highly sought after seats were those nearest the designated section for the away fans. The atmosphere around that section tended to be electric, as the two sets of fans competed to insult each other through the medium of ‘songs’ and to generally make things as uncomfortable as possible for the opposing team.

  There weren’t as many away fans in the US because of the huge distances most teams had to travel to play games, so away fans just tended to mingle in with the home fans. That would never fly in Europe; there would be huge fights and riots within minutes.

  I sat down on one of the seats and took in the view. The stadium had a retractable roof and everywhere you looked provided a reminder of how much had been spent to build it, from the comfortable chairs to the food stands that looked like they actually served food people wanted to eat.

  Comparisons to stadiums in Europe were perhaps a little unfair. This stadium seated no more than forty thousand people, probably less, whereas the new stadiums in Europe tended to be much bigger.

  At least this was a purpose-built soccer stadium. I hated the ones where a football field—or worse, a ballpark—was converted temporarily into a soccer field for a few games. You could always still see the original lines on the field and it just never felt right. Soccer might not be that huge in the US, but New York United was certainly taking steps to change that. I had to remind myself that I wouldn’t be moving here anyway, no matter how nice the facilities might be.

  “Let’s sit down for a bit,” I said to Jenny. She looked somewhat awkward standing by the seats and I wondered whether she had ever been to a sporting event at all, let alone a soccer game.

  “The field is larger than I expected,” Jenny said as she sat down. We were in the shade, but it was another humid day in New York and Jenny looked hot already.

  “Yeah, soccer fields tend to be bigger than football fields and that throws people at first. This is not as big as the one I play on back in England, but it’s a decent size nonetheless.”

  “Isn’t there a fixed size for the fields?” Jenny asked.

  I shook my head. “No, not really. They need to be within certain dimensions, but there’s quite a lot of variety. When my club plays against some of the smaller teams in cup competitions, we end up playing on some rough pitches which are more mud than grass. In fact, the first club I played for in England played on a bad pitch. The stadium only seated ten thousand, and it was half empty most of the time.”

  “I remember you said you played in England for three years. I suppose before going there you had the brain surgery, which is why you weren’t there the entire four-year period.”

  I nodded and smiled as I remembered my slip of the tongue from when we’d had coffee. “Yes, that’s correct. After the treatment it took me a while to get fit again, so I had to sign for a smaller club instead of the Premier League team that had originally taken an interest in me. I quickly moved up the divisions and ended up signing for a better team anyway, so I guess things worked out. The team I would have signed for ended up getting relegated and aren’t in the Premier League any more either.”

  “How do teams get relegated?” Jenny asked.

  “By finishing in the bottom three,” I replied. “We don’t have the whole promotion and relegation thing in US sports, so it’s a tricky concept to get your head around. I like it though. It keeps all the teams on their toes; every team has something to play for. You’re going to have to learn all this stuff if you keep working for New York United.”

  “I can’t imagine they’ll keep me on for long after this transfer mess has run its course. Besides, I do know a bit about soccer. Not the business side of things, but I do know how the game is played.”

  I looked at Jenny and raised my eyebrows in disbelief. “You know about soccer?”

  “You don’t have to look so surprised. I’m not a complete idiot.”

  “I never thought you were an idiot for a second, but I didn’t think you were into soccer at all.”

  Jenny shrugged. “I learned the basics when I first met you. I planned to surprise you one day with my knowledge, but then… well, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. Well, you can surprise me now. How about a pop quiz? I know you must love those, being a top student and all.”

  “I’ve probably forgotten most of it now,” Jenny said. “It’s been four years, and I did my best to avoid all talk of soccer during that time, even during the World Cup. It reminded me too much of you.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered helplessly. “I’m going to test you anyway. Let’s start with the basics. What’s a penalty?”

  “Easy. That’s when a player is fouled in the box and gets to take a kick from that spot there.” Jenny pointed to the penalty spot by the goal nearest us. “Most of them are scored, but the goalkeeper saves them sometimes.”

  “Impressive. What happens when a player from the team defending the goal kicks the ball out of play behind the goal?”

  Jenny paused for a few seconds before replying with “the attacking team gets to kick the ball in from the corner.”

  “Okay, final question. Explain the offside rule.”

  “It’s something to do with not being able to pass the ball to players that are too far up the field. I also know that it’s complicated and changes all the time, so I bet you couldn’t even explain it yourself.”

  I laughed. “You might be right there. That’s why I play as a defensive midfielder most of the time—that way I don’t have to worry about it too much.”

  Jenny turned and look back out at the field. “I want to watch you play one day,” she said, her voice so soft I could barely hear her.

  “Jenny, that might not be possible.”

  �
��I know, I know. But I want to. Get better. Recover from this disease and get back out on the pitch. I don’t care if you play for New York United, your current club, or some lower league team. I want to see you play.”

  “It’s only fair, I suppose. You went to the effort of learning the rules, so the least you deserve is to see me play.”

  “Learning is my thing,” Jenny said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a far better student than… whatever it is I am now.”

  “Nonsense. This is the best tour of a football stadium I’ve ever had. Besides, I found out the other day that you’re not the infallible student you always made yourself out to be.”

  Jenny frowned and stared at me. “What do you mean?”

  “Mom told me about the problems you had with those Arabic classes.”

  Jenny turned a ghostly shade of white and I realized that my attempts to tease her might have been a little too close to the edge. Saying that she wasn’t the perfect student would be like insulting my ability on the soccer pitch. Thousands of people did that on a regular basis, but Jenny likely wasn’t used to hearing the criticism.

  “I didn’t fail those classes,” Jenny said.

  “You don’t have to pretend for me. I like that you aren’t perfect. It makes you human.”

  “I didn’t fail those classes,” Jenny said again. This time there was a touch of anger in her voice, and I got the distinct impression she was telling the truth.

  “Mom saw your transcript,” I said. “You got F grades in all the classes related to Middle Eastern studies and you didn’t do too well in Arabic language classes either.”

  “The professor failed me, but I didn’t fail,” Jenny said, as if that cryptic response was supposed to be an explanation.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. Now I knew how Jenny had felt when I’d tried to explain my secrets to her, only to make things more confusing in the process.

  “There was nothing wrong with my work in that class, but the professor failed me anyway.”

  “Why? Perhaps it was a mistake? You hear about things like that happening all the time. Maybe he entered the wrong grade in the system and never realized.”

  Jenny shook her head. Her hands were gripping her thighs and I realized something was wrong. I placed my hand on hers and squeezed gently to let her know I was there for her.

  “The professor failed me,” Jenny said slowly, “because I wouldn’t have sex with him. I turned him down and he made my life a living hell.”

  Jaxon tried to control his anger at my words by taking deep breaths through his nose. Sat here in the empty stadium, the noise sounded deafening, as if it could have drowned out the chanting of forty thousand people on match day.

  His hand squeezed mine so tightly I eventually had to pull it away before he crushed my fingers. He didn’t realize he was doing it, and continued squeezing my thigh after I had released my fingers from his grasp.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said when he finally spoke. Each word took all his composure and energy to speak aloud. I rarely saw Jaxon lost for words, but this was definitely one of those times. Even when he’d been telling me about his illness, he’d been able to smile and joke about it. He wasn’t joking any more.

  When he’d told me what happened four years ago with Emilia, I’d been so pleased to find out Jaxon hadn’t cheated on me that I’d forgotten the bigger problem. Four years ago he’d kicked me out of his life because he didn’t want me to go through the trauma of being close to someone who might die, but then he had planned to do it again. That could only have meant one thing, but all I’d wanted to do was kiss him.

  Four years of hating Jaxon had washed away in seconds and suddenly I’d found myself sitting there on the bed with him as if none of it had ever happened. I hadn’t felt exactly like I had the first time—I wasn’t a virgin any more for one thing—but the nerves and excitement were both coursing through my body in a similar manner.

  When he’d left the room, my brain finally put the pieces together and accepted that things were not just going to suddenly be perfect. Even ignoring the fact that he was my fucking step-brother, there was also the issue that he was ill. Seriously ill. No amount of kissing him in my bedroom was going to change that.

  I’d never planned to tell him about Professor Kingsly, but the news seemed small and almost insignificant next to Jaxon’s illness. As soon as I confessed to Jaxon, I realized I should have kept my mouth shut.

  What happened to me was nowhere near as bad as having a brain tumor, but it was still a big deal and I could feel Jaxon’s fury via his heartbeat, which was strong enough to feel in the palm of his hand as he squeezed my thigh.

  I should have just let him think I’d failed the class. It wouldn’t have been a big deal; Jaxon hadn’t exactly been a star pupil at school, and my overall GPA was good even with those bad grades. I would have graduated summa cum laude instead of just cum laude had those grades been in the A range, but that wouldn’t have made any difference in my career.

  Jaxon was staring at me, waiting for an explanation. I couldn’t lie my way out of this one, and shouldn’t feel the need to do so anyway. I wasn’t proud of my actions, but I didn’t deserve what happened to me.

  “I signed up for a load of classes related to Arabic studies,” I said, starting from the very beginning. I still didn’t know how to explain what happened and wanted to buy myself some time. “You probably remember that was a bit of a fascination of mine.”

  Jaxon nodded. “I remember you learning the language. You must have been quite good at it, because I overheard you speaking to the woman down the street once, and she looked delighted at how well you spoke.”

  “I think she was just being polite,” I remarked. Mrs. Darzi was from Lebanon, and when she’d seen me carrying a textbook on intermediate Arabic she hadn’t let me go until I’d given her a sample of what I’d learned. My pronunciation wasn’t great; some of the words require sounds that I don’t think my tongue is capable of making, like how I couldn’t roll my ‘r’s in Spanish. Still, she understood me and promised to help whenever I needed further practice.

  “Stop being modest,” Jaxon remarked. “You know you were good.”

  “Okay, I was good. Anyway, I signed up for any class related to the Middle East or the Arabic language, but there weren’t many. Not enough for it to be a major, but enough for a minor. The first few went well and I didn’t get any grades lower than an A minus. Then I signed up for some classes being offered over the summer. Harvard was adding more and more Middle East classes to its curriculum, and I thought there was a chance to end up with a double major by the end of the four years if they kept increasing at that rate.”

  “Good idea,” Jaxon said. “You wouldn’t want to end up with just a normal degree from Harvard. What use would that be?” He forced a smile and I appreciated the effort at some humor, even though I could tell he wasn’t really in the mood for joking around.

  “Exactly,” I replied. “I’d never live it down. The summer professor primarily taught history focused on colonial Africa, but she’d developed an interest in the Middle East and wanted to start teaching in that area as well. She’s a well-known name in her field so I was excited at the opportunity to learn from her.”

  “She?” Jaxon asked. “Didn’t you say the professor was a man? Not that it makes a difference,” he quickly added. “Attempting to blackmail you for sex is horrible either way of course.”

  “The professor who was supposed to teach the course was a woman, but then she announced she was pregnant and her maternity leave coincided with the summer.”

  “So Harvard brought in a male professor to cover the classes?”

  I nodded. “Exactly. He didn’t speak Arabic and his area of expertise was more along the lines of economics, but he had experience dealing with countries in the Middle East for business. He switched up the courses to focus on contemporary studies, but that was fine with me. I just wanted to learn.”

  “What was h
is name?” Jaxon asked casually.

  “No way,” I replied. “I’m not telling you his name.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you will try to find him and beat him up or something.”

  “Only if he deserves it.”

  “He does, but I’m not telling you anyway. Besides, he’s not teaching any more, so that’s punishment enough.” He wasn’t teaching because he was working for the private sector instead and likely earning more money, but I decided not to tell Jaxon that piece of information.

  “Good. So what happened when you started taking courses with him?”

  “At first, nothing. He taught the classes and I probably didn’t stand out at all. I did raise my hand and ask or answer questions, but so did a number of other people. After a few weeks, when the material started getting more in-depth, I went to his office hours to get his opinion on things. But again, I wasn’t the only one doing that.”

  “I imagine diligently attending office hours is pretty much par for the course at Harvard.”

  “Exactly. Anyway, one time in his office he mentioned that he was hosting a gathering at his house for students. He said he liked to get to know students outside of school, and said it would be something casual one weekend in the afternoon.” I could tell Jaxon was desperate to speak and I had a feeling I knew what he wanted to say. “Before you say it, no I was not suspicious, because he said he was inviting other students from the class as well. He even put a notice up on the online message board.”

  “Let me guess,” Jaxon said, “you were the only one to turn up?”

  I nodded. “He sent us all an email with directions to his house, but I guess he sent another email to everyone else pretending that the event had been cancelled.”

  “Couldn’t you have just left when no-one else showed up?”

  “I could have, but I felt sorry for him. At the time, I thought everyone else had just failed to show up and thought he might be embarrassed. I intended to stay for an hour, and then make my excuses and leave.”