Andrew Smith - Winger

Of course I was crushed, but I knew better than to say anything or try to plead with Coach. That’s just something you never do on the sideline of a game. At least Bags was wearing number sixteen and I got to keep the eleven, so everyone knew who the real left wing was. That’s how numbers work in rugby: a player doesn’t pick his number, his position on the team determines that, and it’s something that never gets messed with. So all I could do was watch the game start from the sideline and just hope that by some miracle I’d get a chance to sub in.

Joey was standing there with us when Coach M made his decision, and I could see he was upset about the call, because he looked like he felt sorry for me too. But he shook Bags’s hand and said, “I’ll be looking for you out there,” and then he said, “Sorry, Ryan Dean, Coach is just being careful,” and he tapped the bandage on my head.

“I know that, Joey, but I still totally hate JP.”

“You remember how I told you to get your shit together? Well, Megan couldn’t stop talking about you last night. So when’s it going to happen, Ryan Dean?”

Then Joey ran off to his spot on the field, and all I could do was watch the game begin.

The worst part of it, worse than Joey’s scolding—because I knew he was right—was that it was the kind of game I love to play in. Our teams were so evenly matched, and every time it looked like a score was about to happen, the other team would crank up its defense and force a turnover. So it went that way, scoreless, for almost the entire thirty-five-minute half, and then finally JP got called on a dangerous tackle and Sacred Heart scored a penalty kick just as the half ended, to go up 3–0. And I was kind of glad that JP was the one who gave up those points, because everyone could see how terrible he felt about it.

Bastard.

In rugby, halftime only lasts five minutes and the players are not allowed to leave the field. And unlike other sports, there are no substitutions where a player can go out and come back in, which, I think, is one of the reasons the football team hated us so much—because rugby players had to be in such better condition than players in just about any other sport. During halftime, though, Coach brought the team in and said, “Bags is coming out. Ryan Dean, mind your head,” and that absolutely made my day.

Joey shook my hand, and I pulled him close to me and whispered, “Look, I swear I will take care of the Megan thing as soon as I can. Just get me the ball.”

“Okay,” he said.

And he did. About five minutes into the half, Joey skipped the ball past both of our centers, right into my hands, and all I had to do was beat the opposing winger, who had no chance of catching me. I centered the ball right between the posts and put it down to score a try, and I did think about Annie as soon as I got to my feet.

Seanie was our team’s kicker, and he scored the conversion, so PM went up 7–3. We chest bumped each other after his kick, and Seanie laughed, saying, “I think that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever done.”

And I said, “No, it’s not even close. You wrote me a haiku and you asked me how my balls were yesterday, remember?”

The score stayed locked at 7–3, and we ended up winning the game.

We had to shower and change back into our ties before the postgame social. The food was great, and the best part of the afternoon was that the Sacred Heart boys all had cell phones and Coach let us borrow them to call our parents and tell them about the game.

I borrowed the phone from the number fourteen winger, the boy I outran to score my try, and he was real nice about it too, but he did promise they’d even it up against us when we played them during the regular season.

And yes, cell phones apparently can be used to dial directly into hell, because my call went something like this:

MOM: Hello?

RYAN DEAN WEST: Hi, Mom. It’s me, Ryan Dean.

I always said that on the phone, like there was someone else who might call her “Mom,” even though I don’t have any brothers or sisters.

MOM: Oh my God, baby. Are you hurt again? How’s your head?

I was never allowed to call during the week. PM rules.

RYAN DEAN WEST: I’m fine, Mom.

I wasn’t about to say anything about the Band-Aid-on-the-balls thing. God! Who would ever have the guts to talk about something like that with their mom ?

RYAN DEAN WEST ( cont. ): I’m calling from our game. We won. I scored a try.

MOM: Your dad’s going to be so happy to hear about that.

RYAN DEAN WEST: Is Dad there?

MOM: No, sweetie. He’s in New York.

Then she sounded really serious.

MOM ( cont. ): Ryan Dean, how did you get a phone?

RYAN DEAN WEST: Well, I just wanted to tell you, Mom, ’cause Coach is letting us use the other boys’ phones today since we’re not at school. But I wanted to let you know, and to say thanks to you and Dad for letting me go stay with Annie this weekend.

MOM: Oh. Ryan Dean?

RYAN DEAN WEST: What?

MOM: Is that why you wanted to talk to Dad?

Awkward silence.

MOM ( cont. ): Do you need to ask him . . . about . . . girl things ? Because I spoke with your father in New York, and so yesterday I FedExed you a box of condoms and a pamphlet about, you know, how to have sex the first time. You should be getting it this afternoon, sweetie.

You know . . . I have lived my entire life and never once, not one time , have I ever talked to my mother about “condoms” and “how to have sex the first time.” I felt my ears turning red. I am such a fucking loser. My life is hell. No—worse than that. My life is a Band-Aid on my ballsack.

RYAN DEAN WEST: No! Please, God . . . . Tell me you did not do that . . . . Mom? FUCK!!!

Okay. I’ll be honest. I do not say “fuck” to my mom. During the ensuing and second awkward silence, I spend a moment seriously thinking about killing myself.

MOM: Well, you should ask your friend if she would like to visit Boston sometime.

“Your friend.” Ugh. Oh, yeah, Mom, just stock up on the rubbers and porn.

RYAN DEAN WEST: Okay, Mom.

I realized how deeply I hated talking to my mom ever since I became a teenager. And if there’s a more potent deterrent to perversion than the Niagara Falls of razor-sharp ice shards poured down your pants, it has got to be talking to my mom about “condoms” and “how to have sex the first time.”

RYAN DEAN WEST ( cont. ): Well, tell Dad I said hi. I should probably go now, Mom.

MOM: I love you, Ryan Dean.

RYAN DEAN WEST: ( Garbled, so hopefully the boy next to him doesn’t understand ) Iloveyatoomom. Bye.

Click.

I suddenly felt so dirty .

THE SOCIAL BEGAN WINDING DOWN a little after four o’clock, and we moved through the cafeteria shaking hands and migrating out toward the bus for our long ride back to Pine Mountain.

Seanie and I were among the first to leave. I don’t think either of us really paid much attention to the group of four boys who were waiting around for us by the bus. If we had, we surely would have noticed that they were not Sacred Heart kids, because they weren’t dressed in ties and slacks.

They were just scrub kids from Salem, out to watch a rugby game, I guessed.

As Seanie stepped ahead of me onto the bus, one of the boys said, “Congratulations. Good game.”

“Thanks,” I said. I put my foot up on the first step into the bus.

“I’m waiting to say hi to my cousin,” the boy said. “He’s on your team. Joey Cosentino. Is he coming out?”

I turned around and saw Joey and Kevin leaving the cafeteria.

“He’s right back there.” I hitchhiked a thumb over my shoulder.