Allen Zadoff - Food, Girls, and Other Things I Can't Have

“It’s the Thunder Down Under,” Becky Samuelson says. Becky’s dad is practically a movie star, so she thinks she’s one, too. Anyway, her comment gets a big laugh.

I just stand there on the field with an empty ten-foot zone around me. It’s like the time I had gas in temple.

“Take it easy on my bands!” someone shouts. It’s Rodriguez from the football team, grinning and smoothing down his facestache. I didn’t even know he was in this gym class.

“You’re back in the big leagues, huh?” he says, and he gives me a rough handshake.

“I guess.”

“Even great players go down to Triple-A sometimes. They work on the skill set until they get called up again.”

Rodriguez head-butts a soccer ball. It rolls into the center of the field.

“Vamonos,” he says.

We jog back onto the field. I kick the ball back and forth with Rodriguez for a minute. With the two of us together, nobody dares to say anything. They just form back into teams, and the game starts up like nothing ever happened.

A second later April runs by.

“Welcome back,” she says, and she gives me a wink.

“When it’s time for nominations, remember,” Eytan says, “nothing below Commerce Secretary. It’s degrading.”

We’re rushing down the hall towards the Model UN meeting. Eytan is wearing an old sports coat over a Radiohead T-shirt. Business attire.

“I’m not sure I want a position this semester,” I say.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m really busy. I may need to fade into the background.”

“We’re sophomores now,” Eytan says. “No more fading.”

What I don’t say is that yesterday was the last day of football tryouts, and everyone’s waiting for the list to go up. I keep trying to tell Eytan what’s happening, but it never seems to be the right time. Maybe that’s how it was with Dad and Miriam. He wanted to tell Mom, but he never found the right time.

We stop in front of a door with a handwritten sign: REPUBLIC OF ESTONIA.

“I really played you up during the meeting last week,” he says, “so walk like you got a pair.”

“A pair of what?”

“Massive Estonian gonads.”

“Dude, I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I say.

Eytan looks at me strangely. He says, “What’s with the ‘dude’ stuff? Let’s switch to polysyllabic mode, huh? We’re heading into the diplomatic trenches.”

He throws open the door.

I spend the rest of the afternoon discussing what Eytan calls the great balancing act—ways to protect our tiny republic without pissing off our giant and powerful neighbor, Russia. An hour in and we’ve switched to debating military strategy.

“Historically, diplomacy has proven to be an effective deterrent,” Eytan says.

Justin leaps out of his seat.

“Why don’t we just f-ing attack?” he says.

“It’s true,” another kid says. “The best defense is a good offense.”

“We barely have an army,” I say. “What are we going to attack with?”

“Nuke them,” Justin says. “It’s tough for dust to invade.”

“That’s crazy,” I say.

“Let me get this straight,” Justin says. “We’re a tiny little do-nothing country, and we’re going to trust this giant, powerful country not to screw us over?” He coughs and says, “Bullshit” at the same time.

Eytan stretches, completely unperturbed. He says, “What’s your idea, Delegate Zansky?”

It’s a softball pitch. He’s setting me up to knock one out of the park.

Justin stands on one side of the room and I stand on the other. The Model UN geeks look from one to the other, waiting for fireworks.

This is my comfort zone. Geeks and obscure geopolitics. Two of my best subjects.

Anyway, it beats the hell out of getting pounded on the field by sweaty strangers. Here we pound each other with our brains.

“Well?” Justin says.

I stand up slowly. “Allow me to quote Sun Tzu: ‘He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Justin says.

“We cooperate with them. We let peace be our war.”

The geeks applaud. Eytan jumps out of his seat.

“Thank you, Delegate Zansky for that subtle and compelling analysis. Fellow delegates, it is my honor to nominate Andrew Zansky for Secretary of the Defense Committee.”

“Second!” someone screams.

“I respectfully decline,” I say.

“All in favor?” Eytan says, steamrolling me.

A resounding “Aye!” thunders through the room.

“Motion passes,” Eytan says. “Congratulations, Mr. Zansky. The defense of the Republic now rests squarely on your shoulders.”

Friday afternoon. My stomach grumbles like it’s filled with greasy Chinese food. I’ve been to the bathroom six times since this morning, and I haven’t eaten a thing. Mom calls them the nervous poops.

Why am I nervous?

The list is going up at 1:00 and it’s 12:59.

I’m walking towards the gym when Nancy Yee intercepts me.

“I heard a rumor that you were going out for football,” Nancy says.

She’s wearing this crazy frock dress with old-lady shoes and socks that go up under her knees. I swear she’s from a different planet.

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” I say.

“Do you know what happened on the team last year?”

“I know we won.”

“We?” she says.

“The team. Our team. School pride. You’ve heard of that, right?”

We turn the corner and there’s a huge crowd standing around the bulletin boards outside the gym. I have to ditch Nancy so I can look at the list. I don’t want her to know anything about this. Plus April’s down there, and I’m afraid she’ll see us and get the wrong idea.

“Oh, shoot,” I say, “I forgot something in my locker. I have to go all the way back up.”

I’m hoping Nancy will go away, but she turns like she’s attached to me. I’ve grown a barnacle. Unbelievable.

“Do you like her?” Nancy says.

“Who?”

“The new girl.”

“Which new girl?”

Nancy sighs. “The Korean girl,” she says.

“She’s really smart.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Nancy hooks her bangs with two fingers and pulls them tight behind her ears. Her acne glares at me angrily.

“I have to go,” she says, and runs up the stairs. Barnacle removed.

“What’s your problem?” I say, but it’s not like I go after her. Honestly, it’s a relief that she’s gone. Now I can go where the action is. Down the hall.

There are two bulletin boards on the wall, each with a clump of students around them, jocks on one side and cheerleaders on the other. If I saw a group like this last year, I’d run in the other direction. Now I’m right in the middle of them. Welcome to the new world order.

I stand behind the jocks, afraid to get too close to the piece of paper. What if my name is on it? What if it’s not? And why do jocks do this whole thing in public? Couldn’t they send the results to your house like the SAT? At least then you could fail in the privacy and comfort of your own bedroom.

O. Douglas comes down the hall and casually walks to the front of the crowd. He glances at the paper, grins, then steps back.

“How’d you do?” Cheesy says.

“Made it,” O. says, and brushes his forehead like he’s wiping away sweat. Everyone laughs. The funny thing is that he actually sounds relieved, like it’s possible he might have been cut.

“Get up there,” Rodriguez says to me. “Don’t you want to know?”

“Not really,” I say.

He pushes me towards the front of the crowd, and the guys split down the middle to let me through.