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G r a s s S t a i n s
C h a p t e r T w o:
W e t h e S t u p i d A m e r i c a n s
“We’re rooming with a girl?!!” Chris exclaimed, breaking the silence. That’s one was to speak the obvious, though the said girl was on her feet in moments, fists clenched, looking very angry.
“I am NOT a girl!”
“You’re not?” Not a very smooth response for myself either, and she, er, he chucked the book at me. I should’ve dodged it, or at least I could have dodged it, but the said book hit me square in the face and sent me to the floor. Chris cringed, gaining more brains between us and dodged out of the flight-path of the bookmark.
“Ack! We’re sorry! You just… look like a girl-AHCK! Ow!” Brown was pegged in the eye by a pair of chopsticks, dropping down right next to me. We didn’t need consensus on our next course of action and dove into the bathroom, slamming the door closed and locking it before the long-haired guy had a chance to throw anything else. He was quick to follow though and was soon standing on the other side of the door, his toes visible through the small crack under the only barrier that separated us from him. Our lives were being protected by a single door.
Who ever the heck invented doors, thank you.
“Baka! That’s what you get for calling me a girl!” he huffed, knocking on the panel of wood that continued to separate us. “Maybe I’ll leave you in there to rot.”
Chris was tending his eye, whimpering something about dying in a bathroom and never being able to love someone, which led me to speak for the both of us. “Well, you’re the one wearing the robe.”
“IT’S A YUKATA!”
Oh, so he’s Japanese. Interesting.
“That doesn’t mean you had the right to nearly kill us!” Chris cried out. We could both hear the guy laugh on the other side of the door.
“Trust me, if I had any intent on killing you, you’d already be dead.” And that reduced Chris to start clawing at the opposite wall from the door in a vain attempt to escape. I watched him for a few moments, or at least until the Japanese guy on the other side of the door didn’t seem like an eminent threat in my mind. Unlocking the bathroom door and receiving a wide-eyed look and a panicked ‘what are you doing?’ from Chris, I opened it to find our other teammate standing with his arms crossed, but smiling. “There you go. Not too scary now, eh Americans?”
“How did you..?” I began, but he only pointed a finger at me, winked, and said “New York.” Which made me twitch for the millionth time today. I had a sudden urge to rip out my own vocal cords. That stupid accent… but he then offered the same outstretched hand to me for a handshake.
“My name’s Hiroshi Akiyama, starting left wing,” he introduced himself as I shook his hand, offering both our names in return, which made him grin and peer over my shoulder. “Though I doubt I could kill you if I had both of you against me.” This was directed at Chris who’d moved from his corner in the bathroom to behind my back. He made a good point though, standing a few inches shorter than us with dark eyes peering through those wire-framed, reading glasses and his long hair a little disarrayed from chasing us… and wearing a robe. A robe which fell short at his ankles, leaving his bare feet very noticeable. He must have caught me staring, for he wiggled his toes. Stupid robe.
Wait, yukata.
“So, Chris, and Nick,” he said, pointing at each of us as he spoke our names, as if making a mental note to himself. I did the same just for kicks, repeating ‘Hiroshi Akiyama’ in my head several times while trying to get Chris off my back. What a mouthful. That’s eight, no, seven syllables. “You can call me Hiro.” Ah, that’s better. “So are you guys going to settle in or what?”
The query made all wandering thought pack up and leave my mind in a hurry, rendering me to wordlessly watch Hiro collect his book from the floor and retreat back to his bed, placing the said book in the crook of his arm so he could redo his ponytail. Shoving Chris off me one final time, I followed, listening to him stumble after me. Our bags were still where we dropped them in the middle of the floor, and we brought them the rest of the way to the dresser and closet near the bunk bed, seeing how Hiro had subconsciously marked off the other side of the room as its own. The said left wing player disappeared for a few moments as we unpacked, giving Chris the chance to bound up onto the top bunk and curl up there. I was still a little drowsy from the flight and car ride here, but I wasn’t a procrastinator like some people.
Feeling a certain pair of brown eyes staring at me, I stopped what I was doing and gave the other American an incredulous look. I found Chris regarding me with a sort of expectant gaze, his brown eyes peering over his pillow, in which the rest of his face was buried. The gel he had thrown in his hair during the trip over was now loosing control, allowing his chestnut bangs to haphazardly stick in whatever way it pleased. He blinked when he caught me looking, and I blinked back, but neither of us spoke first in the few given moments.
Rolling my eyes, I snorted, walking over to the center of the other athlete’s sight, my arms akimbo. “I don’t see why you’re acting all intimidated of Hiroshi,” I scowled, which made Chris lift his head to rest his chin on the pillow, pouting.
“You’re not good at reading people, are you?” he countered with his own question, confusing me. Me? Not be able to read people? My forehead wrinkled as I thought on this. Meanwhile, Chris continued the one thing he was good at: running his mouth off. “He’s kind of uninviting. Sure I could tell you were a bit cold and bitter too, but he’s just… unapproachable.” Me? Bitter? Hahahahahaha! Chris, you are so full of it. “I can understand why you can get along with him though. Unfriendly people attract one another,” he added, more to himself, cuddling his pillow. Sighing, I turned and went back to unpacking. Chris didn’t say another word, and at one point, when I checked to see if he was still alive, I found he had fallen asleep.
Sergei Rurik was the one to check up on us a few hours later. Chris was awake and finally unpacking when the knock came. Looking up from my “Sport’s Illustrated” from my reclined position on my bunk, I replied that the “door was open” and the brunet head poked in. He was all smiles, though they were shy and a little nervous, and was wearing a t-shirt, running shorts, and sneakers compared to the sweatpants I saw him in when we first met.
“Hello.” His Russian accent was unmistakable. “Ve vere all going on our run and vondered if you’d like to join us?” He asked the question and made the statement at the same time, toying with the pair of sweatbands on his wrists. His large, dark blue eyes blinked at us as I glanced over a Chris for a moment before tossing my magazine aside and standing.
“Alright,” I replied simply, pulling my sneakers on. Chris did the same, but it still made Sergei smile brightly and lead us out of the room. The other Russian, Ivan, was waiting for us in the hallway and raised an eyebrow from where he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, tall and menacing. Almost lurking in the shadows… almost.
“You are coming then?” His accent was a little thicker. We nodded and so did he, falling in step beside the short Russian, his palm finding the small of Sergei‘s back. The two became our unofficial escorts as we walked down the flights of stairs and through the lounge to the outdoors. There the seven other teammates we met earlier greeted us, as did the warmth and the hint of changing color in the late afternoon sky. Dusk wasn’t too far off, though Chris and I were the only ones who currently had a curiosity to what was around us, being the newcomers. Everyone else had been here for days, and this was our first time really venturing outdoors.
I caught sight of Hiro standing a little to the side. He was out of his yukata and in more appropriate running clothes, his unneeded reading glasses having been disposed of. I didn’t remember him coming back into the dormroom to change, but I didn’t muse on it and walked over to him, offering a “hey” when he noticed me. Hiro seemed to be suppressing a grin.
“Everyone’s been anxious to see how you run,” he said, the smile breaking loose and becoming comically wide. He then chuckled as I shook my head, joining him in stretching out my calves. He then emphasized on his statement. “Well, you are the center midfielder. You must be fast.”
It didn‘t take me long to fit together a remark. “Well, I guess everyone has to wait until practice to see.”
“Not going to over-exert yourself over a little jog?”
“Hah. No.”
“Even if I race you? Or even if Nils does? Or both of us?”
I gave Hiro a thoughtful look, studying him and finding his words to be serious. He was a left wing player after all, the Swedish man, Jorgen Nils, being the right wing. Those positions were located at the center of the field, on either side of my own. In the game, midfielders had to think and work in sync, like their own subdivided team, just like the right, center, and left defenders had to. I looked around until I spotted the Swede, who was chatting idly with his fellow countryman Hawk and the Aussie Ed. Hiro followed my gaze only to chuckle again.
“It’s been a while since I’ve run,” I said before Hiro could get in another word, turning back to face him. It was a lie, but an easy way to dismiss the topic of racing. At home I made sure to run a little everyday. The Japanese youth frowned at me though and shrugged, shaking out his legs. His sly grin didn’t come back, not even when Nils himself walked over with Hawk in tow.
“Good evening, Hiro, Nick,” he spoke in a steady voice, greeting us with a formal nod of the head before he brushed a strand of ebony hair behind his ear. Is it just me, or do both the right and left wings have black hair? A weird coincidence, but Nils was extending his hand towards me and I shook it, something we hadn’t done when we were first introduced. “Welcome to the team.”
Hawk was watching us carefully with his piercing, gray eyes, one hand lightly resting on the other Swede’s arm, as if it had grown there. When he caught me looking though, he offered a smile, but said nothing. He was more of an observer, and his nickname was starting to make sense.
Meanwhile, Nils and Hiro had exchanged a knowing glance. They were one step ahead of me in the subdivided team thing. Clearing his throat, Nils spoke up with a smile that was beaming in his eyes but not quite made it to his lips. “So… How are you at running?”
A twitch resulted. First with the New York accent, now with the running. Could people be anymore repetitive? How about persistent? No means no. Nope. Nuh-uh. Never. I am not going to tell my life story on running. There’s nothing much to tell, and why is everyone butting into my business? This is soccer, not freakin’ track and field. The only place you’re really gonna see me run is--
Shaking my head at Hiro and the Swedes, I took to my heels and began to lazily jog down the path, and away from the group. I had stretched out enough anyways, so what’s the harm in starting? There was a startled “hey!” from Nils as I jogged off and he, Hawk, and Hiro soon joined me. Everyone else began their run right after us, falling into comfortable paces. It was as if they were all looking for a spark of leadership to guide them through such simple training tactics. Funny. Elias, our Scottish goalkeeper, stayed in the back, setting a pace we were sure to be, or at least should be, faster than. Though he didn’t seem to mind having everyone go ahead of him, even when it looked like he was lagging when everyone else was just trying to meet or match the starting pace I had set. Mwahaha. Feel my wrath.
Then again, I had absolutely no idea where I was going, so I slowed a bit so Nils and Hiro could fall in beside me.
“We usually do a bit of cross country and then fool around at the track.” Nils answered my unspoken question. Hiro silently confirmed the statement, and I decided we should go exploring instead. Skirting to the left, I abruptly changed our course through a small patch of trees, leaving the two other midfielders to exchange a confused look before following, glancing back to make sure everyone else was coming too.
The grove was more overgrown than even I had predicted. Like someone’s garden had grown trees then run wild. Roots and loose rocks were hidden under the fauna, and some of the plant life wasn’t too friendly, scratching and nipping at our bare legs. I was sure-footed though and had no problem, but not everyone was like me and there were a few crashes from someone tripping and falling into the brush- and a few curses in a few different languages. Haha. Suckers.
It became a game of follow-the-leader, I being the leader, and leading at a bit of a grueling pace. I was having a bit too much fun with it too, making a maze out of the grove of trees. I led them around in circles for several minutes before showing a bit of mercy and leading them back onto a path. Emerging from the woods, I was now being followed by ten unhappy, scratched up, and panting soccer players. I’d tell them it was foot-work practice later, and also a warm up. It got the blood flowing, and even I was starting to break a bit of a sweat.
Being out of the trees meant having no shade either, leaving us at the mercy of the hot afternoon sun. Not that I didn’t expect it. It was summer, so I picked up the pace again. It wasn’t long until we were jogging out from under the entrance gate of the university, and instead of turning back, I started leading them down the road.
There’s something about running, how it can just block everything from your mind. Running silences the world, leaving you and the road, your sweat, your rhythmic breathing, your pumping legs, your pounding heart. The perfect adrenaline rush. The perfect way to stretch out your limbs after a stupid, eternity-long flight. Running also has a way to make time disappear. I had no idea how long it had been. Fifteen minutes? A half hour? An hour? We had been running down the country road for a while now, the nearby town coming into view on the hazy horizon.
So I crossed the street and started to jog back.
In turn, everyone made the loop-around as well. Next was Hiro with his ponytail waving behind him, closely followed by Nils. Then came Sergei and Alric, side by side, shadowed by Ivan and then Hawk. A few paces back ran Ed, followed by another pair: Rem and Chris. Elias was still in the back, grinning from ear to ear at the tiring athletes in front of him. He seemed the least exhausted, like it was a walk in the park though he’d removed his t-shirt and now carried it in a bundle in one hand. As the run back to the university’s gates persisted, more shirts were removed. It seemed like a relief when the gates did finally come into sight though, or at least to the rest of them as they expected me to slow down upon entering them, faltering into a steady walk, but I kept running.
“What the fuck?!” The voice was unmistakably Chris. Sorry, but not quite yet. Learn some endurance, people! What were you doing for your runs before? Petty little walks around the park? We’re making leg muscles, not poetry and love confessions. If it really was that intolerable, they could’ve just stopped following me anyways.
Stepping off the grass, I continued the jog down a granite path, the padding of feet constant behind me, making its own little melody. More like a conglomerate of noise, but melody sounds nicer. I didn’t pay heed to the university’s buildings closing in around us, nor did I really notice when I moved back into grass again until Hiro’s shout of warning brought me back to reality.
“Nick!”
I looked back to see what he wanted. Big mistake. I had failed to notice the row of hedges I was running straight at until I ran right into them, my momentum making me flip right over the perfectly trimmed bushes. There was a brief millisecond of shock, and then water surrounded me.
I had found the university’s outdoor pool.
Spluttering, I surfaced, treading the offending water as I coughed it out of my lungs. I was soaked, of course, sneakers and all and was not too happy. My pride felt rather wounded, even when the chilled water was a bit inviting. My hair was clinging to my forehead as I blinked my eyes into focus, finding all my teammates standing at the edge of the pool, exhausted, sweaty, and some shirtless, giving me bewildered and amused looks. I glared, but the majority of them cracked up laughing, especially Chris. Damn him.
I guess the water was rather inviting since they all starting to jump in too. I didn’t know who started it, they just all silently agreed to cool off in the water, some making more graceful entrances than others, others doing cannonballs. I had to hurriedly get out of the way of some of them, or else I’d get landed on, and I retreated to the shallower end. A game of “marco-polo” was inevitable, though Hiro, Ivan, and I, who I will now dub the “sane ones,” got out in an attempt to be the first to dry off. Our attempt failed though as out teammates silently ambushed us and shoved us back in.
So soaked yet cooled off, we sopped our way back to the dorm, me brushing off remarks about being an evil taskmaster and slavedriver… and a horrible hurdle-jumper. Me? Evil? Mwahahahahaha. Excellent. And a row of hedges and hurdles are two different things.
Entering the lounge, I was surprised to find the Assistant Coach and another woman there, along with three other youths and bags full of groceries. Coach Blake was open-mouthed with a mixture of horror and amusement at our current state: soaked and lacking our shirts, having treaded a stream of water in when we entered. Needless to say, the blonde next to her with multiple piercing was smirking. That’s when we met the other personal trainer, Zoe Trade, and the three remaining members of the team.
Two redheads and a brunet consisted of the trio on the couches. Chris and I were introduced to them after Coach Blake gave all of us an earful and sent us to get into dry clothes, wherein we were all called into Ed’s room and made a plan to sneak out-- which we all did, by climbing down the gutter. Okay, okay, so we didn’t all go. Alric and Rem had gone to their room and locked themselves in there, but I refuse to dwell on that fact any longer.
Believe it or not, the two-redheads-and-a-brunet trio were waiting for us outside. That’s when introductions were made. The first, and freckled, redhead being Neil Traenor, more known about the team as Trainer because of his over obsessive tendencies to workout excessively, and overwork himself. It showed though. The Irishman was thin, as thin as a walking, talking, breathing muscle can get, his light brown eyes twinkling amusingly at the comment about sneaking to the soccer field. He was the left midfielder, Alric, the left midfielder’s, linemate. The second, Scottish redhead was none other then Gil Sherrick, his green eyes peering from under the visor of his ever present black, baseball cap. Never heard of him? He was a member of the Scottish soccer team in the summer Olympics last year. The Scots didn’t medal, but I had been glued to the television during the games, so I’ve seen him play. Let’s just say I was a little amazed to hear he was only a substitute, not a starting player. Last but not least… well… Chris pretty much explained it… In his own unique way.
“Mexican jumping bean!”
“Excuse me?!” There was a fiery glint in the newcomer’s gray eyes. “I’m Venezuelan! And are you calling me short?!”
“Hola! Como estas?” The cheeky grin plastered on Chris’ face wasn’t helping either, and the Venezuelan rounded on him as he continued his butchery of Spanish. “My llam-o is--”
A well aimed punch hit Chris in the jaw before we all got a sense of what was going on. Chris himself was stumbling back in shock, though his new enemy wasn’t quite finished and tackled him with an angry growl. It took all of us to separate the two, the Venezuelan still spitting and kicking angrily, deeply offended. Chris was currently tending the welt on his chin with, for the first time, a glare in his eyes, directed at his opponent. He didn’t seem to notice that I was the one restraining him either, my arms hooked around his.
That’s how we met Darian Eduardo, left striker.
Darian grumpily left our group to go brood, while Hiro, Ed, Nils, and Hawk were all caught by Assistant Coach Blake as we made our escape. They were dragged off to clean up the watery mess we had all brought in after our run, leaving Chris, Ivan, Sergei, Elias, Trainer, Gil, and me to creep our way to the practice field. Dusk had officially set in by then, the air becoming cooler in the slowly fading light. A small wind was picking up too, tugging at our baggy t-shirts. Both Elias and Gil jogged ahead on the well matted grass, the two Scots chatting and laughing heartedly. Chris was slow to join them, the bruise on his chin painfully visible now, though he didn’t seem to mind much. A game of “keep-away” started between the three, the object being Gil’s black hat.
I hadn’t really noticed when Ivan and Sergei disappeared, but upon hearing footsteps behind me, I turned to find them coming back, the shorter of the two Russians cradling a soccer ball in his arms. Trainer, who had been silent at my side up until now, gladly took the ball and drop-kicked it across the field. It struck Gil’s hat in midair, discoursing its flight pattern and allowing Gil to catch it and shove it back in his head.
Out of pure goalie instinct, Elias dove and caught the ball.
A three-on-four mock soccer game grew from there, though it was more or less just fooling around and we weren’t trying too hard. And that was quick to become simple penalty kicks against Elias, who caught the ball every time. More or less, it was much steadier for us to get bored, and when enough light had faded to make the spotlights automatically turn on, we were all sitting in the center of the field, talking. I would not doubt I felt more comfortable now. It was like I was back in upstate New York, hanging out with my old teammates. Sure none of them had heavy foreign accents, but still, maybe a little change is good now and then.
And sorry mom, I don’t miss your cooking either.
The conversation was strangely dying around me. When it became silent, the blond Scotsman, Elias, fell backwards, onto his back, his hands coming up behind his head to incline it a bit. I was sitting across from him, so his new position put me straight into his line of sight. Damn, I sense a question coming up.
“So, Nick, what about you?” he asked, his light brown eyes gleaming curiously in the spotlights, making them seem to be a glittering gold color.
Like I said: damn. “What about me?” Thinking of a way to get out of a conversation takes strategic planning, you know.
“Well, why are you here?” Gil was backing his countryman up, resting his chin in his hands. It was then that I noticed everyone staring at me, awaiting my answer patiently, as if there was a grand story to tell. I knew rumors had spawned around the players ever since my arrival. I have good hearing, and I listened in as some of them interrogated Chris during our run to see if he knew anything. Am I that much of a secret? Hmm, interesting.
I glanced at Chris. He was grinning eagerly from his content spot at my side, like always, and was starting to resemble that dog again…. Oh, never mind.
“There’s nothing to say,” I shrug, brushing the question off. I was able to deadpan the answer easily enough too. “I sent an application to this program by accident.”
“What?” And got six startled remarks in return… Okay, five. Ivan only raised his eyebrow. The look on Chris’ face was priceless though. Oh, the possibilities of being sincere, but I was a little surprised to get a continuous reaction from it. I just didn’t show it. There were confused remarks and further questions coming at me in different directions. There was a “what do you mean accidentally?” and a “you mean you don’t want to be here?” along with a “way to screw up an application” and a “then what are you doing here?” and don’t forget the “why did you accept the position if it was accidental?”
Finally, an intelligent question: “What were you originally trying to apply to?” Thank you Elias.
“A professional team.”
They all stared, for what seemed like an eternity, and then they all laughed, except for Ivan of course. My remark seemed like the dismissal of our little chat and they all stood. I followed suit, only to have Chris pat my back and tell me “nice joke, man.” I didn’t follow when they all began the silent walk back to the dormitory. I followed them with my eyes though, skeptically. I wasn’t--
“You weren’t kidding, were you?”
Shit. Elias was right behind me, smiling when I spun around, startled. I hadn’t given him permission to read my mind, but there was a new sort of light in his bright eyes, a weird sort of knowing look that made me relax again. Maybe I’ll forgive him for being so sneaky later.
I cross my arms. “What makes you say that?” Some people say I better communicating one-on-one, but I just wanted to break the riddle of these rumors, but he just shrugged, raising his arms to rest his palms on the back of his head, making his arms muscles stand out a bit more… not that I was looking.
“It’s just the truth.” It was a simple remark, though the grin slipped a little and he turned away to stare across the field. The others were out of sight by now, but he still let his voice drop. I had to take a step closer in order to hear him. “It may be surprising, but there are a lot of talented athletes on this team. Soccer prodigies, one may say. The next generation of professionals. It’s true, and the other’s blew off your remark only because they think it’s impossible. They think this may be the last chance to make a name for themselves.”
I didn’t have to, but I took another step closer, letting myself stand at the Scot’s side. I felt intrigued if anything, and this time, his bright eyes were stern as he met my gaze. Haha, your athlete side is showing. But I met his gaze with equal seriousness. “How many of the others have also tried to apply for professionals?”
He looked away and at his feet. “Gil went to the Olympics, but he never remained professional. Other then that, it was only me. I applied three times already, and even had a scout consider me twice. I was always turned down in the end though.”
I nodded knowingly, forgetting to mention how many times I had applied before. That was how I learned to like Elias Eachan, the goalkeeper.
When I arrived back into my dormroom, Hiro was sitting passively on his bed, reading. His face was almost blank from his discontent from having to stay behind and mop the floor. Chris on the other hand immediately tried to glom onto me, whimpering how I had cheated on him and had a make-out session with Elias. I attempted to ignore him, but it wasn’t until Hiro hit him over the back of the head with his book that he left me alone.
We all ended up not keeping our dinner plans.
And I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
To Be Continued…
I was stuck after the first few pages of this chapter for the longest time though. A three month long writer’s block I should say, but then I started to poke through it piece by piece during swim meets (yes, I’m a swimmer, not a soccer player gasp) and finally got it done. .;;; To make up for it, I made two websites. The first is for “Grass Stains” itself while the second is for my good buddy and FP user Lilias’ popular shounen ai fic, “Spontaneity.” Links are as follows…
h t t p : g r e e n e r p a s t u r e s . f a t e b a c k . c o m
h t t p : s p o n t a n e i t y . i m e s s . n e t
Anyways! Thank you LiliasokenakabLady Alexiel, Jen, Teenage-Mutant-Ninj, GinamayaNaomi ShemerolaJiroElizabeth Bryan WoodKitten of RainandHydrangeafor your reviews on chapter 1! hugs and pets all of you and makes pretty, sweaty soccer boys, fresh from running, make smut for you
I think Nicky turned out… well… eviler in this chapter. Oo;; I swear, he’s not a sarcastic bastard. He has feelings too. So Nick, if you don’t behave in Chapter 3, I’ll have to lock you in an airplane bathroom with Chris again. ;;
Nick: O.O;; flees
Chris: smirk smirk
The next chapter consists of the first, whole-team practice, board games, meeting the team mascot, and the picking of a team name and team colors… more individualizing among the characters shall ensue from there.
Until then … reviews are 100 welcome and adored.
Until the next chapter! Ryuumi Karasu
