Fillius Glint

3. How to Suck at Sports, Life, and Everything-1

Chapter 3

How to Suck at Sports, Life, and Everything

Somewhere else in the very same Tenth-Tier Universe...

FilliusThirty-Eight Years Ago

There were five minutes left in the second half of the game, and we were down by one. I squinted across the field at our goalie box as Belind kicked the ball back into play, eir face scrunched hard in concentration. The sphere sped across the grass in a neon yellow blur, a flight which didn’t last long. A knot of purple and crimson jerseys, legs pumping like the muscles of some great throat, swallowed the ball within seconds.

The players swarmed for control.

After a few more seconds of struggle, a swarthy human in a crimson jersey popped away from the pack like a pumpkin seed, taking the ball with em.

(For those keeping score at home: red good, purple bad.)

The crimson hero, whose name was Fern, darted across the field with an ease that couldn’t be faked. At this point, Fern was pretty much our only hope of winning. The Dupont Tigers desperately needed to score a goal by the buzzer so we could tie and go into overtime. Otherwise, the game would go to the Newfield Titans. And I really didn’t want that to happen. It was the tail end of shohop season, and (Zorda help us) we hadn’t won a single game.

As a forward, I was firmly planted on the Titan’s half of the field. Coach decided that was the best position for me since I was too scrawny for defense and too slow for midfield. Yeah, that’s right. I was a shohop player, and I sucked at running.

A lump formed in my chest as Fern lost control of the ball to a hulking Crenosiyo. The crowd roared in response. The Titan defenders got antsy, and I had to shuffle a few steps to keep ahead of them. I could not afford to get yellow carded right now.

The Crenosiyo, purple jersey thirty-nine, brought the ball to the center line where two crimson players intercepted it. Players on both teams were red-faced and panting hard. The sun beat down relentlessly, pounding waves of heat toward us as it reflected off the metal bleachers in the stands and goal cages at either end of the field. For once I was grateful shohop didn’t involve any headgear or padding. Even so, sweat streamed down my back, and my jersey stuck uncomfortably as I moved. The rivulets of perspiration tickled and itched a ton, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. In the Junior leagues, coaches and parent volunteers bound out wrists behind out backs before every game. During a match, we were allowed to bite, headbutt, bite, stomp, and kick other players to get the ball moving in the direction we wanted it to go, but we couldn’t scratch our Zorda-given noses. It made me miss my Runt league days. I hated being fifteen.

Blinking away a stream of sweat, I brought my thoughts back to the present and scanned the field for my scattered teammates. It looked like they were in formation for the Broom Sweep play. When did that happen? I peered over my shoulder to make sure the Titan defenders were still behind me. All clear. Now how did that play go, again? I shut my eyes and brought the particulars to mind.

The ball had to be shunted from player to player down the right side of the field. Then the last person in line would fake a goal kick but pass it to the left edge of the field where the real striker was waiting: Fern. Ey was a phenomenal pressure kicker. I opened my eyes again, and, sure enough, there ey was on the other side of the field. Right in line with me.

Wait, with me?

But that meant I had to fake the goal kick.

No, no, no, no. That could not be right. Jem, the other forward, usually took the kick and— wait, why was ey all the way out in midfield?

No. Oh, no. This was bad. This was very bad. I was as good at precision kicking as I was at running.

I sucked.

But there wasn’t enough time to change position— Jem had already sent the shohop ball wafting toward me. Following the trajectory, a beefy Titan appeared out of the blue and charged me headfirst. Ey wasn’t even a defender. I panicked and tensed, preparing for impact. There was a flash of purple jersey milliseconds before the air got knocked out of me, and my entire world went white. I was distantly aware of the shohop ball bouncing off my head with a thwonk as we tumbled to the ground. If I hadn’t been in so much pain, I probably would have laughed.

The buzzer rand and was quickly followed by another explosion of sound: screaming, cheering, and feet stomping dangerously close to my head. Hands reached down and peeled the Titan off me, presumably for eir victory lap. We had lost, and it was all my fault.

Again.

Why had I expected this time to be any different?

Reeling in defeat, I gingerly rolled onto my back, ribs complaining at every breath. Fantastic. They were definitely bruised; I hoped they weren’t broken. Fern appeared in my line of sight, face twisted in disgust as ey prodded me with a toe. Right in the rib. Ey had cheap shohop shoes with stiff cleats. They hurt like a monkey. I did my best not to wince, but ey prodded me again, harder.

“What the snarks was that, Glint? Don’t you know how to dodge? Get up.”

Getting up was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Nnghn.” My voice sounded alien and pathetic, even to me.

Fern nudged my ribs again. On second thought, putting some distance between my chest and eir shoes wasn’t a bad idea. I carefully levered myself up, my head swimming. That’s when I spotted an angry-looking shape heading my way: Coach Key. I hurriedly got to my feet, fighting the pain and nausea as best I could.

“Sucks to be you,” Fern smirked and sauntered off to the locker room. I was glad ey didn’t stay around to watch the show. When Coach Key was within arm’s reach, I bit my tongue to fight the burning in my ribs and pulled myself as tall as I could stand.

Little veins bulged in Coach’s forehead. Aside from cauliflower ears and a thin white scar across the bridge of eir nose, Coach’s entire head was red with emotion. Well, either that or sunburn. It was a terrible thought, but maybe I’d get lucky, and ey would keel over from heat stroke. Humans were funny like that. Crenosiyos never got overheated; our skin was highly adaptable. Coach’s fists were balled up tightly at eir sides, and I noticed a spattering of tiny burn marks all over eir forearms. Ey was a fry cook at Burger Hut by day; Coach Key was a sad and lonely human being. Ey was also doing eir best not to punch me. “What the snarks happened out there, Glint?! Why didn’t you make the pass?”

I licked my lips. “Sorry, Coach. I got distracted.” Taking a hit to the gut counted as a distraction, right?

“Always with the excuses!” Ey bellowed at me in a booming voice that made my skin crawl.

“I was just answering your—”

“Don’t backtalk. You haven’t earned that right. When are you going to get your head in the game, Glint?”

I was smart enough not to answer this time.

“Ten laps around the field. One for every game you’ve cost us this season.”

“But this isn’t even our field, Coach.”

The muscles in eir face twitched with anger. “Fine! Next practice you owe me ten. With interest, you hear?! Now hit the showers!”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I hobbled toward the squat brick building that served as the Newfield Worship Hall. Unlike other religions, the Zordan Army had no temples or churches. We had shaved heads and worship halls that were part arena, part gym. Every Zord was a genderless warrior in imitation of Zorda, Emself.

But I wasn’t much of a warrior.

I had been pretty good at biting other shohop players back when I was a kid, but things were different now. The other players were all bigger than me, better than me. And my heart wasn’t in it anymore, mostly because of my new schooling arrangement.

Earlier this year my parents had run out of money for tutors, so I had been enrolled at Dupont High School. It was my first time in a public-school setting, and the first few weeks had been a shock to my system. Most of the kids at school weren’t Zords, and they expressed gender distinctions without impunity. Thanks to a strict upbringing, I hadn’t even known what maleness was until I met my best friend, Mark Murray, at Dupont High. But now that I knew about my gender, it was important to me. It felt right. The church masters said it was just a phase. I knew they were wrong.

As I neared the worship hall, I bit my lip. This wasn’t the time to contemplate my manhood. I pushed the thoughts away and opened the door, reveling in the rush of cool air that swept over me. The worship hall lobby was plastered with motivational posters featuring muscular, stern-faced athletes. The writing said: ‘Be a Winner,’ ‘Fight the Good Fight,’ and ‘Find Your Inner Warrior’ in fonts that could make a graphic designer’s eyeballs bleed. Church décor was a pile of hooey, but at least the building was air conditioned.

I limped thought the doors and down the hall to the right where the guest locker rooms were. My teammates had already changed into their street clothes and were gathering their things to go home. They froze in awkward silence when I entered the room.

Belind was the first to break the spell. Ey dropped eir gym bad on the floor with a thump and took a step toward me. “You cost us the game, dipsnark.” Even though well-endowed Zords wore specialized bindings to hold in certain portions of their anatomy, Belind’s breasts still attracted my attention. Parts of my anatomy responded. I clenched my teeth and bit the inside of my cheek. Belind squeezed her fists. “We looked like dipsnarks out there thanks to you!”

“Ey’s not worth it, Bel.” Fern butted in, resting a hand on Belind’s hip. “What do you expect from a deafy?”

I ground my teeth at the slur. Just because I didn’t have ears like the rest of the team didn’t mean I couldn’t hear. My skin picked up every sound as well as their weird human head flaps did. Probably even better. And even if I couldn’t hear, that wouldn’t have made them any better than me. This planet had belonged to the Crenosiyo for tens of thousands of years before humans had first set foot on it and broke treaty after treaty. Like common criminals.

I muttered to myself in Common but soft enough for them not to hear. “At least I’m not an alien invader like you.” As angry as I was, though, I didn’t want to start a brawl. I didn’t have the energy. All I wanted was to get to my locker and change, that’s it. I shouldered past them before remembering my wrists were still bound behind my back. For snark’s sake! I needed to find the parent on unbinding duty. Was it supposed to be Master Jeffrey today? Why couldn’t I remember? I swore in Crenosiyo.

“Did you hear that?” Belind said in a nasty tone. “That son of Qorxu was using demon speak. We can’t have demons in the Zordan Army, now, can we?”

I snorted. “Oh, but we can have mascara, like you? And are you wearing foundation?” Belind subconsciously brought a hand to eir face and lightly toucher eir cheek. It was bruised. There was another hematoma on eir forearm, an ugly brown one. The look in eir eyes told me they weren’t shohop injuries. Belind looked vulnerable and lost, like an abused puppy. My heart sank. But before I could apologize, a hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. It was Fern. Ey glowered down at me. “That is none of your business, you entitled cris.” Another vulgar slur and one I hadn’t heard in a long time.

I dug my nails into my palms.

A few players left the room, but eight people stayed behind and formed a ring around me. Zorda save me, this was not going to be good. Belind recovered from eir stupor and struck out at me with a rage-fueled jab that caught me square on the jaw. ‘Seeing stars’ does not begin to describe what I experienced. It was more like watching supernovas finger-painting. Fern karate chopped me in the ribs while someone else kicked the backs of my knees from behind. I collapsed onto the ground, my face striking the concrete floor. Hot blood poured down from my nose. The pain was so intense that consciousness refused to anchor itself to me. Instead, it floated around me like a cotton blanket. I vomited profusely, and my teammates laughed. They were just getting warmed up. I pressed my eyes shut, preparing for another round of blows.