I Get Interrogated by the O-Line About My Love Life, Part I

Game day.

Immediately after school let out, every player on the team headed to the cafeteria for the pregame meal. For some reason, Mosslark wasn’t there, but we were told he’d be coming after the meal.

“Alright, men, bow your heads.” Oh, this is a little awkward.

Since my family and ancestry is from Japan, it would only make sense that my religion would be the main religion of Japan- none. I was agnostic, as was the rest of my family. Not to say I didn’t think there wasn’t some higher power, but I was skeptical. I was raised with manners, though, so I bowed my head along with everyone else despite not believing in God.

“Cat-sume, do the honor.”

Oh, c’mon!

“U-Uh, God… we, uh, thank you for this day,” I barely sputtered out, trying to think of white person things to say. “We thank you for this food, and, uh, for the people who made the food. We hope that eating this will nourish our bodies for this game.” Hey! I’m getting the hang of this! I took a deep breath and continued.

“We pray that no injuries happen while we’re on the field, and that we can commit to good sportsmanship. And lastly, God, we pray that we can kick some ass. Amen.” Several cheers echoed around the room, and seniors were called up to get their food first. I grabbed mine and sat down next to Kevin.

“Dude, I didn’t know you were Christian!” He said, presumably one himself.

“I’m not.” He tilted his head, confused.

“Then why…?” I understood the meaning behind his trail-off.

“Coach just told me to. I dunno.”

“You know you can just say no, right?”

“Yeah. I’m not a pushover.”

“Cat-sume, would you like to pray for us this year?” The coach seemed pleased enough with my fake prayer.

“Sure,” I said, to Kevin’s dismay- I immediately realized that I had proven his point. “Okay, I’m not that much of a pushover.”

“Yes you are!”

“No, but- look, if I said no because I’m not a Christian, then he would wonder why I prayed before, which would make everything weirder…!”

“You overthink things too much, and that’s coming from someone who overthinks too much,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You could have just said ‘No thanks’ and been done with it.” Gah! He’s right. I’m an idiot.

“And now I have to pretend I’m a Christian for a year. Great.”

“Why pretend?” Kevin said with a silly-looking smile on his face.

“Don’t you dare try and convert me.” I know how annoying that would be. Almost every non-theistic person does.

“I feel like you’ll get it eventually, so I’ll let God do the work with you.”

“Oh, shut up. You sound like an old white youth pastor.” Not that I know what that sounds like, but I can assume.

“Hah, maybe I am an old white youth pastor. Disguised as a high school student.” He chuckled a bit, probably thinking about himself in a pope outfit or something.

“Well, with that fraction of a beard you have, maybe.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of my beard! His name’s Brian.”

“Your beard’s name is Brian?”

“Brian Guerley.” He stroked his chin, which didn’t have any of Brian on it.

“Just shave your sideburns, Kevin.”

“Shut up and eat, Cat-sume.”

As buses were being boarded, I realized I would no longer have the company of Kevin- since he was 27 and I was 88, we’d be on different buses. I jokingly wailed in despair and cried out things like ‘Kevin, don’t leave me!’ as I got on the 76-99 bus. I sat down in a random seat near the back, knowing that I’d probably get crammed up sitting next to a lineman.

That assessment could not have been closer to the truth.

I watched as number 76 sat right next to me, almost crushing me into a fine mist. The dude must’ve been over 350 pounds, and I could tell he was a starter just by the size of his legs. I didn’t move a muscle- maybe if he didn’t feel me shift around, he wouldn’t notice me, and I could sleep the whole bus ride.

“No, I haven’t eaten a salad recently,” the guy joked, likely assuming I was quiet because I was concerned about his weight. I didn’t even move! C’mon, man, now I have to talk.

“I, uh… wasn’t thinking that,” I said, creating even more awkward tension. I was hoping that would work to stop him from talking to me anymore, and for a moment it did. As the bus revved up, I let myself daydream, thinking about- well, I was thinking about Mia, but do we really have to talk about it?

“Well, what are you thinking about, dude? You’re so mysterious.” Mysterious. Huh.

“Oh- just a girl in my class. I’m not that mysterious,” I chuckled, trying to brush off the pseudo-insult/pseudo-compliment. It took me a minute to realize what I had said, and by then I saw three heads pop up and turn, looking at me.

Normally, saying something like ‘I was thinking about a girl’ wouldn’t be that out of the ordinary, especially on a bus full of sweaty, masculine high school boys.

However.

Kevin had warned me after dinner that the o-line of Tenth Marina High School was a tad bit… devious. Being deprived of any relationships themselves, they were apparently hungry for any drama they could get their hands on, like a filming crew for The Bachelorette.

And they were funny about it, too.

“Who?” The three guys said, all staring at me longingly. Their numbers were 67, 55, and 79- linemen, for sure. Wait, why are they on the bus? They should be on the 50-75 bus!

“Uh, I-”

“We won’t tell,” blurted 55, grinning like a rabid chihuahua.

“Of course not! Why would we?” added 79, smirking but somehow conveying that he would, in fact, not say anything.

“She- well, she-”

“Name!” 67 shouted, his voice bouncing off the brittle steel walls of the bus.

“Emilia,” I muttered, hoping people would think of someone that wasn’t Mia.

“Class!” 67’s words were like a hot knife through the buttery mess that was my brain.

“Senior.”

“G-G-G-Gender!” He spoke like an 80s TV host, hyping up his men around the just cause of exposing some poor soul’s unrequited crush.

Gender? “Female,” I said, confused until I remembered that this was downtown San Francisco.

“Great. Thank you for your time.” 67 put a clipboard away, having written down all of the information I had confessed to him. “I’m Danny Perezosas, and welcome to the squad.” The bus erupted in applause, and I swiveled my head around, flabbergasted.

“Wh- Wha-”

“Don’t worry about it,” the guy next to me snickered. “You’ll get used to it. Oh, and meet us after the game in the storage room. We’ve got some cult shit going down that you don’t want to miss.”

“Cult… shit.”

“Trust me. It’s fun. You’ve gotta be there.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll let my dad know I’ll be late home…?” I was hesitant to agree, but at this point I was willing to do anything to connect with other people on the team.

Due to being a rich snob in Hokkaido for some time, my friend-making skills were virtually zero. How could I have made friends if I only ever saw my relatives? The only friends I had on the football team by that point were Kevin and maybe Ian. Possibly that cornerback I trampled, too? We had never spoken, but something about me demolishing him and him not being mad made me think he wanted to be friends. Anyway. My point is that I needed to befriend people on the team, and I knew that this cult thing could be a means to an end.

Why am I explaining myself so thoroughly to you, the reader? It’d be funnier to give you no clue as to what was going through my head, but alas, it’s too late. We’ve burned that bridge.

“Great,” said 76, wiggling a bit side to side. He was probably trying to give me more space, but it wasn’t working. He pulled out his phone and checked the weather at Burton, which was where we were headed.

“What’s the forecast?” I asked, worried it would be hot. I couldn’t stand the wet heat of coastal cities.

He sighed in dismay. “68 degrees with rain.”

“Rain?”

“Rain?”

“Rain?” Everyone’s head turned in horror as they heard the forbidden word.

Oh boy. This could go bad fast.