Learning from the Masters
"Is this the ghost of Pelé?!" I yell, 3 parts freaking out, 1 part fanboying embarrassingly hard.
(I admit, not my finest moment. In my defense, I didn't expect to see the god of football today, especially like this, young and in his prime and here to teach ME. WUT.)
{This is—}
"WAIT." I interrupt System Lady, too distracted to notice. "When did Pelé die?! How did I not hear about this?" I gasp. "Did he die over the weekend, when I was, you know...?"
(Dead.)
Still don't like saying it aloud, but it's always there, in my thoughts.
Turns out, it's kinda hard to forget dying. Who knew?
System Lady sighs at me, which is rude, but perhaps fair.
{Pelé is very much alive and well,} she assures me. {This is a System-generated version of Pelé from 1960.}
"You can do that?" I ask, impressed.
{I already explained this.}
Somehow, the System's angel moonlight voice still manages to sound exactly like an eighth grade math teacher, explaining the directions for a homework assignment for the umpteenth time.
Out of habit, I offer a sheepish grin in apology.
I swear I can hear the System roll her eyes, but she explains again anyway.
{As your Champion Rise System, I utilize data from talented footballers to teach you. Since you've been assigned [Cruyff Turn Variants] for your first Special Skill, I have designed versions of three Masters to impart this skill to you.}
And that's how I end up learning a signature football move from three genius players.
Tuesday and Wednesday, I work with Pelé, which is totally no big deal, and I play it super cool 100% of the time.
(Lies. I am a bucket of lies.)
I'm not a complete embarrassing wreck, however, mostly because the insane training is exhausting. After the first hour, I don't have the energy to freak out (much), even when System-Pelé busts out godly ball-handling like it's nothing.
The Cruyff turn is a classic feint/evasive move designed to mess up a defender (or three) and move you and the ball into open space.
You swing your leg back like you're going to shoot/pass, but instead you kick around the ball and drag it back with the inside of your foot. At the same time, you turn 180-degrees to run the opposite direction, and you flick the ball along that path with the outside of your other foot.
I'd actually learned the Cruyff from my mom when I was younger, but like all seemingly simple moves, being able to pull it off is one thing; being able to pull it off perfectly, and in the perfect moment, is another thing altogether.
Though it's named for Johan Cruyff, the System correctly analyzed that Pelé was the first to use a form of the turn during an international match in 1960, vs Juventus.
I learn the fundamentals of Pelé's less-explosive variant in under an hour; it takes three more hours before I can successfully use the move 50 times against two shadow defenders.
It takes another four hours before I'm successful 5 times against Pelé.
Seems fair that the System counts Pelé as worth 10x the shadow defenders.
They're an amalgam of random but solid defensive players.
He's Pelé.
No comparison, really. I can't even be mad when he steals the ball from me eighty-three times in a row.
(Not that I'm counting.)
As we drill, the System only counts the move a success when:
A) I feint well enough to trick a defender into moving toward the lane they think I'm shooting/passing into,
B) I move into an open area where I actually can shoot or pass,
and C) I either shoot into the net or cleanly pass to a shadow teammate.
The System highlights whether I'm supposed to go for the empty goal or pass during each drill; my job is to use the Cruyff turn at the right time, and in the right direction, so I end up in a place where I can aim wherever the highlighted area is.
It's stupid how hard this is.
It's also freaking awesome how complex this "drill" is.
This isn't just practicing a cool move; this is drilling into my brain and body how this particular cool move works (and fails) against real-time defenders.
On Thursday, I say goodbye to Pelé and hello to the man himself, Johan Cruyff.
His version of the turn is more explosive and dramatic, and really opens up space. But if you don't have the quick twitch muscles to be fast and explosive, both as you turn, and as you take off with the ball, the move is useless.
Luckily, I've been doing quick-twitch drills since I was a kid, and I inherited my mom's natural speed.
Unluckily, I've only played in one real match the entire year I've been in high school, so my passing sense is shot to hell.
The System ups the difficulty by adding a shadow goalie and only counting the move a success if I score a goal or make a perfect assist so my shadow teammate can score.
It takes me all Thursday night and most of Friday night, drilling without rest, to finally rack up 50 goals and 50 assists.
The System sends Cruyff away, then, and I'm bummed because it would have been insanely awesome to try the move against one of the best football captains of all time, but I'm also grateful because it might have taken me a month to score on the guy, and I really want to know what the final Variant is.
That's when Aiden McGeady shows up.
Yesss. McGeady Spin time!
This variant is my favorite, and not only because we share the same first name (though when I was younger, that maaaay have been why I first tried to learn this feint.)
Of course, this version is the most difficult, and by the time I wake up Saturday morning, I haven't come close to mastery.
But an entire week of killing myself in my sleep has done wonders for my real world body. I'm almost completely healed, thanks to [System Restore], and I'm ready to get back to training for real while I'm awake, too.
The nurses even tell me I'm looking handsome, now that my face doesn't look like minced meat.
They mean well, so I smile brightly at them, and I can tell one nurse is surprised and thinks maybe I really am handsome.
It's the power of the Sunshine smile. My mom taught me that.
I'm hoping I might be able to use it to convince them to let me outside. You know, where it's sunny and doesn't smell like disinfectant.
Before I can work my magic, however, the Child Protective Services woman, Ms. Pryce shows up. She looks just as exhausted and disinterested as she did the last time I saw her.
She frowns at the nurses until the atmosphere gets uncomfortable, and they leave.
One shoots me a last small encouraging smile, and I remind myself that not everyone in the world sucks.
"Mr. Kane. I'm happy to report the doctors have cleared you," Ms. Pryce says in a tired monotone. Then she yawns, overcome by that 'happiness,' no doubt. "You no longer appear to be in any medical danger from your near-death experience."
It's amazing how bored she can sound while talking about surviving a "near-death experience." Her voice is the sound equivalent of beige.
She doesn't sound like she cares if I respond or not, so I don't bother.
She proves me right when she continues her dull droning without reacting to my silence. "Now that all the initial...unpleasantness has been cleared up–"
Um. Unpleasantness? Is that what we're calling murder and years of torture these days?
A wave of nausea hits me, and even as I fight back the urge to puke, I'm tempted to hurl all over this beige bi-yatch and see if she considers that 'unpleasant.'
"–and now that you're healthy enough," she continues, "it's time for you go home. I'm here to discharge you."
Biting back bile, I force a word out. "Home?"
She's not looking at me, distracted by her phone. "Yes, obviously," she says, tapping away on her cell screen.
Obviously, she says, but nothing is obvious to me.
"Where....Who...?" I try to ask what she means, but the words are stuck in my throat, bubbling in the roiling nausea that's only getting stronger.
"Your home. With the Martins. Well, with Mrs. Martin and the kid, uh, Darrin?"
"Derrick," I whisper, and all the breath leaves my body alongside that name.
"Right," she nods absently. "He's been suspended from school all week, and the school counselor will be meeting with him once a month to work on his anger issues."
He's not angry. He's evil.
He likes it.
There's a buzzing in my head, and I feel like I'm no longer connected to my body, but the buzzing's not loud enough to drown out Ms. Pryce's monotone as she destroys my world.
"We've explained to Mrs. Martin that even if parental corporal punishment is legal in Oregon, there are limits. She'll be taking a parenting seminar after all this. But John Martin, of course, has been arrested. He won't be able to bother you. So you have nothing to worry about."
And with that, the biggest lie ever told point-blank to my face, I lose the battle with my body.
I vomit every last bit of the bland hospital breakfast and the chocolate chip cookies from Shawna's mom.
The look of surprise and disgust on Ms. Pryce's face as she leaps back, too late–the first and only expression I've ever seen her make–is the last thing I see before I pass out.