It took a few weeks of getting lost and misplacing books, but eventually I settled in to this new school. In time I didn�t need to follow Marguerite everywhere, although we often still walked together. She could be incredibly annoying, but as she was really a very sweet girl, I put up with it. I think seeing less of Pete Shannon was very healthy for me. Now I only had to put up with him and the horndog brigade in homeroom, lunch, and at soccer.

In no time at all the team roster was hung in the office. Most of those who tried out had made it. We had a substantial team, half freshmen, and half sophomores, of nineteen boys. I made it, of course, and Roger was on there automatically. Pete, Marcus, and the Dombrowski twins of the horndog brigade made it also. I wasn�t familiar with the other players at the time, but as the years progressed, they became my inner circle of associates.

Roger had quite the reputation. Whenever any mention of him or �his team� came up, the teachers and all the students in the know would nod and comment on how talented Roger was. It was no exaggeration, either; a few practices and it was obvious he was an unstoppable defender who had every skill and maneuver mastered. Come our first game, however, he showed himself to be an astounding forward. He could run like a horse�easily able to sprint past any opposing player after running for an hour straight. Speed and stamina: something I�d been working on for years. He had a heck of a foot. God help any goalie that tried to block one of his rockets; one was liable to lose a few fingers or get knocked unconscious if they tried.

He scored four magnificent goals that game, tapping each in as easily as if the ball moved to his will. May I add, though, that I scored two points, also? Overall, we smoked the other team, beating them by 5 points. The next day at school they announced our victory over the intercom in the morning. I still remember the first time I heard it: �And an impressive victory for the JV team on their first game of the season! They beat Knoxville yesterday 6-1 thanks to four goals by Roger O�Donnell and two goals by a new member of the team, Arik Redde.� I still remember the exuberant feeling it gave me to hear my accomplishments blared for the whole school to hear, and I walked on air for the rest of the day.

It was an occurrence that was to become regular later on in my high school career, but that�s a later story.

For now, Roger. Oh, God, what can be said about Roger?

Sometime during the third week of school we crossed paths on a stairwell. Preoccupied with Pete badgering me, I didn�t notice him until a hand suddenly shoved my chest. I lost my balance and started to flail backwards, but the same hand tightened around the center of my shirt and pulled me back to my feet, where Roger was laughing good-naturedly. �There, we�re even,� he chuckled and continued on his way.

At practice he often willingly partnered with me and we�d spend the whole time chatting while doing whatever we needed to with the ball. He seemed to be of the opinion that I was the only challenge to his MVP stardom, the only one whose skills compared, the only one worth talking to. If I was a challenge, he seemed to welcome it.

He was a tad arrogant, and why not? The school adored him, even a minor sophomore as he was. He was so popular and cool: kids flocked around him in the hallways, and his name was forever carried on the mouths of random passerby. When he waved to me in the hallway it seemed as if the entire student body turned and goggled at me, wondering why this big man on campus was even glancing at a lowly spec of freshman giggles like me. I enjoyed it.

I mean, he liked me. He�d walk to class with me if we crossed paths, and he made a point of hanging out with me at practice. He wasn�t trying to take advantage of me by making me run favors for him or anything; he seemed genuine. What he saw in a self-conscious man-ditz like me I�ll never know, but it truly seemed like he desired my friendship. It�s a nice feeling when you can tell someone wants to be around you. In fact, I don�t know if there�s anything better than feeling like your presence makes another person happy.

I liked him back, of course. He was so sophisticated and socially perfect. His bravado was charismatic. He seemed so sure of himself all the time. On the field he knew he was the best one out there. In the hallways he knew the girls followed him in long giggling trains, knew the other guys respected and admired him. Some, jealous, even hated him.

God, I wanted to be like him. I wanted to be him. To my impressionable fourteen-year old mind he was a god. I even had a bit of a shrine to him; that is, I never returned his pen, but would play with it in class, rolling it back and forth in my fingers and running my fingertips over the RJO imprinted on the handle. His middle name was John, he told me.

The horndog brigade loathed him. Or, that is, Pete did and the rest of the gang just followed his lead. �Fag,� he�d growl, spitting into the trashcan at lunch, � s�got his head so far up his damn *indecent*! Thinks he�s so much better than everyone else!�

I just sipped at my juice box and stared sullenly at my sandwich. I wasn�t in the habit of standing up to Pete.

�Everyone knows Peters�� the coach of the Varsity soccer team, ��wants O�Donnell on Varsity but the friggin� *indecent* knows he�ll actually have some *indecent* competition with the upperclassmen, and he�d rather stay on JV and be our *indecent* team captain!� Pete curses when he�s angry. I think he figures it makes him sound tougher. Maybe it works. His coat rack of a body is less than intimidating, but it�s his vindictive, bellowing mouth that makes him a formidable enemy. He cares nothing for tact or courtesy; if he has something to say, he says it, and he says it loudly. It�s a frightening quality.

Not that Roger was fond of him either. After a winning game once where Roger had scored five goals for us, Pete got in his face and barked, �Yeah, hog the glory, *indecent*, just like you always do! I hope you realize that it was ME carrying your sorry butt the whole game!� He then promptly stomped off, leaving Roger and I stunned.

Roger instantly busted out laughing. �Eesh, he�s a snickitty little matchstick, isn�t he?� he quipped, and I thought he was wonderful. He had such great words. Snickitty. I had to steal that.

Being around Roger was so exciting. He was always doing things like that: inventing new words and cracking witty one-liners. I found that no matter how life had treated me earlier in the day, from the instant I saw Roger I was smiling and laughing. He was so witty, with a dry sense of humor and razorblade comebacks that often sent us into hysterics. No one could take a shot at Roger O�Donnell and penetrate his unbreakable defense. Rather, the attempts of a jealous attacker ricocheted off and were used against him or her. Never nasty but always clever, Roger would unravel any offensive words thrown at him and toss them back in the form of a joke.

He was just so smart.

And handsome? He could be a model. One thing I�ve always been okay with is my appearance, but I�d give anything to look like him: to have his trendy sideburns, his luscious eyes, his slow white smile.

As our friendship grew, I found myself thinking of him constantly. I was completely obsessed with him�because I admired him so much, right? Yeah, I told myself, I looked up to him as I would an older sibling if I had one.

Not until halfway through my ninth grade year did something occur to me.

I had a crush on him.

No, surely that couldn�t be it, though, could it? Normal boys don�t get crushes on other boys. There was a name for the strange ones that did. Homosexual. It was an ugly word, harsh, a degrading scientific term that was only associated with freaks. Nothing like me.

Still, why did his presence send butterflies to my stomach? Why did his touch set my heart to racing? Why was I so fascinated with his appearance, using words like �luscious� to describe him?

I possibly like liked him. The thought horrified me. But that was somewhat normal, wasn�t it? Like I said, hormones are weird. It�s normal to have confusing thoughts at this time in your life. That�s what the nurse hinted at when we had our Sex Ed class. It was unnerving but not unheard of. It didn�t mean I was that hideous insult thrown back and forth in the locker room�a faggot.

Maybe those frightening thoughts would go away. If I stopped thinking about it so much I would realize I was just being paranoid and stupid. Of course I didn�t like boys. I admired Roger, but it wasn�t like I wanted to sleep with him or anything. That was just disgusting, a cringe-worthy thought. Sometimes I�d purposely think about it, and then I would cringe, and I�d tell myself, see? What did I tell you? You�re perfectly normal.

Sometimes my bizarre mind-battles would go on for whole class periods. I�d be sitting in the beginning of Spanish listing reasons why I was stupid to be so nervous and suddenly Senor would tap me on the shoulder and inform me that the bell had rung and everyone was gone. (I�m kind of spacey like that.) I wasn�t always just debating whether or not I was infatuated with Roger, either; I contemplated everything. Like, did my classmates think I was obnoxious? Did my teachers think I was putting in enough effort in class? How was I ever going to pull off an A in math? What if I never got a girlfriend all through highschool? These things bothered me!

My goal in life was to be normal. I would never be the class clown, the rebel, or the brainiac, but so long as I could maintain my A�s and have the majority of the class think I was nice, all was well. At the very most perhaps I could be popular because I was good at soccer and hung out with the popular jocks.

All I ever wanted was to be normal.

Chapter Four...