Spring 2007 High School Edition
Soccer Balls Gone Awry
Brittany Beatty
Fiction (11th-12th)
Third Place
Snow Canyon High School
Teacher: Lenore Madden
The autumn air was chilly and the temperature wasn’t helped by the slight drizzle just wet enough to make my walk uncomfortable. For the first time since I had moved to the city, the mall parking lot was deserted, even on Sunday morning. I jogged the last few yard of the parking lot as the clouds finally gave in to an actual shower. I reached for the door and it flung wide as the wind caught it and threw it to the edges of its hinges. I started in, but stopped when I saw the latest newspaper.
Suddenly the lack of crowds made sense; on the front was what looked like a cartoon of a soccer ball with arms and legs and the headline, “Sampson Speaks Out Against High Taxes.” The Scientific world was calling it a natural wonder. Somehow, by a twist of fate similar to a Kafka story, the ball at the World Cup got steroids in it or lightning struck it, or any strange combination of events, and had become alive.
No one really thought anything of it, until the ball, Sampson it was calling itself, had announced it was running for President. If that weren’t strange enough, a few weeks later it proclaimed itself the new speaker for the Lord, ESPN. Actually, the idea of being the latest Messiah wasn’t its idea; I think some football star, in all his wisdom, referred to Sampson as his reason for winning, and Sampson just went along with it. Since then, more people had been attending his church every Sunday than at any other time in history.
I walked hurriedly into the main store, and the warmth reached through my jacket. I glanced around. No one could be seen; I couldn’t even hear the normal rustles from the weekend employees. I walked to the side where the Starbucks had been grafted on, like a Siamese twin who shared a heart and stomach with the bookstore. Or maybe it brought the heart; I had noticed an increase in high-school students around here since it had been added.
As I crossed from the carpeted book portion to the hardwood coffee side, I could hear the usual bubble of boiling water and coffee always ready for customers craving caffeine and sugar. Oddly there wasn’t a soul behind the counter, not even Josh, the gangly college hopeful who was trying to work his way to an education. His chestnut ponytail made me think that he belonged more to my mother’s generation than mine. He was my favorite employee, not only because he could always be counted on for a new conspiracy theory, but because he knew his literature. I was always shocked by the empty shrugs I got when I asked the other coffee jockeys if they had ever read any F. Scott Fitzgerald or even the latest Dan Brown thriller. I had been so surrounded by book addicts during college that I had forgotten how little normal people paid attention, or even cared.
I walked up to the counter and leaned over until I could see the floor on the other side. Josh could have been playing some prank. Maybe the disappearance of all the employees could be just that, some stunt that Josh cooked up. All I could see were the rubber no-slip floor mats. As I leaned back to the ground, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the silver side of their steamer. The moisture in the air was frizzing my hair.
“Are you going to admire yourself all day, Narcissi?” I knew immediately who was behind me. Not only was the voice unmistakable, but he was also the only person I knew younger than myself who would use Greek allusions in a greeting.
I let myself fall back to the floor. I turned to face Josh, thinking it strange that he would approach me from the bookstore-half of the building. He was wearing the baggy, ripped jeans that he always had on.
“I’m glad you’re here. I have something to show you,” he remarked hurriedly.
“Wow, you must have something really big cooked up if you’ve got everyone in on it,” I said, following his weaving path through shelves of book sections.
Our crooked route finally lead to the Art/Poetry Section at the back of the store. Josh moved off to the side to the door reading “Employees Only” and knocked loudly.
I glanced around. The store was so empty. Was everyone hiding out in the lounge because of fewer customers? After a few minutes the door swung open and the youngest employee, Katie, peeked around.
She squinted her eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, “No one followed you, did they?”
Josh shook his head. “No one around but good ol’ Miranda, here.” He clapped me on the shoulder. Katie nodded and stepped away from the door to let us in. I couldn’t help but be reminded of college when all the fraternities acted secretive and important. We walked down the grimy hall to the break room. Seated around an old table was the staff of the bookstore and a few Starbucks employees. I recognized all their faces but only a few names. There was a book with a tattered red cover sitting in the middle of the table. It was large, like one of those oversized bibles you sometimes saw on elderly people’s coffee tables.
“What’s going on here?” I demanded, glancing around. Judging by their grim faces, it looked like a serious matter.
Everyone turned to Josh, who seemed to be acting as leader.
“We’re here to stop Sampson,” he stated bluntly.
I opened my mouth to begin asking the many questions that one statement had stirred up when Josh cut me off.
“You have seen what he’s done to our culture? No one does anything but play sports. That’s all they do all day, follow the imprudent rambling of that freak!” The others nodded at the end of Josh’s short speech, as if it explained everything.
“I’m not sure I follow. You don’t like that people are spending more time outside playing games?”
Josh sneered, “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen into their mainstream thinking that the best way of life is to follow the doings of oversized, steroid-abusing jocks who do nothing but show off. Haven’t you noticed how in the few short months he’s been around, people have stopped reading and learning? We only get about half as many people coming to the shop as we used to, and even then most of them come only for coffee!”
I sighed, “I don’t like people giving up on literature either, but what can we do? Force them to read?”
“Precisely.” Josh’s smile was somewhat demonic, but the others didn’t seem to notice. Without waiting for a reply, Josh went to the book on the table and held it up. “This will solve all our problems!”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, “I must be missing something. What exactly will this book do for us?”
“This is no mere book. This is Brandon. He will go against Sampson. He will remind the people where true power comes from. He will take control of the country and make people appreciate literature again. We are going to bring this book to life just like Sampson, and then we will use him to bring importance back to learning and growth. He will bring about the second Renaissance.”
My eyes moved to the others in this room. Their faces filled in the gaps Josh’s speech had left. Instantly I saw images of the two candidates Sampson the ball and this book called Brandon. I knew there wasn’t much hope that the book would win any election, given people’s current interests. And even if he did, I saw nothing but resentment toward him. When people are forced to do anything they don’t like, they end up hating the imposing figure. If Brandon accomplished what Josh wanted him to, the opposite of their goal will be achieved. People would fall further away from enlightenment and reading.
I gawked, “This is crazy, even if you could bring it to life the people will only follow what they want. Even as much as I disapprove, most people prefer sports heroes to the giants who wrote the classics. Hopefully the time will come again when it’s fashionable to be well- read, but for the moment we will have to accept that Sampson is who the public will follow.”
Josh sighed, “I had hoped you would be one of Brandon’s more prominent followers, but I won’t force you. You’re too intelligent to be coerced into something you don’t want to do.”
“Reverse psychology won’t work. I think it’s immoral to demand people agree with our way of thinking, no matter how right we think we are. Reading should be an experience of self- growth and discovery, not a political affiliation or law.”
Josh’s face became red as he yelled, “Get out!”
I left, quickly and gladly.
Two months later I walked out of the grocery store with milk and eggs. I passed a newsstand and stopped when I saw the headline. I couldn’t help but feel victorious and sad at the same time. The front page sported an article about a debate between Sampson and Brandon held
the night before. It said that Sampson had done very well, especially because he related so well with the average working man. Brandon, however, scored very poorly. It seemed many people found his ideas unrealistic and likely to end in tragedy. Besides that, not many people could understand his complex diction.
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