I blinked twice rapidly. Olga's words took their sweet time to get through my thick skull. "Say what now?" I asked.
"I finally did it. I got myself a Yeerk," Olga repeated.
"Oh, well, good for you!" I said, really for lack of anything else to say.
((I knew it,)) Yemra said with her own self-satisfied smirk. ((I told you she was a Controller!))
I blinked once again, more to clear my head than anything. Olga Deborah Beauregard, Miss Thunder Thighs herself, was a Controller? Now even I wasn't expecting that. There was nothing in Olga's looks and overall demeanor that would suggest that she had allowed an alien brain slug to squirm into her head. She still looked very much like the happy-go-lucky girl from Alabama that I remembered her to be. Then again, that is the thing with us Controllers. Nothing we do would even remotely suggest the presence of the aliens wrapped around our brains. Except for telling you that there is an alien worm wrapped around my brain, of course. I thought we'd already covered that. Heck, Controllers can't even tell other Controllers from regular people; the only reason why I felt Olga's Yeerk's presence in the first place was because of the nik'iili in my blood, and I'm not sure that that's a standard feature of Yeerk infestation.
"Her name is Sobboh Eight-One-Two of the Ras Zamant Pool," Olga continued. "Her previous host is actually the Hork-Bajir that made news a few years ago for joining the Army. What was his name again? Sean Curry or something like it? And wasn't there something about you meeting him or the other way around before too?"
"It's Shal Guree," I corrected her. "Calling him Sean Curry makes him sound like he's Steph and Seth's long-lost brother. And now I'm wondering how a Hork can play basketball. Anyway, he's a nice fellow, Shal Guree. Decent guy. Cool under pressure. Right at absolute zero under fire. Unfortunately I met him in the part of my life that I'd really rather not talk about."
"Oh, yeah, right," Olga nodded sheepishly. "You were here when it happened, right?" she asked. And then she smacked her forehead. "Of course! You just said you didn't want to talk about it!" Olga said, as much to herself as to me. "Why would I even ask you that question? I should really shut up now, maybe talk about something else. How about this neck pain though?" she asked. "You never said anything about getting neck pains once I got my Yeerk."
"I did say something about neck pain," I retorted. Honestly, I was a little glad that she had shifted the conversation to something else. "Maybe you weren't listening or paying attention like always. But trust me, sister, I don't like the neck pain one bit either."
"Good God," Olga muttered as she moved her head around in an attempt to relieve the pain. "And you actually played like this? How could you even play soccer like this? That, and the fact that I really felt my head grow bigger and heavier as soon as Sobboh went in. Surely you must be feeling that too. Man, I can't even imagine playing a single minute of soccer feeling like this, let alone score some goals. And headers! You scored some fucking headers like this, didn't you? I'm sure you did! I can only imagine how you must have felt during that. God, my neck and head hurts just thinking about it!"
"Well, as they say, no pain, no gain," I replied. "Oh, and yeah, it's just as painful as you think it is. But you'll get used to the bloated head feeling. That's the good news. The bad news is that the neck pain is forever."
"Seriously? No joke?" Olga asked.
"No joke," I nodded. "I heard that it's got something to do with how the Yeerk wraps itself around the brain and inflames the meninges which causes the stiff neck-like feeling. Not all Yeerks though. They say that some Yeerks squeeze into the corpus callosum and stay where throughout the three days. Looks like your Yeerk likes to wrap instead of squeezing. So get used to stiff necks for the rest of your life, or for however long you want to host Sobboh, you said her name was?"
"Oh, great," Olga muttered, rolling her eyes and throwing her arms up theatrically. "It isn't too late to give back my Yeerk to the Pool, right?" she asked with a laugh. "Of course I'm kidding, Sobboh!" she added immediately as she looked up at her forehead. And I knew she was. Olga had been absolutely and genuinely interested in the idea of becoming a voluntary Controller even way back in college when she had first asked me about it. She had wanted to know everything there is to know about Yeerks, the process of applying for a Yeerk, everything that happens during the first infestation (I know that the HYA didn't like to use the term infestation these days, but honestly no one has thought up of anything better to describe what happens) and how to continue living normally as a Controller. She read the pamphlets I had given her and even attended an HYA meeting. In fact, Olga was so obsessed with the idea of hosting her own Yeerk that I was sure that had she been around during the Yeerk invasion, she would have joined the Sharing and become a voluntary Controller. Part of me even wondered if she would have agreed to host a nasty Yeerk like Esplin Nine-Four-Six-Six or something of his ilk.
((I highly doubt that possibility ever coming to pass, Jen,)) Yemra replied to my rhetorical question. ((Only Yeerks with good records, meaning those who don't have a history of breaking their hosts mentally, are allowed to be hosted by voluntary hosts. Ensures that the voluntaries stay voluntary, you know. The Empire may have wanted to take over entire species instead of share bodies but they know the value of voluntary hosts.))
((So you mean to say that, in a twisted sort of way, the Yeerk Empire and the Peace Movement actually have more in common than they think?)) I asked.
((Yes, probably,)) Yemra nodded. ((Actually, maybe, not so much. I don't know. No.))
((Well, what is it, girl? You're confusing me!)) I cried out.
((Hey! Olga is talking!)) Yems said in reply.
"Really, I swear that you never said anything about stiff necks and bloated heads while we were talking about this," Olga muttered.
"And I swear that it was one of the first things I mentioned," I replied. "Anyway, that's then. Now you know the feeling, whether you like it or not. So, what are you doing in town? You said something about signing for the soccer team here, right?"
"Yeah, about that," Olga said, and she leaned back on her chair and sighed. "Okay, so get this. I've been hopping around jobs and internships back in Wichita, always trying to make it work but never really settling down in one place or another. I don't know. Maybe it's just me. Anyway, we also have a soccer team there, the Skylarks. Semi-pro outfit; our best player gets fifty bucks flat, and everyone after her gets less. And there I was, thinking surely there must be something out there that I really wanted to do that gets me money at the same time. Do you have any idea how expensive even a small apartment costs in Wichita nowadays? Then suddenly, one day, out of the blue, the manager calls me to his office, says that there's two people who wanna meet me. So I meet with these guys, out in the open near where the other girls are training because you can never be too sure, and—I kid you not—the first thing these guys say to me is 'How would you like the chance to play in the NWSL?'"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on a minute," I said, raising up a hand to stop Olga. "The NWSL? Are we still talking about the same team here? Because the last time I looked, our team is nowhere near the NWSL?" The NWSL, or National Women's Soccer League, is the highest level of women's soccer in the United States. Kind of like the WNBA except it's for soccer and there's always fewer teams in the league than the previous season.
"You didn't let me finish," Olga countered. "As I was saying, these two guys asked me if I wanted the chance to play in the NWSL. I said, 'Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I wanna play in the NWSL!' Then one of the guys, he had a British accent and chest hair sticking out through his shirt—god, that was fucking gross, but I couldn't stop staring at it just because it was so gross—clarified things. 'What we mean to say,'" Olga said, deepening her voice and putting on her best attempt at a British accent, "'is that we're offering you the chance to play in the NWSL in the next few years. Our club is not yet playing in the NWSL right now, but we are putting together a team that we hope the NWSL will notice because we plan on bidding for one of the expansion slots the league is offering up for the next decade.'
"That was the first guy," Olga continued. "The second guy, the one who looks like Neil Patrick Harris's doppelganger, and I do mean doppelganger because he's like an exact copy of Neil Patrick Harris, says something along the lines of 'what I said earlier is still technically the truth because I am literally giving you'—meaning me—'a chance to play in the NWSL, even if it's some time away and our expansion bid may not pan out.' Plus a bunch of other stuff I can't really remember right now. No, Sobboh, I don't want to recall it right now."
Now it was my turn to laugh. Well, not really laugh, more like snigger, because what Olga had just described was so typical of our manager and our boss. "The British guy is our manager, Mitchell Davidson," I explained to Olga. "Coach Mitch for short. And the Neil Patrick Harris clone is Justin McCormick. He owns the team as well as a number of other teams throughout the state. Well, technically, the Diamonds are the only team he really owns; he's just a stakeholder in the other teams. But Mr. McCormick has got his fingers in a lot of pies, maybe even try to turn the Rust Belt back into the Steel Belt. Starting with Pennsylvania, of course. Anyway, so you mean to say that both Coach Mitch and Mr. McCormick went to Wichita to come talk to you about joining the team?"
"I mean, if your Coach Mitch and Barney Stimson 2.0 and my guys are one and the same, then sure?" Olga shrugged.
"Good God, Olga, you have no idea what that means," I said. "That means that both Coach Mitch and Mr. McCormick agreed that signing you would improve our team. And Coach and Mr. McCormick almost never agree on anything. All because Mr. McCormick's sister ran off to marry Coach Mitch… But I'm sure you don't want to hear about your new coach—our coach's private life."
"Oh, come on, Jen, you're such a tease!" Olga protested. "You can't just leave me hanging like that! You gotta tell me more!"
I laughed again. "Good to see that getting a Yeerk still hasn't stopped you from being such a nosy gossip," I said. "Look, I don't know what Mr. McCormick has said to you during his contract pitch, but Coach Mitch knows his stuff. He's no Pep Guardiola or Jurgen Klopp, and he'll be the first to admit that, but Coach has won a few trophies throughout his career. He won the women's league title in Scotland and a double in Portugal and then, as fate would have it, the Diamonds board thought that Coach Mitch would be a great fit for the team after they had sacked the previous manager. Mr. McCormick didn't want Mitch anywhere near his team because of his sister running off and basically cutting herself off just so she could marry Coach, but the board vetoed Mr. McCormick—I think that's what they did anyway—and those two guys have been gritting their teeth even as we've won the division, then the conference, and finally went all the way to the final. We lost that game, but that's another story."
"Man," Olga muttered, shaking her head as she digested my words. "This all sounds like something you'd see on Netflix when you're done binging on everything else worth binging on."
"Hey, don't give them any ideas," I said. "They're already making documentaries about teams like Manchester City and Sunderland. Imagine if Netflix got their hands on the drama of lower league women's soccer here in the States. Or was that Amazon Prime? I don't even know anymore; I can't catch up with all these streaming sites."
"Aw, come on, it's not all bad," Olga said in encouragement. "You're not that old yet, aren't you?"
"Well, I'm definitely much closer to thirty than I would have liked," I muttered. 'But hey, at least we all grow old, right? Growing up is another matter, of course, but you know what I'm talking about."
Olga shrugged and nodded in acknowledgement. We both then went silent for a moment, and then Olga asked me, "So you're playing for the Diamonds too, huh?" she asked. "You a starter for them?"
"What do you think?" I replied. "And it's not just the money, you know. I don't mean to big myself up, but if there's another striker out there who's better than me but is willing to take a hell of a paycut and is able to gel into our system, I haven't seen her yet."
((But you did end up bigging yourself up with that statement, Jen,)) Yemra quipped.
((I don't remember asking you about anything,)) I snapped back.
"So where would I fit into your system?" Olga asked.
"I don't know, really," I thought. "Maybe something like what we did back in college; you know, me being the main striker and you supporting me, maybe even playing as a false nine. But, I'm telling you right now, you're gonna have a hell of a hard time trying to dislodge Carina from this starting eleven."
"Oh, really?" Olga asked with a sly grin. "Have you never thought about the possibility that you could be the girl that I replace in the starting eleven come the new season?"
"Oh, so it's gonna be like that now?" I asked mock-angrily. "Remind me again who scored more goals in four seasons between the two of us?"
"Okay, sure, you may have scored more than me," Olga retorted, "but at least I didn't miss three sitters and the first penalty in that shootout in the semifinals in junior year! If it weren't for me scoring my penalty and Steph saving two of theirs we wouldn't have made it to the final that year!"
"In my defense, that was not my best penalty kick ever," I said. "Wilma actually had a better finish than me back then! Freaking Wilma! A goddamn center back! All right, but enough about the past. Let's talk about the here and now. Have you got yourself a place to stay in town?"
Now there was a look of what appeared to be embarrassment on Olga's face. "Actually, I was thinking that maybe I could ask you about that," she finally said after a few moments of awkward silence.
"Whatcha talking about?"
"I just got here from Wichita," Olga explained. "Like, I literally just got off the bus right now. Well, that's not really true. I dropped off Sobboh for a quick feeding before I got here. Anyway, as I was saying, your Coach Mitch and Mr. McCormick, while they gave me a big fat contract that I just had to sign if I didn't want to rot on Wichita's bench, they never said anything about me getting new digs. Not even a measly freaking room for rent!"
"How much did you say you were gonna get paid again?" I asked.
"Ooh, I don't think I'm supposed to tell you anything about that," Olga said guardedly.
"Not even a ballpark figure? Because I've got a few ideas, but unless I know how much you're getting, I can't recommend anything to you because they might be way out of your price range."
Olga still seemed unsure about answering that particular question though. "Can't you suggest anything that's really, you know, dirt cheap?" she asked.
"Well, if you're talking about dirt cheap then I know some places up in downtown, but that's only because it's right next to the rebuilding areas," I replied. "Are you sure you wanna wake up to drills and wrecking balls?"
"When you phrase it that way..." Olga trailed off. She certainly didn't look the type to stay in such an area if she could avoid it.
"Look, the bottom line is that the club doesn't have any arrangements for lodgings for the non-local players," I explained. "No matter how much you or I are getting paid, everybody's got to find their own place without help from the club. They're just tight-fisted that way. Well, either that or they can stay with a teammate."
Olga's ears perked up at that last sentence. "Are you offering to let me stay at your place, Jen?" she asked.
"Don't get too excited just yet," I warned her. "I'll still have to clear this with my parents—"
"You still live with your parents?" Olga sniggered.
"Hey, not everybody can just strike out and make money while doing whatever they like," I retorted. "Anyway, as I was saying, I'll have to clear this with my parents before we can go ahead. There's a guest bedroom at our house that we don't really use because we don't really have many guests coming over. I'm thinking you could stay there for the meantime while you look for a place of your own."
"And if your parents say that I can have your room?" Olga asked teasingly.
"Oh, no way in hell is that going to happen," I replied immediately. "And even if it does, I'm kicking you out myself. But seriously, you probably can stay with us for the meantime, but you really should start looking for a place to stay. I know that you can stay with us; it's just a matter of how long."
"Oh, no, please," Olga said, seriously this time. "I wouldn't want to impose on you and your parents."
"No, no, it's okay, really," I insisted. "Just remember to avoid the inner city and anywhere near the park. I mean, I love my city and all that but there are just some places here that a young and single twenty-something girl like you shouldn't be seen going anywhere near. I'm just looking out for you, girl."
"Thank you, Jen," Olga said. "You didn't have to."
"Hey, what are friends for, right?" I asked with a laugh. Then I looked down at my phone as I heard it vibrating on the table, telling me that I had a message. I read the message and said, "Oh, crap. Almost forgot."
"What? You almost forgot what?" Olga asked me.
"We've actually got a team meeting scheduled this afternoon," I told her. "It's this thing that we do before the start of the season where we go over what we did right and wrong the previous season and anything we could do to make sure we keep doing the right things and avoid doing the wrong things. Looks like you're in luck again, Deborah," I said. "You've got someone to hitch a ride with to our meeting place."
"Oh, you're too kind, Jen," Olga said. "I don't even know how I'm going to repay you."
"Oh, don't worry about that," I told her. "I'm just trying to help out a fellow human being."
A/N: Sorry this one took a little bit longer. I've been busy with other things. But now here it is, and I do appreciate your thoughts about my work. It only takes a minute or two to leave a review or a comment. Once again, thanks for reading! – GR
