Chapter 3. The Ultimate Day
Thursday of the following week held the promise of a beautiful fall afternoon. Marty had just spent the last hour in a sunlit classroom, trying to absorb Professor Staigleton's drone and trying to ignore the Siren call of the outdoors. Marty cared about his classes a great deal. It was a wonderful opportunity for him to even be at Yale, but that day, once Professor Staigleton listed the reading material and announced the end of his lecture, Marty was practically the first one out the door.
Marty slung his backpack over his shoulder and ducked out of the swarm of students heading for the main doors of Connecticut Hall, taking a shortcut through an unassuming side door. Within moments he'd burst into the sunshine.
It was a bit nippy so he zipped up his jacket. And, for that, he couldn't help but smile. It was perfect weather for a pick-up game of Ultimate Frisbee – not too cold to run around in a t-shirt and not too hot to drown in sweat. As he headed to the field frequented by his friends, his backpack bouncing over his eager footsteps, he knew he wouldn't be the only one who felt that way.
As Marty neared the field, he could make out a small group already congregating. Of the five people there, Marty recognized Rob, Dino, Tynile and Dawn. Walking up, he announced a resounding hello and they chorused back in kind. After an introduction, he also exchanged brief pleasantries with the one girl in the group whom he didn't recognize, Tynile's friend Deb. Afterwards Marty asked eagerly, "So, you guys starting a game?"
"We were just talkin' about that," Dino replied. "John's getting his disc as we speak."
"Cool. My dorm's just over there. I'm gonna change my shoes and drop this off," Marty said, referring to the thick texts strapped to his back. Marty was already backing away from the group, heading in the direction of Branford.
"Hurry back," commented Tynile. "Here comes John now."
"Ok. I'll be quick. You guys can start. I'll be right back." Marty turned around, his impatient feet setting off at a trot.
"You playing?" John asked, as they passed each other on the path to the dorms.
"Yup. Just changing."
"Well don't change too much," John quipped. "We need someone with your height to mark against Rob!"
Marty laughed. "Yeah. Right."
At his dorm, Marty threw his keys on the shelf and dropped his backpack with a reverberating thud at the foot of his bed. He changed into sweat pants – the one's his sister swore were too geeky to wear in public but which Marty felt so comfortable wearing and simply could not justify throwing out. He pulled an old Yale Bulldogs sweatshirt over his t-shirt, grabbed an oversized thermos of cool water, and ten minutes later he was jogging back to the game.
Rob, Dawn and Dino had apparently just scored a point because, when Marty arrived, John, Tynile and Deb were commencing the "Walk of Shame" to their respective end zone.
John called out when he saw Marty. "Hey great! You're back! They're already leading by three points."
"Then I guess I'm with you guys," Marty replied as he tossed his thermos to the makeshift sideline and lined up next to his adopted teammates. "So what's the game plan, Guys?" he asked, only half serious.
"To score a point," Tynile chimed in, as though she were revealing a hush-hush secret of the trade.
"And to not get slaughtered," added John as he put a hand up signalling they were ready to start. Across the field Rob wound up and threw the disc. It sailed towards them – a clean, soaring pull which covered nearly the full length of the field. Marty, Tynile and Deb raced ahead as John fell back to pick up the disc. The match had begun and Marty's team circled the field on offence while the others blocked and marked an equally good defence.
Even with the cool, autumn wind filtering through the field, after two points of outright sprinting, Marty was cooking hot. He took a personal time out and jogged to the sidelines, stripping himself of his second-layer sweater. He tossed the garment onto the ground and was just about to take a gulp of water from his thermos when he heard someone call his name. Lowering the container from his lips, he turned and scanned the crowds of commuting students.
Marty's eyes fell on the only figure heading straight across the grass towards him. The figure was Logan Huntzburger, and that could only mean that there would be another party down at the frat.
"I don't mean to interrupt your little game here," Logan apologized flippantly, no doubt unaware of how condescending his comment came across.
Marty cringed but quickly ignored the other guy's arrogance. Another job opportunity was always welcome. "No worries. What's up?" he offered brightly.
"Saturday," Logan began knowingly. "Saturday is going to be a great day - and Saturday night is going to be even better."
"Why is that?" Marty replied, playing along with Logan's theatrics.
"I'm speaking about a little soiree taking place at GKE. Can you be there? Set up at seven?"
"Seven, huh," Marty repeated thoughtfully as he considered. Deciding that he was available that Saturday night, he made a mental note of the particulars that Logan gave him and accepted a shift.
"I knew I could count on you, Flanagan," Logan said with a characteristic smile before turning away. It was Logan's ongoing joke to refer to Marty as Brian Flanagan, ever since Colin had snidely asked if he'd seen Marty in the movie Cocktail. Marty supposed, however, that it was better to be referred to as a Tom Cruise character than as one of the ladies from Coyote Ugly.
Logan, halfway down the field, called over his shoulder, "And brush up on your Whiskey Sours, 'cause I'm gonna be needing some of those." Marty shook his head wryly, took a swig of his water and then returned to his game.
The score was tied by the time Marty's friend, Steven, arrived, evening the teams at four players each. But despite the addition of Steven's efforts, some twenty minutes later, Marty's team had amassed a sizable lead. That lead began to rapidly deplete, however, after the arrival of another newcomer, Len. They were now outnumbered by one and the extra player ran circles around them, breaking up most of their plays.
It was during his team's one particular "Walk of Shame" that Marty noticed Rory coming along the path towards them. Marty hadn't seen her since last Sunday and she was a sight for sore eyes. "Hey Rory!" he called out to her and she waved back. He met her on the sideline. "Long time no see. Where've you been?"
"Chained to a desk at the Herald. Uh," she grunted, clutching a binder to her chest. "I'm so behind at the paper. Did I mention how everyone else had amazing summers while I rested on my laurels?"
She'd begun many conversations lately with that very topic. "No, I hadn't heard," Marty teased.
"I'm so behind and I can't get the ideas flowing," She sighed as she rubbed her brow. "And I've been sitting in front of my computer so long, I think my eyes have turned rectangular and my butt's gone flat."
"Are you coming, Marty?" John called from the end zone. "We won't have a hope if we're outnumbered by two."
"Yeah!" Marty called back, as a long shot idea occurred to him. "Hey, we're outnumbered, and you need a cure for Rectangular-Eyed Flat Butt Syndrome. The best thing for both of us is for you to come play with us." Marty offered his most winning smile.
Rory chuckled. "How is my playing going to help either of us? What I need is a soak in a nice, hot bath," she added wistfully.
Marty slipped his fingers under the strap of her book bag and pulled it down off her shoulder. He also pulled the binder from her arms. She protested meekly but didn't stop him. He dropped both by his water bottle and exclaimed to his teammates, "I'm coming – and so's Rory!"
The others cheered in appreciation while Rory let loose with a very different reaction. "No way," she stated with a mixture of laughter, worry and determination. "You don't want me playing. I'm not dressed right. I'm wearing Keds."
"There's no dress code. Look at me." He considered letting her go to Branford to change, but decided that, if he did, she'd likely not come back. Marty placed an arm around her shoulders and gently guided her onto the field. "Besides, when in Rome, do as the Romans do."
"All that studying has fried your brain. In case you hadn't noticed, we're a loooong way from Rome."
"Then what was with all those guys in togas we saw last week?" he joked.
She tried again, ignoring his joke and attempting to weasel out of his grasp, "But I don't even know how to play."
Marty stopped walking, his arm still around her shoulders, and she ceased squirming long enough to look at his face. "Do you know how to throw a Frisbee?" he asked.
"Yeah," she admitted warily.
"Then all you need to know is how to run and how to catch. I think you can handle it." When she still didn't bite, he added. "Have I ever steered you wrong before?"
Rory unleashed a quirky smile which Marty immediately found contagious. "No," she admitted. Her body language laced with resignment, she allowed him to lead her onto the field.
"Okay then," Marty said with excitement. Soon they caught up to the others at the end zone and Marty ran through some quick introductions.
"Glad you came out to play," John welcomed warmly and Tynile and Deb reiterated the sentiment.
"Well, I didn't really," Rory mumbled, amazed she'd been roped in. "I'm not an athlete."
"Neither are we. We're geeks through and through." Tynile assured her jokingly.
Deb protested meekly. "I'm not a geek. I just…" she trailed off with a flick of her wrist, having no suitable substitution at her disposal. "Okay fine." The others laughed at her unwitting confession of geekhood.
"Actually," Rory admitted. "I don't know how to play."
"The only rule is to have fun," Tynile encouraged.
"Okay," Rory said and shrugged. "But what do I do? I'm sure that's not the only rule."
Marty pointed to Dino, who was holding the disc at the other end of the field. "When he throws the disc, you start running that way. One of us will try to throw it to you."
"That doesn't sound good," Rory interjected. "May I suggest that I sit on the sideline and watch while you throw it to someone else?" Marty just smiled and continued.
"Now those guys." He was still pointing downfield. "They're gonna try to keep the disc away from you, so you try to dodge them." Rory nodded dully as he added, "You have to try to keep the disc away from them as well."
"Let's make this easier. Don't throw the disc to me at all."
"There's a pretty good chance we will!" Tynile winked. "Don't worry! You'll be fine!"
"But what would I do with the disc even if you did?"
"If the disc comes to you, just catch it and stop running." Tynile elaborated. "Then you try to throw it to one of us."
"Just catch it and stop running," Rory recited as though cramming her brain with essential details. "Oh, Boy," she lamented.
"Watch the disc and catch it if you can," Marty reiterated. "To get a point, one of us has to catch the disc in the other end zone."
"Here comes the disc," John announced jovially as he, again, dropped back to receive it.
"Here we go!" Marty called out as he and the others took off downfield.
"I'm sure he meant 'Here goes nothing,'" Rory murmured as she reluctantly chased after them.
As he ran, Marty kept tabs on Rory when he could, and he smiled often. She was usually well behind the play, and it was obvious to anyone who saw her that she was not sporty by nature. She was the very picture of, "You throw like a girl," and, even with the pointers she gratefully accepted from the other players, she looked completely lost on the field.
But, Marty thought as his lungs began to ache from exertion, she hadn't put up much of a fight when he'd dragged her on field, and she actually seemed fairly enthusiastic about playing. And, he decided warmly, her manner of "playing" was definitely cute.
Putting Rory's charm on the backburner, Marty cycled back into the stack and focused on Rob, who was facing him with a solid mark. Marty charged directly towards him, so that the other guy would have no choice but to turn round to keep up. When Rob did, therefore losing sight of Marty, Marty took off full force in the opposite direction. "Tynile!" he called once he'd successfully dodged his opponent. She answered with a fake for her own mark, Dawn, and a flick of her wrist, sending a clean throw to Marty downfield. Instantly changing gears, she dashed ahead of Dawn. Marty was able to get a quick shot back to Tynile on the give and go.
By some alignment of the cosmos, at that very moment, Rory was running into a clearing while also keeping a watchful eye on the whereabouts of the disc. Tynile demonstrated another graceful throw which found itself landing straight into the fumbling grasp of Rory who, dutifully, remembered to stop running once she'd caught it.
"Alright!" Rory exclaimed joyously, but with the choking sound of someone who'd been running faster than she could breathe. "I caught it!"
Just then, Len jumped up beside her, arms outstretched, and preceded with an aggressive but friendly stall count. Rory's excitement was quickly interrupted by fright. A startled scream escaped her throat, an occurrence which effectively silenced Len's counting for a moment and elicited a smattering of laughter among those on the field. If Rory was aware of this, however, she gave no indication. Instead she just remained standing there, as though she were a deer caught in headlights.
Calling on some reserve of energy, Marty dashed ahead of Rory into the end zone just as Len collected himself and resumed the stall count. "Rory!" Marty called, clapping his hands.
She turned away from Len to desperately face Marty. She held the disc as though it were a hot potato that she desperately wanted to be rid of. She wound up to throw but, in all the excitement, her wild throw went wide. Out of Marty's reach, the disc wobbled out of bounds and nose dived into the ground, thus ending the flow of command Marty's team had held on the disc.
"Oh… I suck!" Rory lamented, gasping for breath and wandering over to Marty as Len ran out of bounds to retrieve the wayward disc.
"Don't worry. You're doing great," Marty comforted with a huge grin of pride for her. He gave her a soothing pat on the shoulder. "And the scream was a nice touch."
"I didn't… scream," Rory assured him breathlessly – until sudden uncertainty crossed her face. "Did I?"
"A bit." Marty smiled again and Rory made a face.
"How embarrassing."
"Well, it bought you some time, Len was so surprised, he almost forgot to keep counting!" He gave her a slight pat on the upper arm, careful not to let his touch linger, and then he began to trot away. "Come on! Len's got the disc!"
"Oh geez," Rory moaned. "I don't think my legs," she gasped. "Can run any more." But like a trooper, she began to drag herself after the disc.
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