Walking out of the boy's locker room on sneakers that send me bouncing just a bit, I push open the door and step onto the shiny maple floors. My shoes squeak with every step. The smell of rubber mingles with the reverberations of teenagers shouting and running around with the soccer ball. They push for position, yelling for the ball so they can swing their leg with full force, slamming the ball into the bank of bleachers that smack loudly on impact. Now two of these adolescents collide followed by the thud of elbows whacking the floor. One of them, now grimacing, grabs his arm, muttering  curses. Our gym teacher blows his piercing whistle  to halt the scattered boys and give us instructions. This won't be as fun as the spontaneous match that he interrupted.