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Seven
December
If there was one thing to be said for my schedule these days, it was that it made for quick weeks.
During the school week, I was doing pre-school gym with the team, arriving at six-thirty. Then there was school, followed by practice or a game. Nights that I had a game were my reprieve; those were the nights I got to spend thirty or so minutes with Mo on the drive home, only to get home and hit the sack.
Nights I had practice, though, I was sticking around the Ice Plex and helping with the youth program until eight at night, when Dad would take me home.
And that was just during the week.
On Saturdays, I was going from six a.m. practice at the high school to the youth program, to the weight room for team gym, and then to a final practice.
They made for long days, but I wasn’t stupid. Dad was insuring that I wasn’t going to have time to get into trouble.
And if I found time, I didn’t have the damn energy.
I yawned as I twisted the combination to my locker, thankful that it was the last class for the day. This was the last week and it was Winter Break too. God, I needed the rest.
I was thinking about Winter Break and how much time I’d hopefully be able to spend with Mo when Alex crashed into the locker next to mine.
“Dude, just hold on to this for me.” Alex stuffed a baggy onto the top shelf of my locker.
I didn’t have to see the contents to know what it was.
Athletic Codes meant nothing to this kid.
Can’t smoke? Who cares.
Can’t fail classes? He’d get out of it.
Drugs are a big no?
Ha. He’ll prove to all of you how he could be high and play a good game, all while making the world think he was a great student and an example for the athletic-student association.
I reached back to try and grab the bag of weed to give back to him, but Alex pulled my arm out.
“Alex, I don’t want that shit in my locker.” My voice was low and I shifted my eyes to see if any teachers were monitoring the halls between periods.
Alex put the bag back in. “Mrs. Shityourpants is standing right next to my locker. I can’t put it in mine. Just for the period, Ports. I’ll get it after English.”
I ground my molars. If I was caught with weed in my locker, I was done. Between the pool incident and a couple failed tests, I was already pulled aside by the school’s athletic director. That’s not even to mention what my parents would do. I was almost finished off paying Dad for his truck, and I thought I was finally on good terms with both Mom and Dad.
“Alex, no.” I reached in for the baggy one last time and stuffed it against Alex’s chest.
“It’s just one freaking class, Prescott! Chill.”
“No, Alex.” I wasn’t getting caught with weed in my locker, be it a fifty minute class or the rest of the day. I pushed Alex back before slamming my locker door shut. “Just…put it in your backpack or something. I’ve gotta go or I’ll be late for class.”
My next class was clear on the other side of the school and if I was late, Mr. Stanford would make an example out of me.
Always did.
Didn’t matter if I was on time or not.
The man had a vendetta against me, I swear.
I stepped away from my locker, not sparing another glance toward Alex.
