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I wanted to knock them down.
Change the #11 C. Prescott to #11 P. Prescott.
I couldn’t do much about the #21 J. Prescott, but I could at least put some more recent years on the wall.
It was annoying as fuck to go through school being known as “Caleb and Jonny’s little brother,” or “Baby Brother Prescott,” or even fucking “Caleb’s mini-me,” but I had an agenda to accomplish with the school, and fuck if I was going to leave it all behind.
I didn’t need a fancy school to get noticed. I was a damn good player and was at the top of every Elite Prospects list
“I know, Porter, but it would be a great opportunity, a great step before Juniors if that was the route you decided to take before college.”
My parents both knew that college wasn’t in my plans. I was getting scouted right away and going straight to the NHL. Mom told me it would be smart of me to get a degree, and Dad enforced that there was nothing wrong with taking a few extra steps to get to where I wanted to go, but I was done with all the middle-man shit.
I just wanted to play in the Big Game.
“I know University’s a great school, Dad, but I really want to stay at East.”
He nodded and stood from the recliner he’d been sitting in. “Alright, Ports. Maybe just think about it?”
“Yeah, sure,” I agreed, wanting the subject to be done. I turned to head up the stairs just as Dad called out, “Good night, Porter. I love you.”
“Yeah, Dad. You, too.”
I heard him chuckle at me and I could just imagine him shaking his head in my direction. I fought the grin trying to bloom on my face and headed to my room, waiting for Alex’s text.
