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“Cool it, man. I’m just kidding. Maybe if you got laid, you’d be able to loosen up a bit.”
Placing both my hands on his chest, I shove him hard and he falls to the ground, the ball spilling out of his hands.
“What the hell, man?” He jumps up, body slamming me. “Just because you’re playing like shit,” he smirks. “Can’t hack that someone might be better than you. Afraid of a little bit of competition?”
Seeing red, I take a swing, connecting with his jaw. Pain radiates through my fist, and I clutch it to my chest wondering if it’s broken. Two strong arms wrap around me pulling me back. I don’t struggle.What the hell have I done?
My breathing is laboured as I stare down at Joel, lying on the ground clutching his jaw. The closest I’ve ever been to a fight has been a few jumper punches on the footy field, but I’ve never actually punched someone in the face before.Goddamn it, it hurts!
Mr Page storms over. “Get him out of here!” he yells at whoever’s holding me as he checks Joel over. “Principal’s office, now.”
I let myself be dragged away.What the hell is the matter with me?
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Macca hisses at me as we make our way through the school towards the office.
What, is he a mind reader now?I don’t say anything.
“Seriously, you’re probably going to be suspended,” he continues. “Not to mention kicked off the team. You know that won’t look good for the draft.”
I shrug, but those are the exact fears running through my mind right now. I’ve been distracted a lot lately with everything going on, but I still want to make it to the AFL. It was mine and my dad’s dream – to run out onto the MCG to the cheers of 100,000 spectators.
Seriously, what have I just done?
“Geez man,” Macca sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “I know you’re going through a rough time and all, but you can’t just go around hitting people.”
I make a fist and wince as another wave of pain shoots through my knuckles. I don’t think it’s broken, but it still hurts like hell. Macca nudges me, but I ignore him.
“Some captain you’re shaping up to be,” he mutters.
“Leave me alone. I don’t need anyone’s pity and I don’t need anyone’s help,” I grumble, kicking the leg of the chair outside Principal Fraser’s office.
“Could’ve fooled me.” He snorts as he plops down on the chair next to me.
“You don’t have to wait with me. Just piss off back to training.”I don’t need anyone reminding me how stupid my actions were.
His brow furrows. “What is up with you?”
I scowl at him. “Seriously, just back off man.”
Macca shakes his head. “No can do. As your school captain, your vice footy captain and your mate, it’s my job to look out for you.”
“Whatever.”
The door to Principal Fraser’s office cracks open. “What can I do you for, lads?” He arches his eyebrows.
“Uh…” Macca clears his throat, looking at me, and I drop my head. This is bad, but I’m not about to admit to anything. “Um, Mr Page asked me to bring Oliver in.” His eyes plead with me to step in so he doesn’t have to dob me in. When I say nothing, he sighs. “He punched Joel in the face at footy training.”
“I see.” I’ll give our Principal props. He doesn’t even try to hide his surprise at my actions. “Thank you, Anthony. I’ll take it from here.”
My so-called mate gives a quick nod before walking off with his shoulders slumped. Principal Fraser motions for me to follow him into his office. Seeing as I have no other option, I do as I’m told. Slouching down in the chair across from him, I stare down at my hand.
This is bad. This is really bad. How did I let it get to this point? What am I doing?Playing professional football has always been my dream, and now I’ve put that in jeopardy, and for what? Punching my girlfriend’s ex in the face for no reason. Shit, he doesn’t even know about us. This is a new low, even for me.
Sitting there as the silence stretches on, I start to squirm. Finally, I look up. Principal Fraser simply sits leaning back in his chair, his hands wrapped behind his head. The bell rings and I glance toward the door, wishing I was on my way to math class rather than sitting here.
There’s a quiet knock before Mr Page lets himself in, leaning his shoulder up against the door. I tug on the collar of my sports uniform, feeling trapped, as I return my gaze to my swollen hand.
“I’ve just called Joel West’s parents,” Mr Page says. “There doesn’t appear to be any damage to his jaw. He’s in the sickbay with an ice pack.”
