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“Boy, don’t talk to me like your balls didn’t just drop yesterday. You’re a kid—a talented one, but still a fucking kid. So Brooklyn talked smack about your girlfriend? Big fucking deal. You’ll hear far worse on the field. Besides, you’re seventeen. Do you think that’s the only girlfriend you’ll ever have?”
Now it’s my turn to look stern at him.
“Yes, Coach. She is. I’m marrying Val the minute we graduate.”
His brows rise to the top of his bald head, making him look like a deformed Mr. Potato head.
“Is that so?” he scoffs.
“Yes, sir, I am. Going to tell her pops, too and make it official.”
“Maybe Brooklyn got a few good shots in, because you are talking nonsense.”
“No offense, sir, but you don’t know Val like I do. She’s the kind of girl you don’t let get away.”
“Okay. I’ll indulge you, boy. So this girl is the one. Great for you. That still doesn’t mean you can jam your fist into every guy’s face who talks smack about her. This is football. Players will use any leverage they can find to weaken your game. That means nothing is off the table, including your precious girlfriend. You need thicker skin, boy, and until you have it, I can’t have you on the front lines leading my team.” He points a threatening finger at me.
“Coach, I can deal with whatever anyone has to say. I’m focused. You just need to give me a shot,” I plead.
He lets out an exaggerated exhale and looks me deep in the eye.
“I want to, Quaid, but you’re making it impossible for me to trust you.”
“It’s the Winter Formal game, Coach. I’ll even apologize to Brooklyn if I have to. Pay his hospital bills if he needs it, but give me this game, Coach, and I’ll prove to you that I’m right for the job.”
He looks me up and down, rubbing his chin as he does it.
“Fine. I’ll deny I said this, but Rory really can’t throw a ball for shit. You’re in the game. But if there is a repeat of what just happened on the field, then not only are you out of the game, but off my team. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll talk to Principal Williams about this little incident and say you boys were just rough housing. But you will have to man up and apologize to Brooklyn. I don’t want any bad blood between you come game night.”
Too late for that.
“Consider it done,” I lie.
“Good. Now go take a shower and get out of my face.”
I don’t even ask if I can go back to practice. It’s obvious he’s done with me for the day, and since I don’t want him to change his mind about letting me play our next game, I run over to the boys’ locker room to do as he says, praying that a long, cold ass shower will be enough to control my temper. I really shouldn’t have let Brooklyn toy with me like that. He’s known the coach longer than I have, so he must have suspected that if I lost my shit with him, that Coach would lose his shit with me.
Lesson learned.
I’m not going to fall for Brooklyn’s dirty tricks a second time, that’s for goddamn sure.
Yet his words still linger in my ear. Is that what the school thinks of Val? That Logan, Carter, and I just pass her along amongst us like some cheap groupie? I try to put myself in their shoes and think of how they must see us. Her holding hands with Logan in the hallway. Her running off to the library to have intimate lunches with Carter. Me toying with her raven hair in class and sneaking in kisses whenever I can, not worried who will see it.
Shit.
I can see how they might have that impression of us. Just the idea of everyone slut-shaming the only girl I ever gave a crap about fuels my anger to no end, and right now, I’m not sure who I’m truly angry with—the kids in this school who talk shit about her behind her back, or my two best friends who love her just as fiercely as I do.
I turn off the faucet, knowing a cold shower won’t be the solution to my problems or keep my blood from boiling. I wrap a towel around my waist and lay down on a bench, trying to get my shit together. I must stay like that for a long time, because before I know it, practice is over and my teammates rush into the room, most of them looking pissed that they were the ones Coach punished for my hot headedness. Not wanting to stick around, I get dressed and leave before any one of them says something that might spur my rage again. Not that it would take much coaxing on their part. This fury that resides inside me might be new, but it’s damn well overpowering, and all it would take is a wrong look my way to set it off.
It’s ironic when I think about it. Carter is the one who is usually angry at the world—not me. I try to hide my frustrations with a joke or a smile, while he alienates himself, preferring to feel life’s cruel jokes safely through a lens. However right now, I understand him perfectly, especially considering the urgent need to seek out the only person who has ever been able to lessen our pain, as well as cause it in the same breath.
With our refuge in mind, my determined feet take me back onto the football field, searching for her—the girl who offers us solace and peace as well as steals our very sanity. As I approach, I watch Val drinking from her water bottle, a smile on her lips as she talks with a few of the girls after cheerleading practice.
“Excuse me, ladies, I’m going to steal Val away from you.”
