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Murphy
Ihate the travel day before a game. It’s a shit ton of hurrying up, just to sit around and wait.
We met at the school at eight this morning to get on the buses for the flight to Boston. The flight is less than two hours, and it beats the hell out of spending half the day on a bus with a bunch of fuckin’ dudes, but for some reason, I’m still on edge. I’m trying my best to zen out, watching the top of the white puffy clouds float by, when Bash comes back from the bathroom and drops down in the seat next to me.
“What’s going on with you today? You thinking about a certain long-legged senator’s daughter?” The sarcastic tone in his voice is pissing me off.
Fucker. I glance at Bash before looking back at the calm blue sky. “Sorry, did I miss my appointment, Doc? Is this a therapy session? Cause I’m good, brother. I’m not thinking about Sabrina. I’m just thinking about the game tomorrow and how I want to win. Which is also what you should be thinking about.”
“She’s a cool girl. It’s okay if you’ve got a thing for her. You know that, right?”
He’s not gonna let this go. “Bash, man. Yeah, I’ve got a thing for Sabrina. I’m not hiding it, and I’m not upset about it. I’m not Brady. I don’t need to be pushed into making a move. My move’s been made. I’m not overthinking it. I’m picking her up tomorrow night and bringing her back to our place, so you might want to make sure you know where your headphones are if you don’t want to be kept up all night.”
Bash starts to hum, “Another one bites the dust.”
“Nobody’s biting the dust just yet. Don’t get ahead of yourself. We’re hanging out and having fun. What’s going on with you? How was dinner with your pops this week?”
He shrugs, then looks away. “It is what it is. He and I are never gonna be on the same page.”
“Yeah, man. But at least he gives a big enough shit to want to know what’s happening in your life.”
“More like, he wants to control my life.”
Coach Barnett stands up, clearing his throat and effectively ending our conversation. He’s at the front of the plane and starting to give us the “Behave yourselves, you’re representing Kroydon University” speech. We get this speech weekly. It doesn’t matter if we’re home or away, he wants us on our best behavior in front of the fans and the media.
He doesn’t ask an assistant to speak for him. It’s always Coach. He’s as old-school as they come, and no one would dare question his methods, because he runs one of the top winning football programs of the last century.
Coach Barnett’s in his late sixties, having coached for Kroydon for over twenty-five years. With white and grey hair, a thick mustache, and broad shoulders, he stands smaller than most of us, at five-foot-ten, but what he lacks in height, he makes up for in presence. This man dominates any room he enters.
Coach quickly goes over our schedule for the day.
Check-in at the hotel, then lunch.
Tapes and walk-through, and then I’ll spend time with the trainer.
Dinner and bed check.
Sounds simple enough, but it’ll take all damn day.
We don’t get to choose our roommates. They were assigned to us back in August and, barring any injuries or roster changes, they stay the same for the entire season. Upperclassmen are typically paired with underclassmen. They’re supposed to be a good influence, but most of the time, they just teach you how to sneak beer into the rooms.
I lucked out and got paired up with Jamie Dawson. By bed check that night, the two of us sit on our side-by-side double beds, watching WWE Friday Night Smackdown in a shoebox-sized room. If I stand in the center of it, I can touch either bed, the dresser with the TV on it, and the mini-fridge. Definitely close quarters.
Jamie’s phone hasn’t stopped vibrating all night.
“Dude. Are you sexting with me right here? At least take it to the bathroom.”
“Suck it, Murph. You’re just jealous your girl’s been texting me, not you.”
I glare at him, not liking the idea of him and Sabrina talking. I never used to be a jealous motherfucker, but this girl brings it out of me in spades.
Jamie must read the look on my face because he goes from kidding to serious. Both hands go up in defense. “Hey, man. I was kidding. You got a girl I don’t know about, freshman?”
“You met her at the party at the football house.” And now, I feel like a girl at a slumber party. We gonna braid each other’s hair next? I grab my phone and start scrolling social media.
“The hot senator’s daughter? Damn, Murph. You’re moving up in the world. I didn’t know it was like that. I thought you had a different girl riding your dick every night. She must have a magic pussy or something.”
“Fuck you, Jamie.” I glare at him across the room. “Want to say that again?”
