AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“A gift?”
This car must be worth a hundred thousand dollars. At least. What the hell kind of gift is that?
“Adler did some car commercials a few years ago. He gave this one to me since he already had one.”
I knew there was a pay discrepancy between American and European players. And sponsorship opportunities. But I didn’t realize how huge until I moved here.
“Damn. I couldn’t even book a Ford ad. They gave it to some football player.”
“You are a football player,” Sophia says.
“American football. He was a big-shot quarterback who went to school in Michigan. They liked the Detroit connection.”
“American football, which is played with hands.”
“I’m not arguing it makes sense, just reminding you that’s what it’s called,” I tell her, my grip tightening on the door as she takes a turn.
Sophia drives like she’s in a Formula One race or something.
If we were in a car with less horsepower, I’m almost positive we would have been in several accidents by now.
We’re headed to look at furniture for my place. She texted me, asking if I had bought anything yet, and I admitted that I still hadn’t. So, she offered to go with me, and I immediately took her up on it because I am sick of staring at no furniture. At least the blue splotch on the wall in my bedroom makes me think of her. Makes me smile.
“You can drive it home, if you want.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Everyone is driving like lunatics. Including you. No offense.”
Sophia smirks, the air flying in the open window blowing her hair all around.
“I kinda hate this car,” she tells me. “I don’t care if you crash it.”
“I’d care,” I reply. “Why do you hate this car?”
“I don’t feel like I earned it.”
I tap my fingers on the door, admiring the smooth texture. “You don’t earn gifts.”
“What’s the best gift you’ve ever been given?”
My fingers keep up their restless tapping.
I can’t think of anything, which is embarrassing. I got gifts as a kid—trucks and books and puzzles. Nothing that stood out. And it didn’t take me long to figure out they had been bought with money my dad hadn’t earned, which I felt guilty about. Buddies and teammates would always get me joke stuff, like condoms or weird candy. Tripp buys me ties or other practical gifts now. I think, for my last birthday, he got me a blender. My mom sends me a check every year, even though I stopped cashing them when I turned twenty-two and started earning my own money. I’ve never had a girlfriend, so the only “presents” I’ve received from women have been in the form of sexual favors.
“A soccer ball, I guess,” I finally answer, following a noticeable pause.
It wasn’t even a gift. I borrowed—stole—it from a neighbor’s yard.
“You really love football that much?”
“It’s my whole life,” I answer.
I’m not being dramatic in the least. It’s always been my guiding light. My North Star. Without it, I don’t know who Will Aster is, and I’m terrified to find out.
“You asked why I agreed to photograph the team…I love photography. And I’m worried I’ll fail at it and everyone will know. That I’ll be famous for only being famous because of my family. The paper I’m interning for…well, my boss suggested photographing the team might mean I’m more likely to be offered a staff position at the end of my internship. The sooner I make money, the sooner I can stop relying on my family’s. The sooner I can prove to them that photography isn’t pointless. Or that me pursuing photography isn’t pointless.”
“That’s what they think?”
She shrugs. “My parents think I’m flighty and spontaneous. That I flip through guys and spend most of my time partying. That photography is something I do for fun and decided to try and make a living at it.”
