Page 91 of The Golden Boys
“A permission slip,” she announces.
“For what?” I ask while looking over the paper, confused.
“You’ve been invited to join the football team on a little excursion.” She says that with a smile. One I don’t even come close to matching.
“I don’t understand.”
Pinching the bridge of her glasses, she removes them and looks me in the eyes.
“I’m sure you’re aware of our boys’ record this season,” she says. “So, it’s not unusual for the athletic department to plan ahead when the odds are high we’ll make it to regionals. We’ve already secured transportation and booked a block of rooms.”
During the brief pause that follows, I can’t help but wonder what this has to do with me and the permission slip in my hand.
“Listen, I’m going to level with you,” she continues with a sigh. “In a perfect world, I’d ask how you felt about this, ask if you were up to it, but … the school will need photos and you need to do everything you can to stand out in Journalism Club. So, that means this assignment is all yours.”
I say nothing, because nothing I say will change this decision she’s made. A decision that will stick me with West and his crew for an entire weekend.
“Figured I’d tell you sooner rather than later,” she adds, “so you can make the necessary arrangements.”
When she lowers her head, closing the discussion with that final statement, it’s like a nail hammered into my coffin. On my way out of her office, I reach for my phone to text Jules. If the boys make it to regionals, I’ll need her and Uncle Dusty to look after Scar sometime next month.
Here I am, backed into the corner again.
Nice.
* * *
West
“Your ma tells me you boys are undefeated. Keep that up and they’ll draft you straight to the NFL on graduation day.”
My grandfather—the legendary Boone Landry III himself—is the only one who’s drawn a smile out of me today.
“Thanks, Grandpa, but I’ll settle for making QB-1 at NCU. For now, anyway.”
“They’d be fools not to want you,” he insists, his thick, southern drawl ringing familiar in my ears.
Based on skill alone I’d agree with that. Only, there are other factors that could blow that chance out of the water and they’re never far from my thoughts.
“Guess we’ll see next year,” I say vaguely, making light of how much I have riding on going undefeated this season. Knowing that it still might not be enough if certain truths come to light.
“Ialsoheard on the wind that you had an interesting game a few weeks ago. Something about some choice words painted on your uniform?”
Hearing him ask, I laugh a little as noise picks up in the locker room. “Yeah,‘interesting’is one way of putting it. And, technically, it was justonechoice word.”
I envision Southside’s handiwork and then my thoughts immediately shift to the incident in the hallway during the dance. The one where I’m turned the fuck on, and Southside turns me the fuck down.
Damn tease.
Since then, I’ve maintained the distance between us, for obvious reasons. It’s been weeks since I, personally, brought any hell Southside’s way, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t enjoyed watching Parker and crew put her through the wringer. Once my head is clear, once the lines between us aren’t so blurred, I’ll be back on my game.
“All right, level with me,” Grandpa huffs. “Tell the old man what you did to piss off whoever this poor girl is.”
“Not sure what you mean,” I lie, smiling because there’s no way he believes that. “You know me. Mr. Innocent.”
“Mr. Full-of-shit is more like it,” he corrects, bringing another laugh out of me. “This girl clearly wanted to send you a message, and that little stunt has‘woman scorned’written all over it.”
I don’t answer right away and, in the silence, I fuckin’ hate who’s in my head again.