I pulled my arms through the sleeves of my old shirt. It was a bit stinky, but I decided to wear it one more day. Besides, real men smelled of sweat and oil, at least according to dad.
Once I was dressed, I sneaked closer to my bedroom door and listened for any sign of my parents still being in the house. I heard the fridge open in the kitchen. Then dad flushed the toilet and started to ask if breakfast was ready. Mom told him to make his own coffee. A typical morning at my house.
Dammit, I thought frowning.
My stomach grumbled, but I wasn't keen on finding my way to the kitchen while mom and dad were there. Skipping breakfast was worth avoiding yet another morning of arguing. Mom had done nothing but chastise me about the scholarship, and she kept asking how I was doing finding a solution for the mess I had caused.
I put my books in my back pack and walked into the hallway. I had already put on one shoe when mom appeared at the kitchen door.
"Where are you going so fast?" she asked.
"School," I replied nonchalantly, continuing to tie the laces of my other sneaker.
"Perfect. Since you're this early, you have plenty of time to talk to the coach."
It was just a simple sigh, but had I known how huge a mistake it was, I wouldn't have let it out of my mouth. Gritting my teeth, I listened to her lecture about how important a good education was. With her arms crossed, she minced words like she knew what she was talking about. She cleaned offices up in Parsons, and dad fixed cars in a shop in Parsons as well. Who were they to tell me about a college education?
"Okay, okay, I'll talk to him," I groaned, shaking my head.
"Are you sure you don't want to taste the delicious breakfast your mother has prepared?" dad shouted from the kitchen.
"Screw you," she said, turning toward him. "I serve those white-collar candy asses enough at work."
Their argument was my opportunity to sneak out the door. The grass was still coated with dew drops, wetting my shoes as I walked through the yard to my car. I kicked blades of grass off my shoes and climbed in. Luckily, the engine cooperated today, and I managed to pull out of the driveway.
This is a complete waste of time, I thought while I was driving to school. Coach Barrett would never change his mind, no matter how many times I visited his office, and it was all because of Javier. Without him, I would be planning my college studies with Kenny.
He'll be an engineer while I end up fixing cars in that fucking shop. How could one small mistake change the course of my life so dramatically?
Dark clouds shadowed my mind as I pulled into an empty place in the school parking lot. This early on a Monday morning there were only a few cars.
Let's do this, I thought. I took a deep breath to release the pressure mounting in my chest.
Coach Barrett had his small office in the gym. I chose to take a shortcut through the hallway of the main building. I pushed the door open and realized the school felt different without the throng of students crowding around each other and breathing all the oxygen. It smelled fresh, like lemons.
I passed my locker, then the bathrooms, and finally the corridor that led to the teachers' lounge. The janitor, who was fixing the lock of the cleaning closet, glanced at me and snarled something when I walked toward the back doors. At the same time, Principal Haynes came in and looked at me.
"Where are you going, young man?" he asked.
"I need to talk to Coach Barrett," I said. "There's something important I need to sort out."
"I see," he said, pausing. "Good luck."
He continued on back toward his office.
This is so not going to work, I thought, but I continued walking anyway. I stopped at the door and looked toward the gym and the door that led to the coach's office. Hopefully, he wasn't there. It would save me from an awkward, pointless conversation.
I kept walking, and the nearer I got to his office, the number I felt. Then I was there, inside the gym where I had changed my gym clothes and taken a shower hundreds of times. The door was opposite the locker room at the end of the short hallway, and it looked scarier than ever.
I knocked on the already open door. Coach was typing an email, but he took off his reading glasses and minimized it.
"Chris. What brings you here?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.
"My parents," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. "They're giving me a hard time."
The look on his face became softer before concern grew on it.
"Sit down," he said.
Hesitantly, I approached the chair in the corner of the small room. It was the same one I had been sitting on when Coach had kicked me off the team. Memories of injustice and disappointment filled my mind. It felt like it took an eternity to get there and sit down.
"Since I'm no longer on the team, I lost the opportunity for a scholarship," I said.
"That's how it works," he replied.
It was a cold statement with no empathy in his voice.
"My parents don't have the money to pay for college."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
The clock on the wall was ticking, and Coach Barrett stared at me, as I was trying desperately to figure out what to say next. It was so unfair that I was sitting there in the office. It was Bryan who had started everything and then betrayed me at the worst moment. He was the one who should be sitting here and begging for mercy.
"Look, I'm a bit busy," the coach said. "Is there something else?"
"Um, I guess I was wondering if there was any way I could make it up to you and get back on the team," I said, looking at the floor.
He sighed, and I heard his chair creak as he changed position. Unfortunately, that was all I heard. Except the clock that kept ticking.
"Actually, it wasn't my fault. It was Bryan who…" I began.
"Listen to yourself," the coach interrupted, raising his voice. "You're a talented player, one of the best I've coached, but you're not welcome on the team until you're ready to take responsibility for your actions."
"But I'm sorry for what I said."
"Come back when you understand that it's not me you should apologize to."
I was about to disagree, but the coach gestured for me to leave the room. The conversation was over, and I didn't have the desired message to deliver to my parents, not that my hopes had been high in the first place.
I left the office, not looking back. My blood pulsated in my ears. Fucking faggot!
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