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𝑴𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏.
Antoine's Perspective
"Coach!" I say, catching up to him.
He looks over at me, eyebrows raised. "Yes, Griezmann?"
I sigh. "I, uh... I won't be able to make it to the game on Saturday."
I look at him, waiting in dread to see his reaction to this news. He opens his mouth, eyes wide, then closes it, eyes squinting and eyebrows going down. Finally he says, "Excuse me? What kind of joke is this?"
I shake my head, every feeling sinking far deep within me. "It's not a joke."
"Why on earth, Griezmann!?"
I swallow, glancing away, at the corner in the school where the walls and floor meets, making a corner. It's dust there. "I, uh, have community service that I have to do."
He doesn't get that I did something bad for it, and that it's my punishment. "Well, Griezmann, why don't you just tell them you can't make it? And I'm not trying to discourage you from helping out in the community- that's a very good thing- but think first, for in the future, before volunteering for something like that, when you know it's football season and you have your games and practices schedule. Come on now, Griezmann. You're more responsible than that."
I sigh, shaking my head, still refusing to meet his eyes. "It's not that. I... I did something... It's... Well, I'm doing community service as a punishment." I'm too curious. I have to look up at his eyes.
He's angry. "What on Earth did you do, Griezmann?!"
I swallow. "Bought... uh, liquor."
His eyebrows lower in disapproval, and I can't take it. I blurt, "I'm sorry."
"Griezmann," I starts, his voice low, which make me nervous. His voice lowers when he's angry. And if anyone would know that, it's me. He has been coaching me for years, and I've gotten better, but I used to be a real problem child. Sure, I was the best footballer in the school, even that young, so they couldn't kick me off the team, but they nearly did, several times, because of my sudden outbursts of anger, confusion, and emotion, or because sometimes I simply would loose all motivation to play at all. Even back then, though, I hid it from my teammates. They all just saw me as awesome, charming, charismatic Antoine who bullied half the girls in the school and dated the other half. They didn't see the messy side of me that my coach knows so well, from the past. It almost seems, like, though, by the way he's looking at me, that he's disappointed. I guess he thought I was better. I guess he thought I was healed. I guess he thought all my problems were solved, because with age, I learned to hide it better. I learned to move on. I learned how to stuff it down. I learned how to hide my emotions, and just play good football, I guess. The coach continues talking, "I really want you on this team, but I can't if you behave like this. If you're illegally getting drunk, and getting caught, and you can't go to games because of it, then tough! I hope you feel really guilty about this, Griezmann, because you are aware of how valuable a player you are, and who we are playing, and how much we need you in this game! I hope you feel very guilty. Listen, for the good of the team, I will have a talk with some people, and I'll make sure you'll play in this one, but it's not a reward to you at all. It is only for our team as a whole, because you are valuable. On the pitch. But if you can't be valuable anywhere else, then I honestly don't know if we want you on the team, Griezmann. We can be the worst team in the league, because if the best player is the worst, most irresponsible person, we won't have him! We. Just. Won't. Got it? I really don't want to say this, but I am. I thought you were better than this, Griezmann. You've grown, and don't you dare go back to your rebellious, difficult days. After this game, you're suspended from football- games and practices- for three weeks. Then come back, and we'll see if you can do better than that. But if something else happens, you can be sure, you will be kicked off of the team. Understand?"
"I understand," I say, holding all my thoughts, all my anger, all my tears, everything I want to say to him, back.
"Good. Then go home, Griezmann, and think about it."
I stare at him, then turn my back to him, walking out of the glass swinging doors.
I get in my car, and as I drive, I think about it all.
I do feel guilty for it, but it's not my fault. I hate guilt. And it's not even me to blame. It's my dad. It's all f***ing him. I did something, and it was wrong, but I had no choice! Someone was making me! And now I'm kicked out of football for three weeks? Football is the only thing that keeps me going, for God's sake! Thank God I can still make it to this game, but I feel so bad! And angry. For him to just flat-out say besides in football, I have no value? I'm torn apart, because so many people have told me that, it's hard not to believe! I try so hard... So hard for people to like me. But the people who really have authority- the adults, and the people who know me best? The ones that really know me? They all tell me how awful I am, with no value! And if those are the ones that know me best, and they're saying it, then it's probably true! I probably do suck. I do! I haven't gotten better, not at all. If anything, I've gotten worse. I'm a jerk. I'm awful, and I'm good for nothing but football. Football is something. It's huge to me. But to the world, you can't just play good football. You have to be a decent person.
I'm not. I got the kicks, sure. But everything else? When it comes to anything else, I never seem to do anything right.
