Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him, it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at lea...
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The sound of my phone buzzing wakes me up. I reach over and swipe it off my desk before rolling back over and falling asleep again. This doesn't last long before the ringing returns. It could be my mom so I answer quickly.
"What's wrong?"
"You tell me. You've barely talked to me this week. You get your period or something?" Cal asks.
"Fuck off, nine."
Agreeing to help Cal has been more work than I originally thought. I was convinced Cal was wrong, that Camryn is nothing more than a typical woman who loves to add dramatic affect to any situation. You live with one girl, you know them all. My sister and her friends gather like a cult on the weekends to talk shit and eat junk food. They spend hours playing the victim only to wake up completely refreshed and on to the next thing.
Sure, Camryn seems to come with a little more flare and wit, but it somehow works for her. She's going for unapproachable and does a damn fine job. Regardless of her typical female outer shell, there is obviously something more, boiling beneath the surface. And I think it has something to do with what happened at dinner the other night.
I didn't even want to be there, but Coach called and invited me himself. A discussion about my recovery was promised and all I want is to get back on the field.
It's like two Quinns have me by the dick. I can't say no.
"Seriously. Come out with us tonight. Karaoke night," Cal says.
I've been avoiding him the best I can since I went to Coach's house. I even volunteered to watch game film instead of the team practice. I'd usually rather be kicked in the balls repeatedly than rewatch film for a team I won't even get to play against.
Every time I have seen Cal or Coach, I pretend that everything is normal, that my time spent with their family has been normal. I take a page from their playbook and act like it's second nature for Camryn to leave the room crying.
I get the impression that it wasn't the first time it happened, and that it won't be the last.
It's been days now, and I can't help the way that the game film slowly morphs into a dining room that is identical to the one at Coach's house and the play-calls I'm supposed to be looking for become the dinner conversation that I remember hearing.
It's choppy now, bits and pieces of typical football talk. A tweak to a play, strengths and weakness of the next opponent. The only specific memory is the one right before it all fell apart. Camryn brought up my stupid Tom Petty knee. I know for a fact she thinks is hilarious, except this time instead of snorting through laughter she engaged in a yelling match with her dad.
I tried to stay out of the way, to give them their privacy the best I could while also sitting a foot from the action. I attempted to busy myself with thinking about a new way to move the ball up the field and how I could present it to our offensive coach.
