The 87 Quarterback Bad Boy & Good Girl

2. Wildest NFL Dreams

Travis Redmond

I couldn't believe this was my very last final year of high school at Woodley High School. I'm very proud of myself for making it this far. Seeing as to what happened last year. When I thought I was going to be expelled, for almost killing a person. But in my defense, the person who I got into a fight with last year, was an asshole that needed it. He needed to be taught a lesson. The hard way. By using my fists to his arrogant, obnoxious, asshole face. This person who I am referring to goes by the name of; Jaynes August. A piece of shit that I can't stand ever since he stabbed me in the back when we got to grade 9 at Woodley High School. Within 2 months of being in grade 9 was all it took for him to be an asshole to me. I hate him ever since he kissed the very first girl I had a crush on at Woodley High School. Her name is; Sasha Marie. Jaynes knew that I liked her, and instead of being a supportive best friend-he went behind my back and kissed her on the same day that I was going to ask Sasha out. Worst part of all this is that I walked in on them kissing, and that's what changed our friendship that day. I couldn't believe somebody that I once called my best friend since grade 4 would do something that like to me. When I confronted him about it, he just called me a "delusional liar." That made me so angry, because I saw him with my own two eyes, putting his lips on Sasha's lips. So for him to call me a "delusional lair." Is what made me have my very first fist fight with someone who I considered my best friend. Now we are not friends anymore. We are enemies. We can't stand each other. I can't stand evening seeing him or being near him at school every day. But I had to put up with it for 3 years. Now that this year is my last year. I'll be glad when I'm out of there and won't have to see his stupid back stabbing face every again.

I finish putting on my clothes, so I can drive to Woodley High School. I pull up my black jeans on my waist, then buckle up my black belt around my waist. Tie up my black shoes. Put on my 87 Red sweater, that has my quarterback jersey number on the front, and has my last name written on the back, Redmond. Grab my black bag with all my school stuff in it. Grab my phone and head on downstairs to eat breakfast before I leave the house.

As I make my way into the kitchen, we'll actually before I make my way into the kitchen. I am greeted by our black Newfoundlander dog, Asher. Who immediately jumps up on me and starts licking my face. "Okay... boy... I love you to..." I pat his black fur forehead, as Asher continues to lick my face, to show me how much he loves me. Which I appreciate it a lot. But when I'm going to school I don't want dog slobber all over my face. So I let him lick me one more time and tell him to sit down. "Asher sit!" I order him to do, which he does. "Good boy!" I smile down at him and pat his black fur forehead, as he wags his tail back and fourth and sticks his tongue out at me, with slobber coming down from his tongue onto the floor. I cringe at the dog slobber that's on the floor and I immediately clean it up with a paper towel that I keep inside my black backpack just in case I need it, like right now. I clean up the dog drool before somebody falls.

I then walk into the kitchen and Asher follows right behind me. As I enter the kitchen I see my dad is making breakfast instead of my mom. Weird cause every morning my mom does it not my dad. No offense dad!

"Morning dad!" I say to him as I sit down at our white marble island table.

"Morning son!" Dad says, as he is cooking up my breakfast for me.

I glance around the kitchen and our living room and don't see my mom. "Where's mom?" I ask my dad, curious, as I don't see her anymore in the kitchen or the living room.

"She's upstairs still sleeping. Which she should be doing. She does so much for you that she deserves a break. So this morning I'm making your breakfast. Sound good to you?"

"Whatever. As long as my coffee taste good. I'll be alright to last for the next 6 hours of my day!" I tell him like my life depended on it.

Dad snickers at me. "I've been brewing coffee ever since I was 15. I think I can handle getting your coffee done right to your liking!" Dad says it with such confidence.