At home, I toss my bag somewhere in the corner. My skaters fly across my room when I kick them off.
Stephen, calm down.
The tent of throws. I want to destroy it. It's in my way and...annoying the hell out of me right now!
Nope. Don't. Don't do it.
I yank my...jersey over my head.
Stephen.
Stupid glasses, slipping off!
Calm down.
Fish. Bradley. I'm as red as he is. Dumb fish. Just stares.
Stephen, breathe.
...Idiot!
All he had to do was score. That's it. All he had to do was take the ball I gave him and I...I could've just kicked it my...fracking self!
You did what you did in the moment. That's sports.
Yeah. And I paid for it...again. Thanks to him. Number twenty-five. Jordan bumped into me "by accident." It wasn't called.
But, you weren't hurt, and the ball made it to Tyler.
...From what I remember, Tyler missed his shot, it bounced back, but then he turned the ball over. Typical Tyler. Can't play defense and stands there like a deer in headlights. Idiot's why Jordan scored three times...in the first half. Why I lost another game, making them...the playoffs...
"...Fuck!" I scream into my jersey.
Stephen!
...Great. Now Mom or Dad will come up and annoy me and give me the same...stupid pep talk Coach gave us. I don't need to hear it.
Tyler. He cost us so many games. So many opportunities.
Relax. Calm down. It's one game.
...True. One game. It's always been one game. All these six years. One game, separating me from trying to win a league championship. I'm the region's lovable loser. I look at the shelf. Participation medals. The one regional trophy I barely even remember winning two years ago. I only made it through because the Marmots upset the Bears for us, and we beat the Marmots. I remember blurs. Excited blurs. Losing.
For six years, I put everything into this. I have nothing to say for it, except for six flashy years of pain. Losing to a stupid, dumb animal in the regionals. The Bears. The Bears. The Lions (my lone finals shot). The Marmots. And did I mention the stupid Bears?
No. Tell me more.
Baldy McStripes has to be the worst referee because he does nothing but stand around and let it happen. He did nothing when Jordan ran into me because Jordan...he's a poster boy. Might as well call it. Crown him. Give him another title. He always knocks us out when it counts most.
Okay. Let's slow down. Jordan? He's tackled you a lot, hasn't he?
...It's a push-and-shove battle every single game.
Last fall's hit?
The worst one.
You had a freak scare with your knee. And if I remember correctly, it scared you, didn't it? ...Didn't it?
...No comment.
Because you sure were remembering it during that game. You let it get to you. That's not what we worked on all winter.
YOU ARE READING
Earhart & Noonan: An "Us Club" Novel (#1)(NaNoWriMo15)
Teen FictionFor the first twelve years of Stephen Vaughn's life, just trying to get others around him to pronounce his first name the right way ("Stee-vehn Vawn") has felt like the hardest task he's had to try and cope with. That is, until his perfect life with...
