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Coach checks in with me every day. He hasn’t been able to reach Mr. Barker at Stanford yet, but it is now his mission in life. And it takes close to a month for him to complete it. I’m in the middle of a creative writing exercise when Mrs. Ortiz pokes her head in. She waves a yellow slip of paper at Mr. Craig and says, “I need Tyler Blackwell.”
I follow her out into the hall and she hands me the slip. “Coach Millikan wants to see you.”
I snatch the yellow hall pass from her and sprint toward the gym and Coach’s office.
I brace myself for bad news.
I knock.
Nothing.
I try the handle. It’s open, but Coach isn’t here. I decide to wait, but I’m too nervous to sit, so I pace the length of the room, stepping around piles of books and papers. Someone should really help this guy get organized.
“Well, Blackwell,” he says, showing up in the doorway behind me, and trying to play coy but failing miserably.
I throw myself at him and hug him as tight as I’ve ever hugged another man. I even pick him up off the floor for good measure.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
He nods proudly. I go back in for another hug.
Once we’ve both collected ourselves, he tells me that Barker got my letter and was extremely impressed with my honesty and they’d be glad to have me. And that the scholarship is still on the table.
“They’re even considering starting you for starting running back.”
Now I’m speechless.
“You’re going to have to start hitting some weights. Get some meat back on you.”
I nod, because I’m unable to find words. A freshman in any starting position is rare, but a freshman who didn’t play his senior year of high school?
“Now get back to class. If those fast legs of yours still work, that is.”
Oh, my legs still work all right, but I have no intention of going back to class just yet. I bound up the stairs to the art and photography rooms.
I spot Jordyn in her classroom and I gesture all crazy. She starts laughing when she sees me. Then I hear the door open and find her teacher glaring and at a loss for words.
“I’m in! They loved the letter!” I yell maniacally, then I run before the teacher can do anything. Laughter follows me down the hall and I can clearly pick out Jordyn’s. God, I love her.
I’m on such a high that I manage to complete the writing assignment before class even ends. And that was less than ten minutes. Mr. Craig eyes me suspiciously when I throw it on his desk. Then I stare at the clock until the bell rings. I’m out the door before Mr. Craig officially dismisses us, but what do I care? I’m going to freaking Stanford!
Jordyn’s out of breath when she meets me at lunch. I pick her up and kiss her, spinning her dramatically right there in the middle of the hall.
“You’re practically vibrating,” she says as we wait in line for pizza.
“Speaking of vibrating.” I pull out my phone expecting to see another text from Coach congratulating me.
And that’s all it takes to kill the mood. I’ve almost reached the hall by the time Jordyn even realizes I’m gone. She runs to catch me, grabbing my arm. I shake her off and push a few people out of my way. I’m trying to move fast, but I’m going against the sea of students. Jordyn manages to get out in front of me in the hallway and I end up pushing her and two other kids into the wall. Her face drops and I feel like a total asshole, but I’m too pissed to stop.
I’m halfway home without even seeing the road. I’m speeding and plowing through stop signs and all I see is my dad’s stupid fucking face.
I throw the front door open. It hits the wall and bounces back hard enough to slam shut. I’m down the stairs in one swift step and there it is, my door busted open, the frame and some of the drywall completely destroyed. The crowbar and sledgehammer he used to break it down are staring up at me from the floor. So much for impenetrable. I stalk down into my room and see Dad kicking at the paneling. He’s dangerously close to finding my hiding place.
I grab him by the shoulders and spin him around. “What the fuck are you looking for?” I scream into his face.
“You have no goddamn right to lock your door. This is my house!” He shoves me as hard as he can, catching me off balance. I stumble over a drawer that’s been thrown to the floor. The bottom is no longer attached. The second I hit the ground, I feel a sharp pain in my side. Then another. The third time he hauls back to kick, I grab his foot and pull it out from under him. He falls but lands mostly on the bed. It gives me enough time to get up and get in his face. He wears an expression of pure unadulterated murder in his eyes. I’m pretty sure mine is the same.