As we exit the long tunnel leading from the locker room to the open air of the plaza outside the stadium, the din of cheers deafens me. Techno music that should be pumping me up, along with the crowd, only adds to my unease.
I’m not the team captain this year, so thankfully, I’m not leading the pack out of the hole. That place has to be earned and today? Today, I’m just a rookie about to quarterback for a divided team on the gridiron in an attempt to win.
Sunlight blinds me temporarily, as the roar of the crowd reaches a fever pitch. Only family and friends are in this cordoned-off area, but beyond the velvet ropes and security guards lies a parking lot full of frenzied fans.
This is a new era of Miners’ football, and its success rests squarely on my shoulders. Or so I’ve been repeatedly told.
That sounds fucking grand and frankly, like every player’s dream. Too bad it’s all for show. This team isn’t ready. This team doesn’t want my green, freshman ass on the field, leading them. More importantly, I don’t trust this team.
We line up as instructed in front of the doorway, while an emcee announces our positions, names, and numbers. Fans and family alike cheer for me, but that only piles on the pressure.
“Golden Boy who will save State football,” my ass. I don’t even remember my Thursday night, too irresponsible to avoid overindulging on beer because of my nerves about the first game of the year. It’s not bad enough the trainers are already up my ass about my less-than-stellar performance in the weight room, but now that I’m down thirty pounds of muscle mass, I’m also apparently a lightweight who gets hammered after only a few drinks.
But, what’s really had my stomach balled up in knots the past thirty-six hours isn’t the fact I got sloppy drunk. It’s that I woke up Friday morning to an empty bed and Evie-less arms.
I search for her beautiful face in the crowd, remembering her words when I finally caught up to her between classes yesterday.
“I had so much homework, I fell asleep at my desk. I was exhausted, and I didn’t even wake up in the closet this morning. I guess I’m finally cured. Looks like you don’t have to put up with me crowding your little bed anymore.”
In an effort to really sell her performance, she didn’t sleep with me last night, either.
“You need a good night’s rest before your debut. You and Alex should have some bro-bonding time and all that jazz. I’ll see you tomorrow on the field.”
Alex’s and my bonding time consisted of trying to piece together the events of Thursday night. When we admitted to each other we had no memory of how we’d woken up in our own beds Friday morning, we were freaked the fuck out. One of us getting blackout drunk? Unlikely during the season. Both of us? That’s a scary-ass coincidence. No way in hell could it be chance.
Our worry increased when we met up with the other freshman guys for breakfast. Not only did everyone feel more hungover than usual, but no one remembered Thursday night. The kicker? All our girlfriends were acting suspicious. Chelsie wouldn’t return Mike’s calls or texts; Gemma slapped Jackson when he entered the dining hall; Leticia burst into tears when Kory tried to walk her to her first class. Only TJ’s story was different. Apparently, Harper blew his mind with what he proclaimed, “the best blowjob of my life” when they woke up in bed together.
It’s highly unlikely the rest of the girls are PMSing at the same time. Besides, Evie’s special cranky time isn’t for another two weeks by my calculations.
I knew she was lying to me with her excuses; I just don’t know why. When I finally find her in the sea of family and friends, just like yesterday, her eyes look red and swollen, like she’s been crying.
She’s trying her damnedest to hide it, though. Even from yards away, her smile is as carefully painted on as the makeup on her face. The curls I want to run my fingers through to calm my nerves are noticeably absent. She looks gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. She just doesn’t look like my Evie. Straight hair flowing over her shoulders, way more eye liner than she normally wears, even lipstick. Since when does Evie wear lipstick? I squint, focusing on the State emblem stretched across her breasts. Her breasts that look much larger than normal. Why do her breasts look bigger?
I never realized how much I treasure the things Evie perceives as imperfections until now. Standing next to a group of girls she looks similar to, I hunt out all the things that make her stand out from a crowd, but it’s like they’ve been magically erased until she looks eerily perfect. She’s not with our families; rather she’s standing with the rest of the players’ girlfriends.
It freaks me the fuck out to realize she looks like a carbon copy of the rest of them. The only difference between any of the girls is their coloring.
I exchange a nervous glance with Alex. With his pads on, no one else probably notices, but it’s clear to me his shoulders are bunched with tension. He makes a subtle gesture with his chin toward Evie, his eyes flashing the same questions rolling through my mind.
Further down the line, Mike stands with his shoulders squared, but his gaze cast to the ground. Even though he’s a redshirt, he still has to dress and appear with the rest of us for all home games.
He hasn’t said it aloud, but he resents the fact Alex and I were named starters. Every high school football player who signs with an NCAA team expects to ride the bench the first year. For State to have named five freshman starters is practically unheard of. Shit like that only happens at junior colleges.
After the pomp and circumstance is completed, we’re released to mingle with the crowd like the indentured servants we are. We only have a half hour to speak with our families before we’re supposed to be pimped out to the fans at large.
All part of the rebranding of State’s football image this year. Yay me.
I need Evie to run her fingers through my hair, whisper in my ear she’ll love me no matter what happens on the field today, and kiss me for luck. My nerves are spiraling out of control, eating a hole in my stomach like today is my very first game. My path to her grows longer by the minute with each person who stops me, wanting to shake my hand, chat about my predictions for the day, get my autograph, take a picture with me. I’m expected to smile through it all. Christ, don’t they want to talk to their own football player?
Before I make it through the crowd, Dad is at my side, running the pimp show like he does for any of his clients. Instead of offering me calming words of father-to-son wisdom, he adds to the hype, which is already crushing me with its invisible weight.
“I’m so proud of you,” Mom whispers, tears choking her voice. She had to fight her way through the throng to reach my side. “You’re going to be amazing today. Just breathe and do what you were born to do.”
“I don’t know, Ma.” I speak against her ear, hoping no one will hear my admission. “Something feels off. Shit happened last week I can’t explain. Half the guys on the team are acting weird; the other half want me gone. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Of course, she doesn’t laugh at my Star Wars reference the way I know Evie would.
“How’s Evie?” As if she can read my mind, Mom cranes her neck in an effort to find my missing girlfriend in a sea of faces.
Even being nearly a foot taller, I can’t spot Evie, either. There’s simply too many people milling around this circus ring. “She’s part of the unexplainable this past week. She’s not exactly mad at me, but she’s definitely avoiding me. Can you find her for me? I just want to see her real quick before the game.”
Mom frowns, a look passing over her eyes I can’t read, but then she nods, her expression determined. “I’ll find her and bring her to you.”
No sooner does Mom disappear than Dad has me shaking hands and posing for photos with someone else.
Just when I think it’s over, the press begins documenting the whole ordeal. If they’re here, that must mean we’re being released to the fans soon. And there’s been no Evie or Mom sightings, even though I manage to get in hugs from the entire Papageorgiou clan, who I made sure had special family game day passes.
Dad whisks me away from them like they might taint my superstardom.
Jackass.
“Give them the hell!” Papou calls as I’m being pulled away.
God bless the old guy for the first genuine smile that’s cracked my face all day.
“Miners fans, are you ready?” a booming voice over the mic asks, as screams echo in my ears in return.
My head’s already ringing, and I haven’t even taken one hit yet.
I search around frantically for any sign of Mom or Evie, but it’s too late. My time is up, and we’re being ushered out into the open.
The game hasn’t even started, but today feels like it’s never going to end.
“You assholes better be at the Sig O house tonight for the party, no excuses. The least you can do after costing us the game, is show up and be our drink bitches.”
I don’t even know or care who that comment came from, as I sit in front of my locker, staring at nothing. I can’t really focus my gaze after all the sacks I took today. My linemen refused to give me more than milliseconds after the snap before obviously letting the D through.
I’ve never seen a team actually throw a game like that.
“Fuck those motherfuckers,” Alex growls under his breath beside me. “We didn’t lose that game. The fucking o-line lost it for us. I swear to God if they collapsed the pocket any more, they’d be no better than cheerleaders on the field.”
TJ grunts his agreement on my other side. “I think some of the male cheerleaders could’ve done a better job. They can kiss my bruised ass. Even I blocked better than they did today. I’m going back to my dorm and begging Harper to kiss it all better. Hell no am I going to their lame-ass party. What the fuck do any of us have to celebrate? I haven’t played on the losing end of a shut-out since middle school!”
Somewhere behind me, Mike’s low voice adds to the din in my brain. “Fuck, if we show up, we might not remember anything tomorrow. Chelsie’s still not speaking to me after Thursday night, since I apparently never showed up for our date.”
I drop my head into my hands, rubbing at my temples in a futile effort to make the pain go away. It’s too bad the trainers don’t have full-body steroid shots. I could really use one right about now. “I didn’t even get to see Evie before the game.”
“At least they’re not making us talk to the press,” Alex huffs. “Can you imagine what a shit show that would be? Coach could’ve shoved us under the bus like the rest of the team is.”
“He wouldn’t do that.” I level Alex with a glare. “He signed us and started us, so it’s his ass on the line, as much as ours. We’re all gonna pay for it in practice this week, though.”
I don’t know why I’m defending Coach. Pop’s best friend or not, he has zero control over this team. On the field or off. I’m seriously considering a private meeting to tell him what little I know about Thursday night. Depending on what they drugged us with, none of the rookies might pass the next random NCAA piss test. I wouldn’t put it past the upperclassmen to set us up like that.
My dear old grandfather must be rolling over in his grave to see what the Miners have become.
“A lot of good that’s going to do anyone if those bastards want to lose.” Mike sighs. “I gotta go. My mom’s waiting for me in the parking lot, even though she knew damn well I wasn’t playing today. She wants to take me and Chelsie out to dinner. I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain to her that Chelsie isn’t speaking to me because I got wasted last week and stood her up. I’ll maybe catch up with you guys later.”
His echoing footsteps retreat through the mostly empty room. A few lockers slam closed amid hushed chatter, but nearly everyone has left. Pretty soon the custodial staff will come in to collect the dirty towels and uniforms.
As I slowly stand to put on some clothes, I catch sight of Donnell approaching us.
“They were just testing you boys today. Shake it off. Next week won’t be as bad.”
“Are you shitting me, Stewart?” Alex throws his arms up in the air. “Next week we’ll be on the road against a conference team! That was bullshit today, and you know it!”
Donnell lifts his palms up in a defensive gesture. He’s only a junior, so he’ll be around next year. I thought I could trust the guy, but after Thursday night, I’m not so sure. He might just be another one of Jamal’s henchmen, keeping us in line with a different method—making us think he’s a friend rather than an enemy. Time to put that theory to the test.
I face him as I remove my towel. I’m not the kind of guy that flaunts my assets, but Dad might be onto something with his advice on how to let them know who’s in charge.
There are a few things I’m painfully aware of in this life. One of them is this: no matter how big the muscles, how impressive the speed, or how much a guy gets laid, they’re all jealous of my dick. They don’t give a damn I scored a 1540 on my SATs. They don’t give a rat’s ass I don’t actually need a tutor for my classes. And they sure as fuck would laugh themselves to tears if they ever found out I think of my penis as a potential problem rather than a gold star from God himself.
Sure enough, Donnell’s gaze flicks south of the border before he meets my stare.
I’m not even hard right now, but he’s seen the full package before during the sick, twisted competitions they forced us into during camp. All he needs is a reminder I’m packing more heat than he is.
I fold my arms over my chest and stare at my center for a few minutes, working out what I’m going to say. As pissed as I am, I don’t want to send Donnell scurrying to his potential master. “You’ve been around the block a time or two, Stewart. I’ve seen the footage from last year, and it wasn’t like this. What’s changed?”
Donnell rubs the back of his neck and averts his gaze. “I honestly don’t know, man. It’s like half the team done gone and lost their fucking minds this year. It’s more than you true freshman starters pissing everyone off, though. Most of these guys know they ain’t got no future playing pro ball. They been so busy partying through school, they ain’t got no real careers waiting for ‘em, either. I’m starting to wonder if they’re not just fucking with the whole team ‘cause they don’t know what else to do with themselves.”
That was a way more honest answer than I expected. The scariest part is, it makes sense. A guy with nothing to lose is unpredictable at best, a walking disaster at worst.
I would know.
Now, the only thing I need to figure out is: what does that mean for the rest of this season?