That psychological sayinglike father like son, regurgitated through me daily—usuallyjustafter I lost my shit, like I had fifteen minutes ago on the field.
And it was true. I had my old man’s devil of a temper, but I inherited my mom's conscience. That made me have regrets about my conduct, and Ihatedthat, saw it as a weakness. Caring turned you into a pussy. If I didn’t give a crap, which was the image I liked to project, it made things so much easier.
I was sitting in Principal Miller’s office, still wearing my practice jersey, which was now stained with Josh Sanderson’s blood. I hadn’t even been given the chance to get changed before beingforcedto face the Big Cheese and listen to his bullshit.
If I had to hear another chorus of ‘Are you proud of yourself?’ I wouldexplode.I also would have preferred that Coach be honest with me and call me afucking liabilityto my face. Something I had overheard him say to Miller as I’d finished my junior year at school.
Those words echoed through my thoughts:Are you proud of yourself?
And the truth was—no, Iwasn’tproud. But I’d sell my left nut before I’d let Miller and Coach Rutherford know that. I had truly intended it to be different in my senior year. At the end of eleventh grade, it was drilled into you that during twelfth grade, you wereexpected to set a good example for the younger kids. Well, day one and I had astronomically fucked that one up.
At the end of Miller and Rutherford’s sanctimonious rendition ofYou’re going nowhere fast, I unfolded my arms and pushed to my feet. To hell with this, I couldn’t wait to leave this hole and go to college.
I had been instructed to apologize and patch things up with Sandersonbeforethe weekend. And whilst I had agreed to that, my version of saying sorry to that fucking gimp would be a resoundingstay out of my way or piss blood for the next few weeks. That would do the trick. I had gone easy on his ass all things considered, the fowling little prick. We all knew exactly why Coach continued to blow smoke up his ass, even though he was a mediocre player at best. Rumour had it that Rutherford had been boning Mrs. Sanderson for the last year.
Samuel J. Rutherford used to be the school’s top quarterback in his heyday. From the past games we’d seen on DVD, Coach had earned his quarterback role and could have been a Hall of Fame player, but a blown knee had ended his career a decade early. Shit happens I suppose.
Afterfinallybeing dismissed, I walked out. Thankfully, I was due to graduate this year, good fucking riddance.
Slammingthe door of the principal’s office could be seen as a juvenile thing to do, but it made a point. I would listen to the broken record played by those two assholes the day I shit sweet-scented glitter.
After showering and washing some of Sanderson’s bodily fluids from my skin, I changed and went to find the guys. It was lunchtime, and we always met in the cafeteria.
Another burst of regretthrummedthrough me. As I said, my mother’s integrity was threaded through my DNA. But the remorse I felt wasn’t for hitting the annoying-as-fuck cornerback who’d elbowed me in the balls. It was for letting my boys down. Practice had gone to shit after I’d hit my team mate and it was all my fault. What can I say? The safeguards I had on my rage were fractured years ago. I relied on medication now as it was the only way I kept my shit together, especially during heated moments.
Anyway, Principal Miller could suck my dick. His threats to have Coach throw me off the teampermanentlymade my blood boil. The prick thought he knew my type:the boy from the wrong side of the trackswho had been given a new,peachylife on a plate.
He knewfuck allabout my life.
I remember one of the many counselors I’d met with saying how they understood why I would have emotional scars from my past, but the truth was that I bore bothphysicalandemotionaldamage. And there seemed to be fuck all I could do to repair that.
The pain I had endured during my childhood was part of my darkness and would always remain a stain on my soul. Chaining the real me in the shadows had always given me a false sense of confidence.
I didn’t even know what normal was supposed to look like. And believe me when I say I invited no one to my pity party. Pity was pathetic and embraced by the weak, and I was the opposite of weak. On the outside, anyway.
As far as my peers were concerned, I had it all. The façade I put out at school was my armour, my protection from being hurt.
At Harbor Heights, I was a king, un-fucking-touchable.
To keep my shit together, I’d quickly taken another dose of my meds before I’d met with Miller so I didn’t ram my fist into his melon-shaped head. Although it's not like it would do much damage as the dude was a big fucker. I was burly, but Miller was still bigger than me, and rumour had it the man could handle himself. Either way that shitstillhad expulsion, written all over it. And I had promised I wouldn’t let Ma down by getting kicked out of school.
Anyways. Fuck. That. Shit.
Rolling my shoulders, my thoughts shifted to the girl I’d met in the library that morning, Molly. As I suspected, I hadn’t seen her in any of my classes, so she must have been a junior. Hopefully, she was only a grade below me, which would make her sixteen. That would put her close in age to my foster sister, who would be sixteen at the end of November, although Harper looked about twelve in my eyes.
As a senior, there’s no way I wouldeverconsider banginganythingyounger than a junior. Freshmen were off limits, and sophomores were at that odd in-between age. My boys and I didn’t go there. Fact.
JustMolly. Fuck she was sweet.
You’ve spoken to her once and she’s already turned you into a pussy.The demon in my head screamed into my ear. My medication was theonlything to make him shut the hell up recently. It was almost like that bad side of me was getting stronger, the older I got. Just like dear old Daddy, who was thankfully rotting away in the slammer.
But I wouldnotbecomehim, I’d die first.
Scanning the cafeteria, most students, no matter the grade, ate during the same lunch period, so shehadto show up at some point. Fucking hell, the thought of seeing her again was causing me to sweat.
Get a grip, Gage.
The lunchroom was busy. I scanned that mix of new and familiar faces from my seat at our usual table in the corner of the lunchroom. It was the place where the popular people gathered.
