Page 9 of Remember Us This Way

As I cut across the school, I can’t help but glance over the underwhelming field. I’ve been at the best private schools Arizona has to offer for the past three years. They have state-of-the-art training facilities for their students, but this—a bare field with a shitty goalpost at either end—is what you get when you enroll at a public school.

Telling myself that a shitty field is better than no field at all, I barge through the locker rooms and start my search for the coach’s office. Finding it right where I expect it to be, I go to knock on the door when I hear shuffling coming from the storeroom directly beside Coach Martin’s office.

Taking another few steps, I find the coach buried deep in equipment, trying to get everything organized and set up for his team. He turns just as I go to knock, and as my hand falls away, he jumps, not having expected anyone to creep up on him.

“Uh, can I help you?” he grunts, moving past me to dump the equipment in the main part of the locker room, freeing up his hands.

“I’m Noah Ryan,” I tell him. “I’m starting at East View today.”

Recognition flashes in his eyes. “Noah Ryan, huh?” he grunts. “And what do you want with me?”

I gape at him for a minute. This isn’t exactly how I thought this conversation would go. Every other coach I’ve trained with has almost come in their pants at the mere thought of having me on their team. “I’m hoping to secure a spot on the team, Coach,” I say, just in case I mistook his recognition for idiocy.

“I get that,” he says. “But I also get that you lit your principal’s office on fire barely forty-eight hours ago and were kicked out of St. Michael’s before the school year could even commence. You might be a star on the field, and I’m sure talent like yours could take the Mambas to new heights, but I’m not willing to jeopardize the integrity of my team for a lost cause such as yourself.”

Fuck.

He steps around me, opens his office door, then turns back to me with a tight smile. “Thanks for coming by. It was good to finally put a face to the name,” he says, glancing at his watch. “You best get going. School starts in three minutes.”

The fuck just happened?

“Umm . . . respectfully, Coach, but that’s bullshit,” I say, refusing to take no for an answer, hovering in the doorway of his office. “I’m the best fucking quarterback in the state, and between you and me, we both know your job is riding on your performance this year. You need me just as much as I need you.”

“I don’t need shit from an overprivileged, no-good kid who has no respect for his sport, his peers, or for his own education. I’m sorry, Noah, but the answer is no,” he tells me. “Perhaps East View isn’t the right fit for you.”

“Please, Coach,” I say, not above getting on my fucking knees and begging. “I don’t think you understand just how badly I need this. East View is my last chance. If I can’t play here, I don’t play at all.”

He doesn’t respond, just stares at me, reading the desperation in my eyes.

“Football is all I have,” I continue, letting him see just a hint of the darkness living within me. “If I don’t have this . . . I don’t know where I’ll be. I need this.”

Coach lets out a heavy sigh, and I see a flicker of indecision in his eyes, giving me just a sliver of hope. “You’re a risk, Noah. I can’t have you leading my team astray.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ve heard that shit a million times from kids like you. They start heading down a bad path, get involved with the wrong crowd, start skipping training, showing up to school still fucking drunk from the night before, and there’s no coming back. They throw away their future and waste my fucking time when their position on the team could have gone to someone else who truly wanted it, someone who would have put in the work.”

“I do want it,” I growl, frustration burning in my chest as I step back out of his office and begin to pace the hall. If he denies me and it’s all over, what’s the point of being here in the first place?

Coach Martin leans against his desk, his feet crossed at his ankles. “Okay, here’s what I’m going to do,” he says. “You can attend training. You work your ass off and keep your attitude away from my team. You attend every fucking class on your schedule and maintain a B+ average, and if you can do that, if you can earn it, then I will officially offer you a position on my team.”

A B+ average during senior year? Fuck. That’s gonna take some work, but what choice do I have?

“You got it,” I tell him, knowing damn well it’s going to be a challenge to keep myself out of trouble. Who knows just how bad it’s going to be now that I have to see Zoey wandering the halls day in and day out—a constant reminder of everything I’ve lost.

“Alright,” Coach Martin says. “Training runs from three p.m. ’til six. If you’re even a minute late, it’s over. Understood?”

“Yes, Coach. Thank you.”

“Good. Now get out of here, otherwise you’ll be late for homeroom,” he says. “I’ll make sure you have a uniform here waiting for you this afternoon.”

I nod, and with that, I get my ass out of there, ready to face down East View High and make it my bitch.

4

Zoey

Noah Ryan can kiss my ass.

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