Page 91 of Goalkeeper
I swear, sometimes it feels like I’m paying for past mistakes at a price way higher than they actually cost.
As an athlete, I know I need to push that negativity out of my mind and focus on looking forward. But my fuck-ups are always there, in the back of my brain, just waiting to taunt me.
Despite my short-lived wild streak when I arrived at Moo U last year, I ended up having a kick-ass rookie season. Our starting goalie got hurt a few weeks in, and I took over and never looked back.
The starting spot is still mine, but that just makes it mine to lose, according to my dad.
I’m lost in my thoughts when the door swings open and surprises the fuck out of me. “Jesus!”
“Whatsa matter, Briggsy, you jerkin off?” Birdy walks in like he owns the damn place.
“Christ. No. What do you want?”
“Call of Duty tournament downstairs in ten.”
“Can’t,” I say.
“What do you mean, you can’t? It’s not a kegger. It’s a couple hours playing a video game with your teammates. And class has been in session for a week. And you’ve worked out twice today. And we’ve got a long weekend coming up, so you can put extra time in then. And the rink is closed,” he says, effectively pissing over all of my arguments.
“What are you, my mother? Never mind, I’d never insult her like that,” I toss back.
“No, I’m your teammate. And your friend. Remember the concept of friendship?”
“Yeah, and it almost got my ass handed to me,” I complain.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a whiny bitch, Briggsy. Forts saved our asses last year and as for the class fuck-up, that was all you. And yet again, Coach swooped in because without you in the net, we’re fucked. Damned if today’s practice didn’t prove that.”
Now, like I said, I’m not broken-hearted that Zac had a crappy practice. But am I going to gossip about it with Birdy? Hell no. Birdy has the maturity level of your average sixth grader and lips about as loose as an old lady’s at Bingo. But also, talking shit about a teammate just isn’t cool. We win as a team and we lose as a team. We’re at our best when we’re working together. I believe that to my core. Sure, things are a little different with Zac and me, because we’re the only two players vying for one position, but the mantra holds— if Zac sucks in games like he did in practice, we’re all screwed. Of course, I hope he’s rarely in goal. But I sure as hell want him to stop shots when he’s there.
“So, you coming downstairs or what, Briggsy?”
“Nah,” I say. “I gotta call my dad back and I’ve got tape to watch.”
Birdy’s not surprised; it’s the standard response I’ve given dozens of times.
“Suit yourself, Briggerton.” He sighs, his disappointment evident. Tapping the top of my doorway twice, he calls, “And don’t jerk it too hard, man.”
5
Paige
After a long holiday weekend home, where my siblings’ perfections and my shortcomings were on full display, I am happy to be back at school.
Ugh. That sounds awful. And I really was glad to see my family. They’re good people. Too good, sometimes. And is it so wrong that I prefer them in small doses? And it’s not just college-age me who gets annoyed with her parents and siblings after having to spend a three-day-weekend at home. I’m pretty sure 6-year-old me had the same issues.
It’s not that they’re bad. It’s that they’re good. Too good. At everything. My family practically wrote the book on overachieving. And anything less than perfection at all times is just unfathomable to them.
First, my parents, Monica and Philip Underwood are textbook overachievers. My dad is an orthopedic surgeon and my mom is a tax attorney. They met through a mutual friend, sized each other up as the perfect fit and have been making perfect choices ever since.
My oldest brother, Nathan, is a real estate lawyer with some big shot firm. He married his college sweetheart, Megan, and they rescue deaf cats. And what’s really awful is that they are actually that nice. I can’t even hate them for being perfect.
Sophie is next in line. She’s the spitting image of my mother, but she takes after dad career-wise. Sophie’s in cardiology and her asshole boyfriend is an Orthopedic surgeon. She’s sure he’ll propose any day, and I’m more than certain he’s slept with half his residents.
And then, there’s Jake. He’s just started med school and he’s killing it. Ok, maybe that’s not the right wording for a doctor...he’s acing everything. He didn’t even look tired this weekend, which is bizarre. Aren’t residents supposed to live on vending machine food and 12 hours of sleepa week? I’m sure I read that somewhere. Or Sophie said it, and therefore, it must be true.
They all have near-genius IQs and the GPAs to match.
And then, there’s me.
