Page 11 of The Surprise Play
This week, I’ve been nothing but a ball of stress, trying and failing to ignore my assignment and just take the F. I don’t know why I can’t just settle on that. It would mean I could flunk out of all my courses this semester, and it wouldn’t even fucking matter!
But something inside me hates that idea.
I’m a winner!
I don’t quit!
And I’m gonna get my fucking degree, even if it is just some meaningless certificate framed on my wall. I’m graduating from Nolan University.
I have no idea why I’m feeling so damn determined about it.
Maybe I just want to prove that Satchwell chick wrong. I’m not a lazy asshole.
Which is why I’m up at the crack of dawn, hunched over my computer and trying to figure out this AI program. We’re not supposed to be using it, but how can teachers really tell, right? I mean, we’d be idiots not to take advantage of this technology.
I type in the assignment brief and pick Moby Dick as my character to analyze. The book’s named after him, so he must be the main character, right?
The program spits an essay back at me. And I have no idea if it’s on the right track. Squinting my eyes at the screen, I read the first few sentences and don’t get what they’re talking about. I didn’t even know there was a whale in this book.
“Fuck.” I rub my eyes.
I should get Grady or Tyrell to look over this for me. They’re the smartest guys in the house.
But I’m too embarrassed to show them.
Besides, Grady’s been off all week. He even skipped the winter dance last night to take Carson’s mom to the airport. Teah will be so pissed over that one. Anything where she gets to dress up and look pretty is her jam, and he bailed on her? I haven’t had a chance to find out why yet. I was too busy making sure Carson got his girl back.
And by the loved-up looks they were giving each other and the groans coming from his bedroom last night, I’d say they’ve worked out their shit.
Rubbing my forehead, I glance at the time on my computer and mutter under my breath. I just want to go back to bed and not give a flying fuck about this damn assignment.
But I can’t give the professor nothing.
I have to at least try, right?
Leaning forward with a whiny groan, I try to read the next paragraph and nearly slump with relief when my phone buzzes and a text from my old man appears on the screen.
Pops: You awake yet? I’d love a chat.
I call him immediately, smiling at the screen when he answers my video chat.
“Hey. You’re up early.”
He grins at me. “I’m about to go for a run. I just wanted to check in first, see how you’re feeling about the upcoming game.”
“Yeah, good.” I try not to laugh at him. The guy is more obsessed with football than I am. He’s spent his life fueling my passion for it, and he couldn’t be prouder if he tried. His son is going to play for the NFL. It’s all he’s been talking about since my talent started shining in middle school.
I’ve always been big for my age, and Dad steered me in the direction of football before I could even walk. That’s our thing. And his support means the world to me.
Leaning back in my chair, I start up one of my favorite conversations, getting into the nitty-gritty of our play strategy. I’m not really supposed to talk about it outside of the team, but I trust Pops. He’d never betray us. He’s passionate about the Nolan U Cougars dominating. Anything that will help me shine for the scouts. The amount of time and money my parents have poured into my football career is impressive. They’ve made my journey as easy as it possibly could be. And they’ve always believed in my skill on the field.
Dad even hooked me up with an agent. He knew a guy—a friend from college—and they reconnected over my football career and have become best buds again. They’ve got my career mapped out, and Dad’s there every step of the way, approving and rejecting ideas. I’m pretty sure Austin is supposed to deal with me directly, and he does sometimes, but I’d honestly rather have Dad take care of that shit. It’s just easier for Austin to go straight to the one with the strongest opinion. I’m happy to go with the flow on this thing. I love people and everything, but social media is a beast I can’t stand. My agent takes care of my image and sponsorships. All I have to do is turn up to stuff, sign the odd shirt, and pose for photos. Myparents feed him shots from my football career so far, along with the college’s media department, and all that promo shit gets done for me. Which means all I have to think about is the game.
Dad and I talk for nearly an hour before Mom reminds him that he’s supposed to be out running and if he doesn’t go now, they’ll be late for brunch with the Clarks.
“Hello, my darling boy.” She tinkles her fingers at me.
I wave back, complimenting her new dress. “Looks gorgeous, Mom.”
