Page 1 of Flip the Field
Brady
Bang,bang, bang!
“Florida.”
I grabbed a pillow and covered my head.
“Man, get up.” Matthews’ squeaky voice crawled under the door, through the pillow fibers, and into my ear. “We’re gonna be late.”
I threw the pillow at the door. The doorknob squeaked. I peeked with one eye open. Blissful silence.
Bang, bang, bang!
“Fuck.” I threw the covers off, leaped out of bed, and tried to yank the door open. It was locked, dampening my rage. I took a deep breath, unlocked it, and opened the door for Nathan Matthews. All six-foot four of him was arms and legs. He and I had known each other a long time ago, playing against each other in high school football. Now, he’d unofficially appointed himself my Thackeray College guide. His misguided mission was to make sure I experienced all that college had to offer. Tonight’s activity: a fucking lobster bake. What college party in the entire world welcomes its students back to campus with lobster?
It was a long way from my junior college in Arizona, and even further from my little hometown outside of Sarasota, Florida. Hence the nickname. Matthews was from Florida, too, but everyone calledhimMatthews. “Florida.”
I groaned. “Stop calling me Florida.” I grabbed my discarded blanket and plopped back on my bed. My arm covered my eyes to block out the sun. It didn’t work. “Go without me.”
I’d been up since seven a.m. My day consisted of conditioning work in the gym, followed by special sessions with my position coach. I’d been on campus for three weeks and had a whole playbook to learn so I didn’t look like a dumbass during practice.
With no afternoon practice, I had hoped to catch up on some much needed sleep. I flopped on my stomach.
“Dude,” Matthews emphasized his fake surfer accent. “We need to get you ready.”
“For what?” The mattress muffled my voice.
“You can’t miss the lobster bake.”
Lobster bake.
I had spent the last two years at a junior college playing football in Arizona and at no time had I thought my life would end up here, at Thackeray College in Maine, eating lobster and mingling with people I had nothing in common with.
“We can’t be late or we’ll miss the good ones.”
I’d bet my last hundred dollars Matthews didn’t know a good lobster from a bad one.
I pushed up off the bed and sat up. My head was pounding.
“What are you doing?” I managed to stand.
“Finding you something to wear that’s not black and depressing.” Matthews flipped through my closet. He’d dressed up for every occasion in black slacks and a white button down, ironed stiff.
I rubbed my face and pulled on some jeans I had slung over a nearby chair.
“Aren’t you going to shower, first?” He pulled out a Thackeray College t-shirt. “Where’s your dress clothes?”
“Don’t have any.”
“You can borrow something of mine.” He disappeared into our shared common area. I followed. Two other teammates, Jimmy and Daniel, sat side by side on the worn brown couch playing a video game. They were both dressed up, too.
Matthews came out of his room holding three options for shirts.
“What does it matter what I’m wearing?” I shrugged.
“Dude, the lobster bake is the event of the year,” Matthews sighed. “Lobsters as far as the eye can see.”
“Aah, lobster.” Jimmy sighed and shoved a handful of potato chips in his mouth. Daniel smacked him on the side of the head.
