Page 84 of Chess Not Checkers
Jason Kingsley, quarterback, Heisman winner, undefeated.
I stare at the last word until my eyes burn. If I somehow manage to be worthy enough for my picture to be put up here, it will never say that. Jasmine showed me I don’t have to have that title to be cared for, but it still stings seeing it in black and white.
I glance down at my watch. It wouldn’t be a good look to be late after breaking a major rule in a public fashion.
My steps echo through the empty halls. Coach’s door is open when I get to it. He’s sitting behind a huge wooden desk that would make anyone else look small, but not him. His attention is focused on some papers on his desk, but when I step over the threshold, he looks up.
“Come in and take a seat.” He doesn’t need to raise his voice for me to know it’s a command. That’s always been the case for Bash, long before I got here.
“Yes, sir,” I say quietly.
I take a seat in a leather chair across from him. The door to his office shuts with no assistance. I found out from Jason that there’s a button under Coach’s desk. An intimidation tactic. It works. Not that he needs it when he has a scarily calm demeanor so opposite the relaxed one he has day-to-day. Once, in a rare speech at a team dinner, MJ called Bash the noon to hermidnight. I think most would agree with that, but right now the look he’s giving me is a thunderstorm that wakes you up at 3:00 a.m.
“Care to explain this?” he asks, before sliding a tablet across the desk toward me.
I swallow and press play on the awaiting video, which looks like it was taken off social media. It’s an edit to a popular song. Whoever made it timed the music to crescendo with me hitting the creep and then drop when Jasmine kissed me. The video is incredibly cinematic given that it was made by a random person on the internet. If I was watching it under different circumstances, I’d be impressed.
“The guy was a drunk creep who tried to touch Jasmine. I’m sorry that the video got out. I can make a statement to the press if I need to, and I understand if disciplinary actions need to take place.” I do my best to choose my words carefully, but it feels like someone is shaking me internally.
Bash levels me with a look. “You know that’s not why I called you in here.”
I slowly nod, trying to find the right words.
Bash starts talking again before I do. “I gave you a simple rule and you assured me, as captain, that it would be followed. Then you break it, in public, essentially telling every player on the team that you don’t take me seriously.”
“I’m sorry, Coach. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing—”
“Of course it was. I thought you’d learn from your brother’s mistakes, but it seems you’re determined to be his junior in more ways than on the field.”
I grip the arms of my chair. “Respectfully, sir, that is not the case. I didn’t have a drop of alcohol. I haven’t, and I don’t ever plan on drinking. And if I could have a chance to explain, I could show you that you’re mistaken.”
His brows shoot up. “Mistaken? I think the video, along with your behavior lately, has told me enough. It’s obvious you’ve been distracted by girls, and that’s fine, but you won’t drag Jasmine into it.”
My behavior? He must mean the loss. My blood runs hot.
“She kissed me!” I raise my voice, then lower it when he glowers. “The video proves at least that much, but I’ve been trying to explain that while the kiss might have been unplanned, our relationship was not.”
Bash stays silent. I take that as my cue to continue.
“We’ve been dating since the day after the Carolina game. We both wanted to tell you, but I thought it would be best to let the dust settle in the team first. Give us a chance to regroup before we explained things to you.”
“So, let me get this straight, you’re telling me that not only did you break a rule after getting into an altercation, but you’ve been keeping your relationship a secret for weeks?”
“We were going to ask to have dinner with you tonight. That’s why I called Friday,” I say quietly, feeling the dejection set in. This isn’t going at all like I hoped.
He shakes his head. “Give me one good reason not to bench you, Junior, because I can’t find one.”
“Would you stop calling me that?” The question bursts out of me before I can stop it.
He rears back, caught off guard as much as I am.
I shoot up out of the chair and pace to the door, my hands pulling at my hair. “I can handle it from the press. I can take it on the chin. But from you?” I turn around, emotion clamping down on my windpipe. “I look up to you. My dad doesn’t care, you know? And I just—” I scrub my face, hating that I can’t get the words out.
Bash’s shoulders relax, some of the tension leaving him. “That’s just a nickname.”
“You say that, but then I come in here and I don’t get the benefit of the doubt. I get Jason’s past tacked onto me.” I throw my hands in the air. “I can’t figure out whether you want me to be him or not. I spend every second of my life trying to get you and everyone else to look at me for my first name and not my last, but it never works. And I’msickof it.”
Bash looks up at me, his expression torn. “Is that really how you feel?”
