Page 12 of Escape Velocity
He sighs, takes it out of his pocket, and sees that his mom is calling him.
He grunts and answers it.
“Hey, Mom, I’m in the library so I have to whisper.”
“Hi, honey. How are you?”
“I’m doing great,” Mason answers, in his usual chipper and “everything’s all good” tone he uses for his mom.
“Did you get into the paper?” she asks almost immediately.
“I’ll find out next week, but I’m writing a piece on the football gametomorrow.”
“Huh,” his mom answers.
Mason clenches his phone. He knows that kind of response. She’s not happy with him.
“I—uh wanted to try for sports to flex my writing muscles better. I figured since I hate sports, that if I can write about something I’m not interested in, then I can be a better writer,” he says, clamoring for some kind of excuse he can use, instead of saying his procrastination landed him on Sports—if he got in.
“That’s great, honey.”
Mason winces. He knows by her tone she’s not happy, but she’s trying to cover it up. If he was standing in front of her now, she would be frowning at him, with that familiar wrinkle between her knitted eyebrows.
“Look, Mason, I was hoping that you would go for something better than Sports… especially since Callum Brown is the quarterback, last I heard.”
“I’m fine writing about him if I have to, Mom,” he mumbles, lying through his teeth.
“I don’t want to give that boy, and especially his family the satisfaction of praise, so keep it to a minimum if you have to.”
Mason says nothing. He wants to slam his head against the desk for waiting to gun for a spot on the paper. If he hadn’t waited, he might not have thrown himself into the crossfire of his parents’ hatred for Callum and his family.
“Or better yet, just try for something else, Mason. I really think you should reconsider?—”
He panics. He knows she’s about to lecture him and pretty much force him to change, even though he can’t.
“The librarian’s coming over. I have to go, Mom. We’ll talk later, sorry?—”
“Mason—”
He hangs up on her and puts his phone on silent.
Not the most ideal way to deal with his problem, but he can deal with her later when he comes up with a better lie.
He puffs out a breath, puts his headphones on, and gets sucked into a limit problem, his pencil flying wildly over the paper, not writing as fast as his mind is going. He has momentum, and he’s going to finally escape his mind after letting it go crazy all week.
His dreams sour as a loud “whoop” comes from behind him, somehow breaching his noise canceling headphones with its sheer power.
He jolts in his chair, his whirring mind screeching to a halt as the numbers and letters in his mind melt away and his concentration wanes.
He sighs angrily, taking off his headphones and turning his head behind him to look at what made the stupid noise. His shoulders sag as he sees multiple maroon and gold jackets levitating down the rows of desks.
He should have known that football jocks would be the only people that could be that raucous in a library.
He scoffs and turns his head back to his paper. Why were they of all people in the library on a Friday? Did they have football textbooks to read or something?
“Why did Coach make our game film in the library?” Mason hears one of them ask.
“Beats me,” a familiar voice responds. Mason immediately knows it to be Callum Brown’s.
