Page 24 of Fair Catch
But I shook it off a moment later, assessing my room for where to put the next piece.
I didn’t care if I’d hurt his feelings.
He’d hurt me and my entire family far more than that.
Zeke
It took every effort not to slam the door behind me when I retreated to my room, chest seared by every fiery breath I expelled. I yanked my desk chair out and flopped into it, tearing my textbook open with entirely too much force. My over-the-ear headphones were snapped in place next, and I turned on an atmospheric playlist, something to stimulate my brain without distracting it with melodies or lyrics.
For a long while, I just stared at the book where I’d opened it to chapter four, to our assigned reading before class on Monday. It was just a few chapters. All I had to do was read and comprehend it enough to pass the quiz that would be waiting for us on Monday morning to ensure we’d read.
If only it were that simple.
For almost all the other students in my class, I assumed it was just that simple. They’d probably wait until Sunday night and just crank those chapters like it was nothing, absorbing every word and going into Monday morning feeling confident in their ability to ace the quiz.
I, on the other hand, would need to read it several times, take notes, and even then I’d be lucky to retain enough to get a C.
Riley’s laugh haunted me as I stared at the open book. She’d always just assumed I hated school, or was lazy, or incompetent — or maybe a combination of the three. She didn’t know how I struggled. Not many did. Outside of my parents, Gavin, and the teachers who had to know in order to allow me more time on tests, I kept it to myself.
A glance at the clock told me I could go down to the team study hall if I wanted, maybe enlist the help of one of our tutors. But we had a game in the morning, and I just wanted to get enough done to make me feel confident that I could focus all my energy on football for a full day and be fine.
Blowing out a breath, I sat up a little straighter, using the edge of my notebook to line up right under the first sentence. I only moved it down when I was ready to read the next line, so I wouldn’t get distracted.
Slowly, I read the first page, having to pause now and then when a word didn’t make sense because I’d read the letters out of order. Any time that happened, I’d lose the context of the sentence completely and have to read it over. But I was used to this. It was just the way it was for me. Reading and comprehension took time and work.
It was never going to be something that came easy to me, never going to be something I excelled at. And that was just fine.
Because I had football.
I sat back for a break after the first page, sipping my energy drink. I had to be careful — I needed energy to focus, but I didn’t want too much or I wouldn’t sleep, and that was what I needed most before our first game.
The deep humming of the atmospheric song playing in my headphones lulled me into a quiet focus, and I thought about the day I found out about my dyslexia.
Tears stained my face as I stared at the test in my hands, at the letters and words that didn’t make sense. Mom and Dad sat on either side of me, their hands on my shoulders, and they didn’t think I noticed the concerned glances they shared as they waited for me to respond to what they’d told me.
“So, I’m stupid.”
“No,” Mom said instantly as Dad lowered to one knee in front of me. He took the paper from my hands and sat it aside.
“You are not stupid,” he said, his eyes connected with mine. “You are special.”
For some reason, that word hurt worse.
“All this means is that you learn a little differently than other kids,” he added.
“We’ll help you,” Mom chimed in. “And you’ll get extra time on your tests now so you can take more time to read and understand what you’re being tested on.”
Everything had changed overnight, it seemed. I went from not having a care in the world as an elementary student, to suddenly waking up to a very different reality as a middle schooler. Kids didn’t laugh and play in middle school the way they did in fifth grade. Everything was more serious, and you were judged the moment you walked into school on the first day. What you wore, who you hung out with, and what hobbies you had suddenly defined you and placed you in the hierarchy whether you wanted to be labeled or not.
