giant, square-shaped head was that he had to be sprinkling steroid powder on his Lucky Charms in the morning. His neck was as thick as my waist.
“Jesus, how many years can they hold you back before you can’t compete anymore?” I muttered, my head cranked way back so I could still see his face.
“What’d you say?” one of the other guys asked. He sounded confused.
I decided to stick to my first line of attack. “I said, Hey assholes , but that’s not all I have to say.” I gripped the strap of my backpack really hard with both hands.
Expressions darkened. A couple of the footballers dropped their backpacks to the ground. It crossed my mind that I was about thirty seconds away from being killed, and boy, wouldn’t they be hypocrites if they did that to me? That tiny measure of satisfaction did nothing to cure the almost-heart attack I was suffering as they all stared me down.
I did find some courage in the fact that they didn’t want to be in jail next to their former teammate any more than I wanted to be buried in the same cemetery as their former coach. I wasn’t seriously worried about a throw-down, at least not with all these witnesses standing around. No, here I had the freedom to tell them all about themselves without fear of a premature death anytime soon. I’d worry about later, later. It was time they got a little dose of reality, served up fresh and hot, courtesy of little old me.
“What’s your fucking problem?” one of them asked, rocking side to side like a drunk rooster and flopping his hands around a little near his crotch. “You on the rag or something? Lost your mind with temporary insanity?”
Ugh. Where are all the metal chairs when you need one? I used to laugh at professional wrestling, but today would have been a good day for some chair-to-head bashing.
I smiled in a bitter, I-couldn’t-be-more-disappointed-in-the-male-gender way, shaking my head. “Typical. A girl tells you that you’re an asshole and it’s all on her. It couldn’t possibly be that you’re an actual , bona fide asshole, could it?”
“Get to the point,” the biggest one said. He was a lot less rooster-ish, but his steady calm made him more scary.
My heart was pounding so hard it was like it wanted to get out of my chest and run away on its own, abandon my stupid mouth to its fate. It was making my shirt quiver with every beat.
My voice came out high and reedy as my ears flamed hot red. “The point is that you guys are a bunch of disloyal, hypocritical assholes who aren’t fit to wipe Jason Bradley’s ass, let alone be on his team.” I hitched my backpack up higher on my shoulder because it was sliding down with the weight of my books. Taking a deep breath did nothing to calm my nerves.
They stared at me for a few seconds and then, frustratingly, started laughing.
“Check her out,” the smallest one said. “Shorty got her box all up on his kickstand, coming in here scolding us.” He shook his head at me like I was the one to be pitied. “Guy’s a murderer, yo. Killed a good man. He better not ever show his face to any of us ever again or he’s gonna find hisself buried too.” He looked at all his friends, nodding and getting encouragement before turning back to face me. “Balee dat.”
That was his grand finish, and they all kept nodding like a bunch of stupid bobble heads right along with him.
“Hisself? Hisself? Seriously? Do you not even hear yourself? Is grammar optional now?” I was disgusted with them being turncoats and on top of that, barely educated. Football players at our school always got a free pass, in part because of that stupid coach who did something to Jason that was bad enough he got smacked down for it.
I didn’t mean to be minimizing the seriousness of what had happened to the dude in my head, but this whole situation just felt horrifically, terribly wrong. I knew for a fact that these guys used to call Jason their brother, for shit’s sake.
“Come on,
“Jesus, how many years can they hold you back before you can’t compete anymore?” I muttered, my head cranked way back so I could still see his face.
“What’d you say?” one of the other guys asked. He sounded confused.
I decided to stick to my first line of attack. “I said, Hey assholes , but that’s not all I have to say.” I gripped the strap of my backpack really hard with both hands.
Expressions darkened. A couple of the footballers dropped their backpacks to the ground. It crossed my mind that I was about thirty seconds away from being killed, and boy, wouldn’t they be hypocrites if they did that to me? That tiny measure of satisfaction did nothing to cure the almost-heart attack I was suffering as they all stared me down.
I did find some courage in the fact that they didn’t want to be in jail next to their former teammate any more than I wanted to be buried in the same cemetery as their former coach. I wasn’t seriously worried about a throw-down, at least not with all these witnesses standing around. No, here I had the freedom to tell them all about themselves without fear of a premature death anytime soon. I’d worry about later, later. It was time they got a little dose of reality, served up fresh and hot, courtesy of little old me.
“What’s your fucking problem?” one of them asked, rocking side to side like a drunk rooster and flopping his hands around a little near his crotch. “You on the rag or something? Lost your mind with temporary insanity?”
Ugh. Where are all the metal chairs when you need one? I used to laugh at professional wrestling, but today would have been a good day for some chair-to-head bashing.
I smiled in a bitter, I-couldn’t-be-more-disappointed-in-the-male-gender way, shaking my head. “Typical. A girl tells you that you’re an asshole and it’s all on her. It couldn’t possibly be that you’re an actual , bona fide asshole, could it?”
“Get to the point,” the biggest one said. He was a lot less rooster-ish, but his steady calm made him more scary.
My heart was pounding so hard it was like it wanted to get out of my chest and run away on its own, abandon my stupid mouth to its fate. It was making my shirt quiver with every beat.
My voice came out high and reedy as my ears flamed hot red. “The point is that you guys are a bunch of disloyal, hypocritical assholes who aren’t fit to wipe Jason Bradley’s ass, let alone be on his team.” I hitched my backpack up higher on my shoulder because it was sliding down with the weight of my books. Taking a deep breath did nothing to calm my nerves.
They stared at me for a few seconds and then, frustratingly, started laughing.
“Check her out,” the smallest one said. “Shorty got her box all up on his kickstand, coming in here scolding us.” He shook his head at me like I was the one to be pitied. “Guy’s a murderer, yo. Killed a good man. He better not ever show his face to any of us ever again or he’s gonna find hisself buried too.” He looked at all his friends, nodding and getting encouragement before turning back to face me. “Balee dat.”
That was his grand finish, and they all kept nodding like a bunch of stupid bobble heads right along with him.
“Hisself? Hisself? Seriously? Do you not even hear yourself? Is grammar optional now?” I was disgusted with them being turncoats and on top of that, barely educated. Football players at our school always got a free pass, in part because of that stupid coach who did something to Jason that was bad enough he got smacked down for it.
I didn’t mean to be minimizing the seriousness of what had happened to the dude in my head, but this whole situation just felt horrifically, terribly wrong. I knew for a fact that these guys used to call Jason their brother, for shit’s sake.
“Come on,
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