Page 12 of Warrior

“Are you?” I turn and nudge him with my elbow.

“Hell yeah, man,” Zane laughs. “My poor military ass is going to defend our country then ride your coattails all the way to the NFL.”

“Someday,” I respond, laughing with him.

We walk over to the entrance of the stadium building, my eyes eating up our surroundings, while Zane flirtatiously checks out the different girls that are walking by. Inside, we’re instantly greeted by the coach and a faculty member of the college. For the next few hours, we get a campus tour. We eat lunch off-grounds but close enough to campus that we took a golf cart to get there. I go all out on the ribs, coleslaw, homemade macaroni and cheese, and biscuits. I can’t remember the last time I ate this good. After lunch, we head back and I go over potential classes with a senior teacher’s assistant. Zane goes off with the trainer to check out their gym, after shooting me a thumbs-up. He’s been entranced hearing all the information we’ve been given today. His brain melts when they mention perks of being a college athlete.

“So, what do you think so far, Colt?” Coach asks, his hand cupping his jaw.

“It’s amazing, sir,” I answer, my throat working to swallow. I feel like I haven’t even come up for air after diving into the deep end. This experience is one I’ve only imagined and it feels too good to be true. It is also overwhelming and I’m lost on which questions I should be asking.

“Usually, potential players have the opportunity to see this beforehand, but I know your case has been somewhat different,” Coach continues, and I nod along with what he’s saying. My mind flashing to the house waiting for me to come back to.

“Yes, sir,” I answer.

“Well, how about meeting the players? You could go through a practice with them,” he announces, and I instantly feel more focused.

“That would be awesome, sir.”

I follow him into another wing, where we walk through a separate training and weight room. A few players are already using the equipment. They tip their heads in acknowledgmentand I do in return. Some of these guys may be only a few years older than me, but I instantly take in their intensity and build. This is definitely not a high school team.

I get to change in the locker room before we arrive at the field. I can see Zane sitting in the stands along with another person from the school. He talks animatedly, hands flying in different directions. I don’t think he’s noticed me yet. Coach waves over one of the players, and he heads our way and introduces himself. We talk about what positions I play on my team and where my strengths and weaknesses are. Coach goes over my stats with the guy and then I’m led to the field.

I can feel Zane’s eyes drill into my back with every pass I drop and every player that makes it past me without being touched. After an hour, we get a break and I’m finally able to breathe. I unsnap my helmet and take the mouthguard out, breathing hard and wiping sweat from my face. What the fuck just happened? I couldn’t keep up. Shame ignites in my gut and embarrassment floods my face. I can’t even look at the coaches.

The guy from earlier runs up to me. “Hey, man, don’t take it too hard. We’ve all been playing together at a different level for over two years. This is not personal. It’s good to see where you’re at and where you need to be if you start playing with us.”

I catch his drift and I get what he’s saying, but it doesn’t do anything for my confidence. I’m shaken. My entire high school career, I’ve been lifted up, praised, coached specifically to get here, and I feel like I just failed an extremely important test. My skill set feels inadequate. I’m a newborn amongst giants. I couldn’t tell the difference until I stepped onto the field with them. My chest tightens, fear clutching at all my vital organs. I’m either going to puke all over this guy’s cleats or pass the fuck out.

“Yeah,” I tell him, nodding my head. He gives me a sharp slap on the helmet and we run through a few more of their drills. By the end of the afternoon, I’ve sunken so far into a pit of self-pityand despair, I can’t see the top anymore. I’m losing myself even as I stand on the field and it feels like my dream, my reason for everything is ending.

“Street!” Coach calls to me before I follow the other players into the locker room. I wait for him to catch up, feeling wary over what he’s going to say. “There’s always room for improvement, kid. I like for players to experience this because this is the level where I need new players to be and fast. I think you have potential, but you need to have the heart to push to that level. You get what I’m saying?” I nod my head, even though, no, I have no clue what that means.

I have the heart for the game, but what if I’m not good enough. Can I make this team or not? Have I organized my entire life around the assumption that this was easy, and I worked hard in high school so this would be no problem? Did I make Lyric give up her college dream to follow mine only for me to fail? I never pictured anything other than coming here and playing, thinking she’d just be there with me.

I can feel the pit in my stomach growing and expanding until I literally can’t breathe. I rush out of there, ignoring the showers, and return the borrowed equipment. I think I hear someone call my name, but I keep moving. Adrenaline, pain, embarrassment flood my bloodstream and push my legs to flee. I run out of that space while my dream laughs at me, mocking the things I had built up in my head until all I hear ishisvoice, my father’s never-ending reminders that I’m not special. Throwing a football will never make him respect me or make him proud. My mom couldn’t be bothered to try and live for me. Nothing I ever do, nothing about me will ever be enough forthem.

By the time I reach my truck, Zane is sitting in the driver side. I jump in and buckle, even though I keep having morbid thoughts about not caring at all if something were to happen to me. Zane ignores my sweat and the smell I didn’t take time towash off. He says nothing while driving both of us away from the campus and back to our hotel. He lets me move past him to get into the bathroom and doesn’t even give me shit when I slam the door closed before emptying the content of my stomach into the toilet bowl. I know the steady sound of the running water does little to hide my dry heaving. With my head buried in the toilet, tears clinging to my eyelashes, I have a moment of clarity. I need a new plan. I can’t go back to that house. I need to get out of my town and out of the state where everyone knows me. I don’t want them to know I failed spectacularly at the one thing I was supposed to be extraordinary at. I would even remove myself from the country, if possible. I can’t face them. All I’ve done for a year is talk up Alabama to Lyric, convincing her she would be happy here. And if I’m not playing ball, I’ll let everyone who has been backing me since freshman year down. I can’t be a failure to any of them. Most of all, I don’t want my father to be right.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I notice that Zane is sitting on the bed, his eyes assessing me. Avoiding his gaze, I put on the suit I bought for the team dinner I had thought would cement my place on the Bama football team. I leave the red tie in the bag, though. It doesn’t feel right. I slide into the dress shoes I spent a whole paycheck on, hoping they were enough for me to appear as put together as this suit. Stupid. So fucking stupid.

“I need to take a drive. You coming or not?” I throw out, my tone glacial, my eyes pleading for him not to ask questions. Zane slowly nods his head and pockets his cell phone. We make it back into my truck and I start the engine. Lee Brice’s “I Drive Your Truck” starts to play on the radio and my hands tighten on the wheel.

“I need you to do me a favor, yeah?” I turn to my best friend. He opens his mouth to speak, but whatever he sees on my face, has his mouth closing real fast. His jaw works against his emotions. Usually, we’d be having it out right now. For somereason, though, he’s actually keeping quiet on the fact that I just bailed in the middle of the tour.

“Yeah, okay,” he responds, and I watch while his fists tighten.

“You can’t tell her anything,” I say, my gaze turning to look out my window; I can’t see if he looks disappointed that way. I know I’m asking a lot of Zane, considering Lyric is his friend too and what I’m about to do will be detrimental to all of us. I can’t make myself care though. In the end, she’ll thank me. When she realizes she wasted so much time on me and our relationship, she’ll be thankful I did this. She deserves better.

My eyes slide to Zane who is also looking out the window now. His skin is reddish. He’s battling his own emotions, but I don’t miss the way he slightly tilts his head. I’m selfish for asking this of him. I know it. I’m using our years of friendship against him right now and he stands to lose something too. I’m an asshole for putting him in this position and I hope one day he’ll forgive me. We drive in silence the rest of the way into town before pulling into the almost empty parking lot.

“How did you know you made the right decision?” I ask, once I park in front of the long strip mall. Zane’s eyes bore into the side of my face.

Shaking his head, Zane runs his hand over his face before answering. “It felt like a calling. I had no other choice.”

Not giving myself a chance to back out, I quickly bolt from the truck and make my way inside one of the doors. Zane is right on my heels, calling after me, but I ignore him. Once inside it's plain to see that I’m way overdressed, looking more like I should be going to a job interview at the insurance agency next door. Heads turn in our direction.

“Can I help you?” The uniformed man at the front desk rises and greets me with a handshake. He’s taller than me, broader, and blank-faced. His eyes are sharp as they take me in. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. I’m eighteen. Lost. My dreamsshattered and my heart feels like it's going to explode out of my chest. Wrong. Everything is wrong, but I force my eyes to make contact with him, to shake his hand, and steel my spine.

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