Page 25 of Redemption
Hayes
17 years old
“Good job at practice today, Hayes,” Coach Smith says, clapping his hand on my shoulder as we walk to the locker room.
I give him a nod, wiping the sweat off of my head with my forearm.
It was a good practice. As a team, we’re working well together, and I’m the strongest I’ve ever been as an individual. I’m in the running to make All-State this year as a linebacker, and my eyes are set on a D1 college scholarship. I started talking to recruiters last year during my junior year. This year, I just have to keep my head down and my grades up, and I’m set.
School may not be my thing, but football is. I’m willing to do anything to make sure I get that scholarship and get out of this town. I’ve been an outsider since we moved here, and the only time I feel like I belong is on the football field and with my best friends Langston and Campbell. They aren’t like the rest of the town. They welcomed me with open arms, and now, on the football field, we work well together. For Campbell, it’s just a way to pass the time doing something he finds fun, but for Langston and me—it’s our way out.
The A/C blasts me in the face when I step into the locker room and clap Langston on the shoulder. “Good job today, man.”
He grunts but doesn’t respond—just sits on the bench and concentrates on unlacing his cleats. I can see every play he made today running through his head, analyzing how he could have done better. That’s what it’s like with Langston. He is always looking for ways he can do better. I put a lot of pressure on myself because I want out of this town, but Langston’s pressure comes from his parents and his need to please them. It weighs on him, but there’s no way of convincing him that he works hard enough. He’s always looking for a way to work harder—to be better.
The locker room door slings open behind me, bouncing off the wall and revealing Campbell with a goofy grin on his face.
“Man, someone needs to tell Coach it’s just a game,” Campbell says, ruffling his hair out of his face where it fell during the extra bear crawls he had to do after practice.
You’d think the boy would learn to stop goofing off during practice drills. He’s always having to do extra bear crawls for it.
“Or maybe you need to learn to take it seriously,” Langston snaps.
Campbell’s smile drops, and I turn to look at Langston. He’s never the guy who snaps, so for him to do so now means he must be feeling more pressure than I thought.
Langston is still looking at his cleats when Campbell looks at me. He doesn’t notice the worried look that passes between us.
Before we can say anything, he’s standing and slamming open the door to his locker. He throws his cleats in and grabs his tennis shoes, spinning back around and dropping to the bench so hard the wood groans beneath his weight.
Campbell, thankfully, doesn’t push it. He goes to his locker and starts shedding his gear while I step beside Langston.
“Anything you want to talk about, man?” I ask, careful to keep my voice steady.
“Nope,” he says, pulling on one of his shoes. “Can you take MJ home? She’s waiting for me, but I think I will stick around and get some laps in.”
“You sure?” I ask, hesitant to say yes. It isn’t that I mind taking MJ home. Honestly, I probably like taking her home a little too much, but I’ll never admit that to Langston. He’d kick my butt the instant he found out.
“Yeah, I have to get faster before the regular season starts if I want recruits to look at me this year. Tell her I asked if you would take her home and tell her not to argue—she’s going to try.”
I roll my eyes because he isn’t telling me anything I don’t know. MJ would rather argue than breathe. It’s not that she’s difficult, but she’s strong-willed. She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to speak her mind. It drives her mom crazy, and I think it’s hilarious.
“Can do, man. Don’t push yourself too hard,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder and grabbing my stuff for a shower.
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Ten minutes later, I’m heading out of the locker room towards the bleachers where Langston typically meets MJ.
My hair drips, soaking into the collar of my shirt. I didn’t get it completely dry after my shower. I didn’t want to leave MJ waiting. So I rushed through my after-practice routine to get out here.
But it seems my rushing is for nothing because, looking around, I don’t see her standing anywhere.
A twinge of panic laces through my chest.
What if she got tired of waiting on Langston and found her own ride? Who would she have gone with? Is she safe?
I’m about to pull my phone out of my pocket to call her when I catch a glimpse of red hair under the bleachers—and she’s not alone.
That panic turns to hot lava running through my veins and burning out all rational thoughts when I see who MJ is with. I can’t stop myself as I march over and pull myself to my full height with my arms crossed over my chest—I wouldn’t stop even if I could.
