Page 90 of The Way I Am Now
I know I shouldn’t, but that wave is pushing me down, and someone else, this other version of myself is rising up instead. I walk around the corner and see Jon toweling off his hair as he regales two freshmen benchers with his opinions.
“I dunno, man,” one of them is bold enough to pipe up, “I read there were three girls he did it to. . . .”
“Yeah, well, maybe he’s attracted to psychos,” Jon says, and shrugs. “Bitches probably want a payout! You know how the pussy is. . . .”
I can’t even hear the rest of his sentence because the wave is pushing at me as I step behind him, too close, it pushes past my chest, into my throat, out of my mouth. “Hey, do you ever just shut the fuck up?”
Jon turns, stupid mean grin still on his face, and behind him, the freshmen’s eyes go wide—I must be looking like something scary to them.
“Sorry, my bad, did I upset your delicate sensibilities?” he says, patting my shoulder in mock comfort, the spot he touches radiating heat, practically vibrating. I know I should leave, but the other Josh has a point to make.
“No,I’msorry, do you have some kind of problem with not sexually harassing women, or what?”
“Fuck off,” he mutters dismissively. “You know what my problem is?”
“No, what’s that?” I challenge. “Please, tell me.”
“You.” Somehow this makes the wave retreat. Me, I can deal with that.
“Me?” I cross my arms. “Okay.”
“Yeah, with you half-assing every practice and wasting a starting spot on the team, and now you’re trying to makemelook bad?” He looks at the crowd, which has suddenly gathered around us, and I can’t tell if they’re on his side or not.
“You make yourself look bad all on your own.”
“And you shouldn’t even be here!” he shouts. “Not after what you pulled last season. Everyone thinks so.”
Dominic walks up then, interrupts. “Hey, speak for yourself, Jon—why don’t you just take off, all right?”
“Why? It’s true,” he argues.
“No, it’s not,” Dominic says.
“Whatever.” I grab my bag and close my locker. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Sure, but you have time to push your woke agenda about a bunch of bitches crying rape? Please, you’re so—”
And that wave is back—a tidal wave now—no fighting it. It is the buzzing in my head, a tingling in my limbs, this sick rush of adrenaline pulsing through me.
It’s oddly quiet for a moment.
And then sound erupts all around us, yelling, shouting.
It takes me a second to process why Dominic is standing between us. Why someone’s holding my arms. Why Jon is on the floor. Why Coach is storming in here, screaming, “Break it up, you assholes!”
He drags us both into his office.
“What do you wanna do?” he’s asking Jon. “You can lodge a complaint if you want—it’s within your rights.”
Jon looks at me, sort of smirks, like this is all just an amusement to him. “Nah,” he finally says. “It was just a shove. It’s really not a big deal.”
“Fine.” Coach stands, points to the door. “You go,” he tells him.
I start to stand as well, but Coach presses down on my shoulder. “You,” he orders, through clenched teeth, “siddown.”
He closes the door behind Jon and throws his clipboard against the wall, making me jump.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yells. “I swear, it’s one step forward, twenty steps back with you. Every damn time. Tell me something, do you even want to be on this team?”
