Page 21 of Escape Velocity
Is he here just to laugh at him? To mock him?
Is Mason finally putting down his pitchfork and offering an olive branch to him?
Can he make up for what he did to Mason after all these years? Can they finally start anew?
He knows he lets his smile falter as he quickly meets eyes with Mason, but he immediately puts it back up as soon as he looks away.
He doesn’t let his gaze linger.
His cheeks ache from the smile, but only because he has to put on an even bigger one after seeing Mason because now all he can think is that there are multiple eyes on him that are expecting something out of him, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to deliver.
They don’t know that he’s miserable and all he wants is to disappear. That he could fade into the background and be a student in some extremely niche major whose classes are in the basements of annexes of buildings, so he never has to be perceived again.
But he loves and loathes football in equal amounts. It’s all he has, and he doesn’t know who he is without it.
As much as he needs it to breathe, it’s the thing that clogs his lungs and fills them with smoke in his worst times and fills it with hope and burning passion in the best times.
A whistle blows and it’s game time. He glances in the stands to see his father and Tammy looking around the field with neutral faces, like their “son” isn’t the quarterback.
He glances one more time at Mason, his thick-rimmed glasses easily seen in the crowd, who’s looking around in wonder with his mouth slightly agape as if it’s his first football game.
It probably is. And it’s to watch him play. Hehas to win.
The other players line up. More cheers.
He gets behind them. More roaring.
They sink into their position. Cameras flash.
His face is on the live Jumbotron feed.
He pats his helmet. He’s ready.
The other team kicks the ball. He zones in on it as it flies in the air towards him.
It’s game on.
7
MASON
It’s almostfive o’clock in the evening on the following Monday and Mason’s running down the dimly lit hallway of the Journalism building, with his article in his hand, hoping to get it in on time.
He doesn’t know if there even is a deadline or when the office closes. Does the office even close?
He notices the door still open, and he heaves a sigh of relief as he slows down and catches his breath, not wanting to seem too eager before he hands in the paper.
It’s odd. He tried to send the article by email last night but was swiftly met with a reply saying it needed to be printed and given in person, so now, here he is, huffing and puffing trying to get it in on time instead of submitting it yesterday early like the good student he always is.
He had paced in his dorm all weekend, thinking about how he wanted to spin the article. He ping-ponged back and forth in his mind about whether to focus more on the team or on Callum.
He hates to admit it, but his writing is infinitely better when gushing about Callum. But he wants tomake sure he stands out from anyone else that was there at the game and writing an article on it.
He isn’t sure what the editors are even looking for other than that his writing is good, so he decided he would stick with his focus on Callum.
It was surprisingly easy for him to do, despite his brain constantly nagging himself for being just like everyone else. He wants to stand out with his writing, and singing Callum’s praises is probably what everyone else will do.
It’s foreign for him to say anything remotely positive about him, given Mason had gone years slandering Callum in his mind and to his friends. He used to gush about Callum when they were kids, then it turned to slandering, and now it was back to gushing.
