On a Wednesday (One Week 2)

My teammates stampeded out of the room, grateful for a rare day without a mandatory evening drill.

“Do I even want to know what you have planned for tonight?” Grayson asked as we walked out of the room.

“I’m dropping by a house party on Ophelia, then Dawson, then Ginza’s.”

“You’re doing three parties in one night?”

“It’s senior year,” I said. “I have to go as hard as I can long before TMZ Sports will report my every move after the draft, you know?”

“Or, you could say, ‘Hey, I’ve had enough fun for twenty guys combined over the past three years, and I’m going to give it a rest and get serious for the final two semesters.’”

“I mean, I could say that if you just want to hear me utter those words…”

“You’re the worst, Kyle. Truly.” He laughed. “What time do you plan to get back to our place?”

“Maybe five or six. Long after you’re done watching game film.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Be careful, Kyle. We both have a lot to lose this year, and you know I almost came close to that.”

“Thanks for the lecture, Dad.” I smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Will you really?”

“No.” I patted his shoulder. “But I’ll tell you all about the party later, unless you want to join me?”

He looked tempted, but he shook his head. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Suit yourself.”

Around midnight, I parked my car on a curb near Dawson Street. Since this was one of the most popular off-campus blocks, almost every house was fitted with a basement that was prime for partying.

The slumlords had even joined forces with the landlords and put reinforcements in all the walls, since they knew the late nights were inevitable.

As I was stepping out, my phone sounded with a call.

My mother.

I stared at the screen for several seconds, silently debating whether this was worth handling now or later.

“Yeah, Mom?” I answered before it went to voicemail.

“Why haven’t any of those ESPN cameras ever showed up to our house to interview me and your dad?” she asked. “Surely, they want to hear what we have to say about you.”

I sighed. This definitely could’ve been handled later.

Or never.

“We turned on ESPNU last night and there was some ugly brunette impersonating me, Kyle,” she said.

“It wasn’t an impersonator!” My dad called from the background. “The world is coming to an end soon. They’re replacing all of us, and you got a glimpse of your imposter. That may not even be Kyle that you’re talking to right now, Mary.”

“I think it is …” She hesitated. “Is this my son? The real Kyle Stanton, or the one that’s replaced him?”

“It’s the one that’s replaced him.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Well, can you tell us how to reach the real one? I need to ask him some questions.”

“I’ll have him call you.” I ended the call and damn near tossed my phone into the gutter.

My parents were still shells of the people they used to be, and to say our relationship was “strained” was putting it nicely.

After losing my younger brother in a car accident they caused over a decade ago, they’d slipped out of reality in favor of a shared dystopia that didn’t exist.

Once my biggest fans and cheerleaders, they’d slowly transformed into my biggest skeptics and haters.

They stopped coming to my high school games, stopped driving me to practice, and stopped giving a damn because they felt like “it was only a matter of time before they lost their second son, too.”

Shaking away the painful thoughts, I put my phone in my pocket and walked down to 3257.

I needed a release tonight, more than ever.

The music was blaring so loudly, that the windows shook, so I didn’t bother knocking on the door.

I walked inside, and a group of girls I’d never seen on campus before—obviously freshmen, smiled and waved at me from the kitchen.

Spotting a few of my teammates, I walked over to them.

“About time you showed up,” Trevor, our team’s kicker, said. “I was beginning to think that I’d have to handle all of the girls by myself.”

“So, you haven’t spoken to any of them yet?”

“Exactly.” He smiled. “I follow your lead as always. Is Grayson joining us?”

“Doubtful. He’s Mr. Cautious now.”

Before I could ask him how long he planned to stay, a redhead stepped in front of me and caressed my chest.

“Yes?” I smiled at her.

“Sorry for interrupting, but can I talk to you for a minute?”

“I’m listening.”

“I mean, in the bathroom.”

“Of course.”

“You make it look so fucking easy.” Trevor muttered, as I clasped her hand and led her through the crowd and into the small bathroom.

Usually, this led to a quickie against the sink and a shared smile whenever we happened to run into each other on campus again, but she wasn’t doing that.

She was smiling and taking a seat on the edge of the tub. “So, what number do you think you’re going in the draft?”