You win

Westerman - strike three

Stuck here in the dean's office, surrounded by judgmental glances from the secretary, all thanks to that damn incident. Look, I'm no saint—that's pretty obvious. But whatever's waiting for me back home feels like a punishment from hell. I can already picture my old man conjuring up a creative punishment: no parties, no food, no girls—although he's definitely gonna deviate from his usual playbook this time.

One thing's for sure: I'm fucked

"I'm sorry, Sofia," a muffled voice breaks through, and though it's a bit garbled, yet I can still catch it. Out strides a tall, athletic-looking brunette with big brown eyes. Normally, I'd throw a smirk her way, or maybe even lay on some charm to test the waters. But her face screams, "Do not fuck with me." So, you know what? I'll do just that.

"Westerman!" The secretary raises her voice, Jesus fuck I already have a headache. I walk towards the office and open the door.

"Westerman, my man!" The booming voice rings in my ears. Great, more shouting. I sink into the chair, and if I had to guess, it's either the tanned brunette who made it smell like vanilla or Dean Richard has some explaining to do.

"Now, it pains me to say this, Steph, but—"

"Stephan," I quickly correct.

"Of course, Stephan. But here's the deal: this is strike number three. Normally, that would mean a suspension of sorts, anywhere from a week to a month. Could be from school, or, heaven forbid, football. But, you and I both know, we can't have that. Well, at least not on the football one," he chuckles, rocking back in his seat.

Fuck.

"I messed up, and I can assure you, it won't happen again," I manage to get out, though my insides are twisting at the thought of facing my old man after this.

"Right. Look, I know we've got a close relationship..." Sure.

"But this behaviour is unacceptable. You're not just another student at UFN; you're a face that represents us. And the way you've been carrying yourself is starting to have repercussions for the entire school. So, I'm left with no choice. You're looking at a four-day in-class suspension and a game suspension for the upcoming home match. Clean up your act, Westerman. Believe me, I don't enjoy doing this—for either of us." He extends his hand, and I shake it firmly, a sinking feeling in my gut.

"It won't happen again," I say getting up and walking toward the door

"I'm counting on it" Is the last thing I hear before I'm greeted with a cold stare from the secretary again.

"Have a good afternoon" I smile heading out of the office

"I will now," I hear a soft murmur.

+++

Sitting in my parents' driveway, I wrestle with the decision to enter. The drive has already taken me thirty minutes from the school and 15 past my condo; there's no turning back now. I approach the front door, my fingers hesitating before pressing the first digit on the digital lock. The door beeps, granting me entry. There's no escaping this now.

As I step inside, I'm met with a sight. My mom's smile is strained, my sister discreetly mouthing "you're fucked" from the background, and my old man, well... If looks had the power to kill, I'd be six feet under.

"Hey, honey, how was your—" my mom starts, her voice faltering.

"Natalia, honey, don't entertain this bullshit," My father's words slice through the air, his pale green eyes drilling into me like daggers.

"Three strikes, kid," he continues, his voice tense. "You just had to make a damn fool of yourself, embarrass this family. And for what? To show up, what, drunk? Is this some kind of sick joke? Every damn thing your mother and I have sacrificed for you, and you throw it away."