A Bleacher Boy's Perspective (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 9

The athletic trainer and I exit the athletic room, closing and securing the wooden door behind us. We walk together in a comfortable silence, navigating our way through the various passages of the school. It's oddly calming going through the empty hallways. There's no havoc or teenage boy smell. No one's constantly bumping or brushing their body against yours in the heavy traffic. And you don't have front row seats to a couple shoving their tongues down each others throat. It's an entirely different atmosphere.

We slow down as we approach the familiar set of doors leading just outside of the football stadium. I place my hands on the door and push it open, my right hand instinctively shooting towards my brow to shield my eyes from the burning rays of the sun.

My shoulders stoop and I cast a wary glance at the football stadium, trudgingly I make my way towards the field. I'm surprised to see that the athletic director, Cammie I think her names is, is still accompanying me.

"Where are you going?" I can't help but ask. I had gotten the impression earlier that she was as eager to go home as I was. Why then would she take the detour to the football stadium?

She looks over at me and smiles warmly. "My son," she answers "He is on the football team. Thought I might go over and embarrass him."

She says it so lightly as if moments ago we weren't talking about how I thought the whole football team were the scum of the Earth. Knowing this information oddly troubles me. She seems so nice and welcoming, and all the boys on the team were...well the opposite. My mind starts to wander as I try to pick out who may be Cammie's son. She has deep brown eyes and golden brown hair. She's also relatively tiny, maybe measuring 5'3 at most. I suppose if I had to choose, Lewis or Daniel might bear some resemblance to her. I share my conclusion with her.

"Oh, no." She laughs. "You have no idea who my son is."

I frown. My guess seemed as good as any. I decide that my time is spent on better things and let it go. At least, for now.

By now it is almost five, which means most of the football players are either changing in the locker room or making their way towards the parking lot. The stadium is virtually empty with the exception of my dad who is currently standing near the goal post, clipboard wedged between his side and arm, and his stopwatch dangling loosely in his hand. He doesn't seem to notice me until I come to a stop beside him.

He turns around to face me, he must not have known it was me because he eyes began to widen when he realized it was.

"You fell in the bleachers? Really son?" He yells at me, almost as if he were accusing me of doing something wrong.

"I didn't fall." I said through clenched teeth. I knew if I didn't I wouldn't be able to hold back my anger. I'm the one who gets terrorized by his players on his watch, and it still ends up being my fault for what happens.

"So you just magically had to be sent to the athletic trainer? What are you saying?" he mocks sarcastically.

"I was tripped." I tried to explain.

"By what the bleacher?" He asks incredulously.

"No, by one of the football players!" I raise my voice a twinge against my better judgement.

He sighs, rubbing his forehead in irritation. "You can't just blame the football players for everything, Michael. You need to learn to take responsibility."

"And I would if--"

"Hello, Mr. Riley." Cammie interrupts sweetly, her hand settling on my shoulder. My dad must have just realized she was there too because in that instant his entire demeanor changed. He stood up straighter. And his cheeks that were originally red from his temper, darkened in embarrassment.