The Boy I Love

Bump

"Listening! I have a third of the team's forms for the tournament. Does everyone know when these forms are due? They are due in a week! I need the remaining two-thirds of those forms, one week from today or earlier! Preferably earlier! Understood?"

"Yes, Coach!"

"Good! Now get out of here, get some sleep."

Dismissed, we filter out of the club. Vick elbows me. "Hey, Tyler, did you get your form in yet?"

"No, I still haven't found it. My parents aren't home though, so it's not like I could get it signed anyways."

He narrows his eyes at me. "You do realize that Coach Turner specifically said he wanted you to be at the tournament."

"Yes, I know. I'm looking for it, don't worry."

"Well, make sure you find it soon, so that they can sign it as soon as they show up. Or, better yet, just forge a signature."

"Dude, I'll get it on time. Chill."

He gives me another narrow-eyed look, but doesn't pester me anymore. We split off to go home and shower, while I try to think of all the places it could be. I've already checked my backpack. And my wrestling practice bag. And in my room, on the kitchen table, down in the basement where my punching bag is, and anywhere in plain sight on any floor of the house. I've walked around several times, and I have absolutely no idea where the heck I would have put it. Maybe my parents saw it when they came home, and decided to take it for some reason? Maybe they thought they'd sign it and give it to me when they came back? I have no idea.

I search for a little bit until finally deciding to make myself dinner. I'm no cook, so I just reheat a frozen microwave dinner and eat it while I rack my brain trying to remember what the heck I did with that stupid form. I seriously need to find it. Vick had a point, even if I wouldn't admit it to his face: Coach specifically told me, individually, after complimenting me, that he wanted me at that tournament. And then when Vick and I came in to practice, he told me he wanted me to work on endurance- maybe he's trying to condition me to be his wrestling champion or something? And this is Coach Turner we're talking about, he almost never talks to us individually unless we're doing something horribly wrong, so it's unbelievable that he would approach me to compliment me. I can't miss the tournament. I need to find that form.

But I don't. And I don't the day after, either, or the day after that, or even the day after that- Friday night comes along, and I spend the whole night drinking and trying not to focus on the stupid tournament form, which is still MIA. Saturday I force myself to tear the house upside down, despite my hangover, and on Sunday Vick shows up.

"You still haven't found your form? Dude, you need to find that thing!" he all but yells when I tell him I can't go to the club to practice for the tournament on account of needing to find my form so my parents can sign it when they finally come home.

He helps me look, and we spend pretty much the entire day trying to find it. We turn up empty handed, and he leaves for his house with an expression expecting doom. I'm not feeling too much more optimistic.

Monday practice. The form is due tomorrow. We're leaving for the tournament in two days. And I haven't found it yet.

Coach Turner corners me in the middle of practice, looking absolutely furious. "Andrews, where is your tournament form." It's not even a question, it's a demand.

I try not to cower away from him. "I- I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? You need to turn that thing in tomorrow. You need to be at that tournament."