High School Dream ~ Youtuber Fanfiction ~

Chapter 16

[ i will say nothing of the lack of updates. instead i shall give you all four words and a punctuation mark: bricks. arbitrary and proud ]

ADAM KNEW THAT TODAY WOULD BE ONE OF HIS "OFF" DAYS.

For starters, it was a Monday. Adam hated Mondays.

It started like this: an auspicious morning that had Adam out the door by 7:50 A.M..

It ended with a football game.

His feet were like lead. His forehead was dry; no sweat had formed whatsoever. But his legs dragged behind him, his chest heaved, and his eyes were stinging in the harsh glare of the floodlights.

Someone shouted his last name in anger. He turned, doing his part with a lethargic, half-hearted attempt at his usual finesse.

When the game was over, his teammates barely looked at him. One even collided with his shoulder unapologetically; no one looked back.

"Hey, Dahlberg!"

Adam looked down at his red-faced coach; a short, stout man who closely resembled a tea pot (steam was practically pouring from his hairy nostrils and squashed ears).

"What the heck was that, Dahlberg?" his coach spat. "You're our star player. You have to push yourself, go past your limits, and most importantly, you can't slack off. You know what happens to players who give up early?"

Adam zoned out as his coach expounded upon the unfortunate fates of players with potential, but sadly gave up early. Adam didn't particularly care. He already had quite a pessimistic view of his future.

"Dahlberg!"

His coach reached up and snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Were you listening to a word I just said?"

Adam winced. "No, Coach."

The coach sighed. "Hit the showers, Dahlberg. Pick up your game next time, or you can say goodbye to your position as team captain."

Adam, not showing any sign of acknowledgment, walked off the field.

It wasn't as if he had a parent who cared if he got kicked off the team or not.

The in-between that had led to the end was simple.

Ish.

There were tests in every period that, of course, he forgot to study for.

(The prior night, he couldn't hear himself think over the sound of his parents' marriage failing.)

He guessed on almost every answer, wracking his brain desperately for memories of lectures that would hopefully give him a hint. Each estimate sent a shot of anxiety coursing through his veins, and each clench of his teeth, every bite of his lip, every deep sigh, pained his tired brain more and more.

Office hours were no use. Lunch break was no different.

Each textbook that he opened was a blur of words that made absolutely no sense. For the ones that did, Adam found himself forgetting about them the very next minute.

He tried to memorize formulas, he flipped through his notes and even isolated himself in the library to maximize the effect of his (fruitless) studying, but when the time came to take the test, Adam stared blankly at the paper and envisioned a bright, red F.

Nick cornered him after school. "Hey, Adam, man, I haven't seen you all day. You feeling okay?"

"Fine, Nick," Adam said breezily. "I have to get home. I'll see you later."

"Wait, Adam-"

The signal switched and Adam crossed the street without another word.

When he got home, he found his mother sitting at the kitchen table. Her head was in her hands and a phone lay in front of her. Its screen reflected the white light of the bulb swinging above his mother's head.

Adam cleared his throat. "Mom?"

He ignored the hatred boiling beneath his surface. (When was the last time she had ever been a mother? She doesn't deserve that title.)

His mother looked up with red-rimmed eyes and tear tracks staining her cheeks. "Oh." She almost sounded disappointed. "You're home."

Adam blinked. "Well, yeah. I kind of, you know... live here. Up the stairs, second door on the right."

His mother said nothing (didn't acknowledge her son; when was the last time she did that? 1766?) and merely buried her head in her arms.

Adam awkwardly stole a peek at the phone laying on the table.

It was his father's phone, Adam belatedly realized. It was still on. A chain of text messages was being displayed.

The two in the group were addressing each other with pet names that Adam (once upon a time) had witnessed Jess and Laurence calling each other.

"Baby" appeared in one message. "Sweetheart" in the next.

Adam picked up the phone. He scrolled up, reading the messages carefully.

Let's run away together.

You know I can't leave Adam with that tyrannical woman, babe.

Adam's blood ran cold. He tapped on the contact, skimming over the details. With a start, he realized that the receiver and reciprocator of those sweet, heartfelt messages from his father was not the woman sitting with her head in her hands at the kitchen table.