If there's one thing I've learned from high school that I'll remember for the rest of my life, it's this: football players and basketball players do not get along.
Not how to graph quadratic functions, or write a five-paragraph essay, or what parathyroid hormone does, or who wrote Leviathan- I doubt I'll remember any of that in twenty years. But this irrefutable lesson about football and basketball players? Unforgettable.
I'm currently sitting outside the principal's office, glaring at the boy sitting on the other side of the hallway. A teacher- conveniently, the one that saw me attempt to land a fist in his face- is watching us carefully, like we might jump up and start brawling at any second.
I'm the quarterback of the football team. He's the captain of the basketball team. We've been butting heads since at least grade ten.
Initially, I thought that all jocks were kind of the same, because they're all physically fit and generally classified as 'dumb'. And then I got into football, and once I got into high school, I got sucked into the rivalry. Football vs. basketball. Our school has a team for each, and the student body is pretty much divided in half in terms of support. The teachers all try to tell us that it's 'not a competition' but we're all into competitive sports, so you can guess how well that went over. Our coaches just tell us not to get into fights so we don't get booted off the team.
However, that hasn't seemed to be going so well either. I'm pretty sure he has convinced his entire team to antagonize my team to provoke us into fighting, so that they can bring a teacher around at just the right moment so we get in trouble without anyone from his team actually getting hurt.
Seriously, he's that manipulative. And he's really smug about it, too.
Fortunately, this teacher is on my side (the teachers aren't supposed to take sides in the rivalry between football and basketball, but some do anyway). So even though this teacher did see me attempt to hit him, I'll probably get the benefit of the doubt. To an extent.
The door to the principal's office opens, and my best friend walks out, followed by the devil's first mate. Nathan makes brief eye contact with me that tells me that my situation is not good, but not the worst case scenario. Which is good, because I really don't want to be kicked off the football team.
"Boys." The teacher gestures to the open door to the principal's office, and I shoot the one more glare at the Source Of All Misery before getting up and going in. He follows me, and I can practically sense his villainous presence behind me.
The principal raises her eyebrows at us as we enter, then sit. The chairs are disgustingly close together. The coaches of both teams are standing in opposite corners of the room behind the principal, and Coach Johnson (AKA: the good one) shoots me a look that tells me just how much of a lecture I'm getting after the principal is finished with me. Which implies that I'm not being kicked off the team. Good. I can deal with whatever punishment they've devised.
The principal sighs, breaking the tense silence. "Well boys, here we are." Pause. "Again."
That's fair. We have had more than our fair share of incidents over the years.
"Now, let me see if I have this straight. Jordan, you attempted and intended to physically hit Chase, correct?"
I nod tentatively.
"But you were stopped by Nathan."
"Yes."
"And this was provoked?"
"Yes." I resist the urge to glare at He Who Shall Not Be Named.
Principal Marks eyes us both for another moment, then sighs. "I'm not going to beat around the bush. After this many... incidents, in the name of your teams' rivalry, I'm seriously considering taking both of you off of your teams."
Those words are a shot of panic straight to my heart. My gaze automatically flicks to Coach Johnson fearfully. I'm met with a completely emotionless stare, which does nothing to help.
"But Ms. Marks, I didn't-" the Bringer Of All Misfortune starts, but Ms. Marks holds up a hand to interrupt him.
"I'm aware you didn't hit or attempt to hit Jordan, Chase. But you've both been in here enough times for me to know that you're intentionally provoking him. If I only took Jordan off of the football team, then I'm sure you'd be at each other's throats even faster than before. The only solution I see is to pull both of you."
My satisfaction at hearing that the principal actually knows that he's starting it is short lived. The finality in her last statement feels like a punch to the face. The only solution. So is that it? Am I off the team?
Ms. Marks sighs. "But your coaches have convinced me that your positions on each of your respective teams is valuable to student involvement in our school's sports program. So I am giving you both one. More. Chance. If I see both of you in this office one more time, you're both done. For the rest of the year."
And this is our final year of high school. So what she really means is, forever. Also potentially destroying my shot at a football scholarship.
"Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Ms. Marks," we say at the same time, which causes me to want to glare at him. Everything does, to be honest.
"Good." She takes a deep breath and sits back. "I'm hoping that you'll both be able to keep your rivalry to a somewhat civil level with that in mind. Aside from that: Jordan, one week of detention. And your coaches will punish each of you as they see fit. You may go to your classes, now."
We both stand and leave- him first, this time. I glare at the back of his head as witheringly as humanly possible.
The door swings shut behind us, and we start down the hallway towards the stairwell (the principal's office is on the first floor, and all grade twelve classes are on the third floor. It's super inconvenient).
Once the door to the stairwell closes behind us, he shoots me a smug look. "Excited for detention, Werewolf?"
"Can't you ever shut up? If we get in any kind of trouble again, we're done."
"Not my fault you have the temper of a four year old," he snarks back.
"Even Ms. Marks knows you're provoking me. So yes, your fault."
"She suspects. If she knew, she would have given me detention as well. And it's not like it's even difficult. As soon as I get on your nerves enough, you blow up and default to using force, as always. It's almost too believable that you're a football player."
"At least I have the muscle to use force, and I'm not such a pretentious coward that I call a penalty on anyone who touches me. Seriously, you're not even a jock. All you do is throw a ball at a hoop and pretend to be mortally wounded whenever you make physical contact with someone else to try and get them in trouble."
"If by 'jock' you mean a big, dumb, child who resorts to fists immediately, and has both the temper and brains of an infant, then I'd be fine with being excluded from that classification. And clearly, you're insecure and feel the need to immediately resort to violence whenever you're mentally outclassed- which is always-, just to prove you're good at something, even though you clearly can't even do that-"
"Chase, shut it. Jordan, stop listening. We have English."
Nathan. Pretty much the only obstacle keeping me from absolutely losing it on Chase every time he opens his mouth. He tugs on my arm, giving me a hard look when I don't move. Chase is smirking, and looks like he's about to make another snide comment when Levi, AKA the devil's first mate, clamps a hand over Chase's mouth.
"Seriously, how hard can it be to walk from the principal's office to your classes separately? You'd think at this point they'd have learned to take opposite stairwells," he comments to Nathan, like Chase and I don't even exist. For some reason, those two don't actively despise each other to the same extent that everyone else on the football and basketball teams do. Nate says it's because they're too busy constantly pulling Chase and I apart- which is fair.
Nate sighs. "I know. It seems like it'd be obvious, since they probably don't want a visit to the principal's office so soon after that last one."
"You'd think. Anyways, we should get these two to class before we all get in trouble for skipping. You go that way, we're going to the chem lab."
"Gotcha." Nathan grabs my arm, and I start towards English, but not without shooting one last glare at Chase Jackson.
Hello! Welcome to Pride! Thank you so much for deciding to read this book, it means the world to me :)
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