Blitzed(5)

It goes without saying that I'm an egotistical, conceited bastard. But I'm that way because I earned it, every f*cking bit of it.

But while I can't ask for more of the sweet perks I get at school, it's a total 180 when it comes to my living situation at home. The moment I step off school grounds, I go back into the real world. I'm no longer Troy Wood, Silver Lake High's most prized athlete and biggest campus celebrity.

I'm just some ungrateful shit that should be happy that my dad chose to bang a random chick when he was eighteen and not use a condom. And according to my drunken dad, I wouldn't be shit without him. I owed him for everything—giving me life and for being a star ball player, though he'd done nothing to help me hone my skills. Shit, I owed him just for breathing. In fact, I owed him so much that I had to work an after-school job at a shitty pizza parlor just to help support his sorry ass drinking habit. So I take those easy grades from the teachers, mainly because after practicing until seven four nights a week, I spend another three to four hours slicing vegetables, sausage, and stirring five gallon pots of tomato sauce just to put food in my stomach.

I don't know what he's going to do when I go off to college, I think to myself. Probably become a bum under the bridge. And it'll be all my f*cking fault.

I have big plans for myself after I graduate high school, none of which involve my drunkard father. First, I hope to go to college on a scholarship, because I certainly don't want to be chained to a student loan debt, and then I want to be drafted by the NFL, starting off with a multimillion-dollar contract.

I figure once I get on the college team and start showing off my exceptional abilities, the talent scouts will go crazy and start the bidding wars. First round draft pick, working a couple of endorsement contracts coming right out of school, and I'll be on easy street riding out my rookie contract on that bullshit scaled system the NFL is putting in place. When I hit free agency though, that's when it all goes bananas. Naturally, I'll settle with the highest bidder and make my way to the Hall of Fame and retire with a big mansion, a trophy wife and a quad of kids, set for life.

Ah, the easy life. I just have to get there first.

And I will get there. I have total confidence in my ability to do so.

As cocksure as I am, I always have to give myself an internal pep talk to keep my confidence level up. You have to when you're the brightest star on an otherwise shit team and your father tells you you're a worthless piece of shit. Coach tells us a positive mental mindset is essential, and I believe it. Coach has a lot of good sayings like that.

One thing is for sure. I know I'm not going to reach my goals if I get involved in a relationship with a needy girlfriend. That's one promise I've made to myself. No girlfriends. No relationship. No drama. No bullshit.

If I want to make it to the NFL, my motto has gotta be f*ck 'em and leave ‘em. It's harsh, but I have to protect myself. I don't want to become too attached. And I know what could happen if I f*ck up by falling in love and getting a chick pregnant. It already happened to one of my best friends who now had to put his entire life on hold because he'd knocked up a chick he had feelings for. He was 'the guy' before I showed up on varsity, and we formed the core of a good one-two threat before he got the bitch pregnant. He quit the team, saying he wanted to man up, and that was when the shit hit the fan. He's been forced to work two shitty jobs to support the baby, and his grades fell because of it. With no football and no grades, he couldn't qualify for college and was stuck in those same two jobs, a miserable bastard. The worst part of it all? His lady love cheated on him shortly after giving birth. Hell, she asked if I wanted a piece of her ass when I stopped by once to see how my buddy and the baby were doing.

I vow that I'm not going to be that sucker.

The cheerleading squad takes a rest and I watch as Whitney pauses to dig the tights she's wearing out of the crack of her ass. She glances around as if worried someone is watching, and our eyes meet. She stares at me, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink, and I give her my most charming smile. Her lips part, as if in surprise, and then she looks away. Bending over, she grabs a water bottle before realizing she's giving us a pretty good view of what she was just digging out, and I can't help it. Mr. Disco Stick is ready to say hel-f*cking-lo, and I'm not all that disinclined to stop him.

I can't keep the grin off my face, but I'm worried about how much I want to meet this girl. Usually, I let them come to me, yet I want to go to her. It's like she's a magnet and I'm a big hunk of metal. I mean, I'm a big hunk of something, and it can get hard as steel, but that doesn't mean I'm made of it.

“You are totally checking her out for yourself,” Russ accuses, catching the exchange. "Or is that bulge in your pants because of Cory's Gangnam style dance?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“Don't play stupid. You're not in AP English, but you aren't an idiot either.”

I think desperately and come up with the first idea that pops into my head besides Whitney's ass. “I was just thinking about the new plays I want to try at practice tomorrow. In case you didn't notice, we've got Blueridge on Friday, and their fullback isn't a * like you.”

“Right.”

“I was.” I run my gaze over my gathered teammates. “And I want you all to be ready to try them out. No questions asked. I think it will help us when we play against Blueridge. I’m not starting my senior year with a loss.”