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1 | Henry
“I KNOW ONE of you little pricks took it.”
Coach paces in front of us, snarling insults and accusations that echo his southern twang against the walls of the Texas University gymnasium. The entirety of the TU Titans football team sits around me in creaking folding chairs, whispering anxiously as the scent of fresh sweat from our practice fills the room.
“Henry.”
My head shoots up at the sound of my name and I realize, to my dismay, that everyone is staring at me. Coach Bryer glares, his eyes squinted in frustration and arms crossed tightly, as he waits for my response.
“Uh – um, yes, sir?”
Great. You sound real confident, jackass. Not like you’re guilty at all.
“As captain of this here team, I’d think you might know better than anyone who stole my most prized possession.”
He shoots a knowing look towards Jonah McGee, my childhood best friend, whose eyes are currently boring straight into the floor.
“If that someone,” Coach Bryer continues, eyes still fixated on Jonah, “wants to admit their guilt… I just might be willing to let the rest of the team off scot-free.”
He pauses for a moment, allowing a tense silence to filter through us.
“Otherwise, y’all can expect to be doin’ bear crawls across that damn field ‘til the season’s over!”
“We’re innocent, Coach!” Todd Watson, our wide receiver, groans out of frustration.
Blood rushes to my ears as I sneak glances at Jonah, head in his hands, refusing to look up at Coach Bryer.
“I know you might be, Watson. But I doubt one of your teammates could say the same. Jonah–”
God help me.
“I did it, Coach,” I call out, a splitting headache of regret instantly forming at my temples as I do so.
“Henry–” Jonah interjects, panic spreading across his face.
“I’m sorry, Coach,” I continue, ignoring Jonah’s pleas. “I’m not sure what got into me. Thought it’d be a funny prank is all.”
Coach Bryer stares in my direction, his features clouded by intense skepticism.
“You sure about that, son?” he asks, his bushy, graying eyebrows furrowing.
I swallow hard as a lump forms in the back of my throat.
Why do I do this to myself?
“Yes, sir.”
Coach lets out a low whistle, excusing the team from the gymnasium.
“–except you, Anderson.”
Fucking hell.
“Dude, why the fuck would you take Coach’s Heisman Trophy?”
My voice strains over the blaring house music as drunken sorority girls dance against us, their beer splashing onto the floor as they sway to the beat of the vibrating bass. Jonah and I both tower over them and the rest of the crowd gathered in our living room, which is made up mostly of girls and the rest of the TU Titans. A few non-football players, including our other roommate, Danny, are strewn amongst the room, too, desperate to have even one girl turn their attention towards them instead of my team – without much luck.
“I didn’t have a choice, dude,” Jonah calls back to me as he dances against a red-headed jersey chaser. “Thanks for taking the heat for me.”
