The Way I Am Now (The Way I Used to Be)
The Way I Am Now: Part 3 – Chapter 36

After practice, Coach calls us all together for a meeting in the locker room. There’s a tightness, a tension in the air. Everyone’s tired and hungry and ready to go. I just want to get to my phone to see if she’s texted me back yet.

“All right, guys,” Coach begins. “Quick announcement. This is coming down directly from the dean. We’ll be talking to all the teams, so don’t feel special. Okay, I’m sure some of you have heard about the sexual assault case involving a student athlete over at Eastland U.”

My heart starts racing.

“Obviously, there’s no tolerance for this kind of thing at Tucker Hill,” he continues, looking down at his clipboard, reading. “Zero tolerance for any form of harassment or so-called ‘locker room talk’ on this team or any team on this campus. Got it?”

I look around. There are heads nodding.

Someone raises a hand. “Uh, Coach, has someone complained, or . . . ?”

“No. Thank God. The dean wanted us to preemptively talk with you all, as a reminder that this shit won’t fly here.”

Okay, so this is just a general PSA. I start to relax.

Coach squints at his clipboard again. “THU will be issuing a formal statement regarding its commitment to . . .” He trails off, skipping ahead. “So, basically, the moral of the story is eyes are on teams like ours right now, and we can’t afford any bad press, gentlemen.”

Bad press, so that’s really all that matters here.

“Such bullshit,” I hear someone mutter under their breath. When I look up, Jon, one of the bench players, has a stupid shit-eating grin on his face. He leans in to the guy next to him, whispers something, and I see both of them Jell-O-shaking with silent laughter. Something inside me picks up like a swelling wave, and I can feel my fists tightening at my sides.

Coach dismisses us, and I look around—I completely missed the end of the meeting.

I try to shake off this feeling.

I’m finishing getting dressed at my locker, checking my phone—still nothing from her—when I hear Jon’s dumbass guffaw over the bank of lockers.

“You know she wanted it, and then when he didn’t want a relationship, she decided to screw his career.” That wave returns now, and I can feel my face getting red. “That is exactly why you don’t dip your dick in crazy.”

I know I shouldn’t, but that wave is pushing me down, and someone else, this other version of myself is rising up instead. I walk around the corner and see Jon toweling off his hair as he regales two freshmen benchers with his opinions.

“I dunno, man,” one of them is bold enough to pipe up, “I read there were three girls he did it to. . . .”

“Yeah, well, maybe he’s attracted to psychos,” Jon says, and shrugs. “Bitches probably want a payout! You know how the pussy is. . . .”

I can’t even hear the rest of his sentence because the wave is pushing at me as I step behind him, too close, it pushes past my chest, into my throat, out of my mouth. “Hey, do you ever just shut the fuck up?”

Jon turns, stupid mean grin still on his face, and behind him, the freshmen’s eyes go wide—I must be looking like something scary to them.

“Sorry, my bad, did I upset your delicate sensibilities?” he says, patting my shoulder in mock comfort, the spot he touches radiating heat, practically vibrating. I know I should leave, but the other Josh has a point to make.

“No, I’m sorry, do you have some kind of problem with not sexually harassing women, or what?”

“Fuck off,” he mutters dismissively. “You know what my problem is?”

“No, what’s that?” I challenge. “Please, tell me.”

“You.” Somehow this makes the wave retreat. Me, I can deal with that.

“Me?” I cross my arms. “Okay.”

“Yeah, with you half-assing every practice and wasting a starting spot on the team, and now you’re trying to make me look bad?” He looks at the crowd, which has suddenly gathered around us, and I can’t tell if they’re on his side or not.

“You make yourself look bad all on your own.”

“And you shouldn’t even be here!” he shouts. “Not after what you pulled last season. Everyone thinks so.”

Dominic walks up then, interrupts. “Hey, speak for yourself, Jon—why don’t you just take off, all right?”

“Why? It’s true,” he argues.

“No, it’s not,” Dominic says.

“Whatever.” I grab my bag and close my locker. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Sure, but you have time to push your woke agenda about a bunch of bitches crying rape? Please, you’re so—”

And that wave is back—a tidal wave now—no fighting it. It is the buzzing in my head, a tingling in my limbs, this sick rush of adrenaline pulsing through me.

It’s oddly quiet for a moment.

And then sound erupts all around us, yelling, shouting.

It takes me a second to process why Dominic is standing between us. Why someone’s holding my arms. Why Jon is on the floor. Why Coach is storming in here, screaming, “Break it up, you assholes!”

He drags us both into his office.

“What do you wanna do?” he’s asking Jon. “You can lodge a complaint if you want—it’s within your rights.”

Jon looks at me, sort of smirks, like this is all just an amusement to him. “Nah,” he finally says. “It was just a shove. It’s really not a big deal.”

“Fine.” Coach stands, points to the door. “You go,” he tells him.

I start to stand as well, but Coach presses down on my shoulder. “You,” he orders, through clenched teeth, “siddown.”

He closes the door behind Jon and throws his clipboard against the wall, making me jump.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yells. “I swear, it’s one step forward, twenty steps back with you. Every damn time. Tell me something, do you even want to be on this team?”

I clench my jaw shut so I don’t say it: No.

“Huh?” he yells. “Well, do you?”

“Yes,” I lie.

“Then screw your damn head on right, get your priorities straight!” he shouts, the veins in his neck throbbing. “You’re on thin ice—paper thin. One more incident, you’re suspended. I don’t care how talented you are. I don’t give a shit what’s going on in your personal life. When you’re here, you don’t have a personal life!” he yells. “You understand me?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

It’s dark in Eden’s room, but I can see her lying on her bed. I’m relieved at first. She’s here, she’s safe. But the way she’s curled up in the fetal position, lying so still, gives me that full-body rush of adrenaline chill again. I feel unsteady as I walk toward her.

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