Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Audrey set down her controller and looked at me.
“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” I said.
“One nice day doesn’t take away millions of others,” she said, pointing to a silver bow. “I’m missing half a head of hair.”
“You did that to yourself.” I shrugged as our classmates started to fill the living room.
For the next hour or so, the party went on, and Audrey beat almost every guy at the game. The girls who didn’t play followed her mom around and gushed about her terrible young-teen romance books.
It killed me to admit it, but this was far more fun than any party I’d been to with my real friends, and I decided that maybe—just maybe—I would stop being so hard on Audrey.
Maybe she didn’t deserve it…
One Week Later
My mom stepped into my bedroom and unplugged my game system from the wall.
“What the—?” I sat up, glaring at her. “Why did you do that, Mom?”
“Audrey Parker’s mother just called,” she said. “Audrey was in tears—again. Hysterical tears, Taylor.”
“Why?”
“Are you seriously asking me that question?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’ve been nice to Audrey this week…”
“In what world does nice mean stuffing fire ants into her locker?”
“What?” I said. “She’s been collecting them all week in a red bottle. She collects bugs like a weirdo, remember?”
“You honestly expect me to believe that she collected a thousand fire ants and let them loose in her locker—all to frame you?”
“Yeah. Obviously.”
“Nonsense!” She grabbed my system and tucked it under her arm. “I don’t know what she’s done to receive this level of harassment from you, but it ends today. You’re grounded until further notice.”
“But I have a football game tomorrow.”
“I already told your coach you won’t be seeing the field for the next month.”
“A full month over a lie?”
“You’re the only one lying, Taylor Wolff.” She narrowed her eyes. “And stop bullying that poor girl. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Mother.” I gritted my teeth. “We are crystal clear.”
“Good. Now write her an apology letter and let me see it before I take you over there to give it to her. Again.”
“Are you serious? Because I swear—” I caught myself. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that now.”
“You’ve got five minutes.”
She slammed the door on her way out, and I stormed over to my desk.
Dear Audrey,
My only regret in life is not making you cry ten times harder.
Sincerely,
Forget you,
Take care,
Taylor
Groaning, I crumpled that letter and forced myself to write Audrey the sweetest, fakest note in history. Then I wrote out a plan to get her back.
I’ll show her a real bully…
TRACK 1. I FORGOT THAT YOU EXISTED (4:13)
TAYLOR
Present Day
“Let me get this straight.” Ryan Harrison, the head coach of the New England Bears, glared at me. “We draft you in the first round, sign you to a twenty-million-dollar-a-year contract, and... you want to spend the next few months running off to do some Shakespeare shit?”
“It’s not ‘Shakespeare shit,’” I said. “It’s the Postscript Scholars Program.”
“Is it paying you twenty million dollars a year?”
“No.”
“Then case closed.” He shrugged. “Looks like it’s not worth your time, so let’s discuss more important matters like your recovery schedule.”
“It’s the highest postgraduate honor when it comes to writing.” I glanced outside his massive window where my teammates were warming up for practice. “I’ve explained this to you several times before.”
“And it still doesn’t make any sense.” He shook his head. “Your education time is over, Mr. Wolff. It’s bad enough you did all four years in college just to finish your degree. It’s time for full-time football.”
“That’s right.” His assistant and personal parrot nodded his head in the corner. “Full-time football.”
“It’s not like I can play.” I held up my bandaged wrist. “I can’t practice either.”
“But you can write with that hand?”
“I’d be writing with my left one…”
His face reddened, and he suddenly shot out of his chair, pacing the room and talking to himself as if he were alone. I’d witnessed this exact same performance earlier this week, and it wasn’t worthy of an encore.
This was his fourth year as head coach, and I was supposed to be his ticket to a winning season—his chance at being off the “hot seat,” and his “fucking key to some goddamn success.”
I honestly couldn’t blame him for losing his shit when one of my teammates sacked me hard enough to fracture my wrist in practice last week, but deep down, I was relieved as hell.
My college years flew by in such a blur that most of my memories revolved around the field. Yet, despite leading my team to back-to-back winning records and a national championship, the last thing I wanted right now was more football.
I need a fucking break…
I wanted to breathe without someone telling me what that breath should be worth.
“Now, you listen very carefully to me, son.” Coach Harrison slammed his hands against the desk, finally breaking out of his trance. “Injured or not, you need to be on the sidelines—supporting your teammates and representing the culture. You also need to watch film with everyone else after game days.”