On a Wednesday by Whitney G.
Kyle: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
Aweek later, I walked into Coach Whitten’s office, armed with my notes on our game against Utah.
“Hey there, Coach,” I said.
“Don’t you dare ‘Hey there, Coach,’ me today.” He seethed, holding up a blue folder. “What the hell is this?”
“That’s my report on The Vagina Monologues. It’s on the inside.”
“It’s four sentences long.”
“I know.” I smiled. “You told me to summarize what I learned, so I made sure to be as concise as possible.”
He opened the folder, glaring at me as he read. “Women have vaginas. Vaginas experience feelings. Men need to respect these feelings. The next time I’m buried deep inside of one, I will make sure that I respect those feelings.”
He let out a breath. “Really, son?”
“Would you like me to write four more?”
“You’re going to write a ton more.” He gestured toward the chair. “Have a seat.”
“Wait.” I looked at my watch. “I have an important meeting with someone in twenty minutes. Can I come back after that for my next dose of punishment?”
“Kyle fucking Stanton.” He looked like he was seconds away from losing his shit. “Your next hookup can wait.”
“This girl isn’t a hookup, Coach,” I said. “I mean, did you not catch a word of what I said a few weeks ago? Granted, she’s sexy as hell, but she’s not into me.” I tapped my chin—envisioning her pink lips and deep brown eyes, the way her latest violet-colored dress clung to her curves. “I don’t think she’ll ever sleep with me, though.”
“Sit down, Kyle.” His head looked like it was about to explode. “Now.”
I didn’t dare risk seeing what the next stage of his anger might be, so I reluctantly gave in and took a seat. I pulled out my phone to let Courtney know that I would be late, but Coach snatched it from my hands and tossed it into his drawer.
“That can wait, too.” He picked up his desk phone. “You can bring Professor Kline in for us, Coach George. Kyle is ready to listen and take notes on the theme of the play now.”
Five essays and three long lectures later, Coach finally returned my phone.
I started to message Courtney to apologize for missing another Wednesday, but she’d already sent me a slew of emails.
Subject: Today’s Session.
Subject: We’re still on, right? It’s seven-thirty.
Subject: SERIOUSLY? It’s TEN o’clock.
Shit.