On a Wednesday by Whitney G.
Kyle: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
Subject: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire ...
How about making sure that you won’t burn down the grounds in the process?! How about ASKING your neighbors if they’ll mind having five hundred students in their streets until three in the morning?
I know damn well that this was not a “team” idea, and whenever KYLE and GRAYSON want to own up to this shit, I’ll reduce the extra five daily miles you all now owe me to three miles.
I’m waiting.
—Coach Whitten
Subject: Re: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire …
It was me, Coach.
Grayson had nothing to do with it this time. He didn’t even show up. Speaking of which—
Dude, where were you? I fucked like three girls from this bonfire. You probably could’ve hooked up with at least five. I don’t think I’ll need another blowjob for a month after how amazing these were.
P.S.—Are you back at our apartment yet? I need to tell you these stories in person when Coach isn’t acting like this shit is a big deal.
—Kyle
Subject: Re: Re: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire …
Kyle,
Meet me in my office at the complex NOW.
—Coach Whitten
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire …
I meant to send that last part to just Grayson. Not to you, Coach. Can I come in a few hours? I mean, now that you’ve read what I said, surely you understand how exhausted I am. Three girls, Coach. THREE.
—Kyle.
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire …
Right. Fucking. NOW.
—Coach Whitten
I shook my head as I reread his messages, wishing I could tell him and Grayson the truth instead of the lies.
They wouldn’t believe me in a million years, though.
I debated whether I should go to my first class of the day to delay Coach’s berating session for another hour or deal with it now.
Clicking on the syllabus for my course Debating Yourself & Others, I saw that today was “Revealing Your Vulnerability” day.
Coach’s berating session it is.
“Have a seat, Kyle.” Coach Whitten shut the door once I arrived. “And turn off your cell phone.”
I obliged and set my phone on his desk. “I’m sorry about sending you those emails, Coach. They were meant for Grayson’s eyes only.”
“I’m glad you sent them to me,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s rather interesting to see how my star receiver behaves whenever he’s off the field.”
“It’s what happens on the field that matters, Coach.” I leaned back in my seat. “I haven’t let you down once since my freshman year.”
He tapped his fingers on the desk, looking at me in the way he did when he first recruited me in my living room years ago. It was a cross between confusion and admiration.
“Look, son,” he said, finally. “Life is not all about women and sex.”
“I know,” I said. “There’s also football, achievements, and success. Not to mention the parties. It’s important to have those as well.”
“Damnit, Kyle.” He rolled his eyes. “Stop talking. I know, without a doubt, that you’re going to be selected within the first round no matter what antics you pull this semester, but since you’ve purposely picked the lightest major and you clearly have plenty of time for recklessness, I think you can make space for a little female appreciation.”
“I always have space for that.” I smiled. “Did you find me some girls I can trust?”
“What? No, Kyle.” He pulled a brochure from his desk and handed it to me. “I found you a brand new activity. The Theater Department is showcasing The Vagina Monologues for the next few weeks of the semester.”
“The Vagina what?”
“The Vagina Monologues.”
“There must be a typo.” I glanced at the front page. “I’ve never heard a vagina talk. Squirt, maybe, but not talk.”
“Kyle …”
I flipped the cover over. “Is this like some type of science fiction?”
“It’s like some type of punishment.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s a way for you to gain some insight before you leave this university, and I expect you to watch every Wednesday performance and write a report on something new you learn each time.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to laugh, to tell me that he was just bullshitting, but he continued talking.
“I took the liberty of getting you a press pass for the event with The Pitt News, so you can’t claim that you forgot to buy one of your own.”
Fuck no. Tell him the truth about the girls.“Coach, look. With all due respect—”
“Once you learn what the word ‘respect’ actually means when it comes to women, I’ll let you finish that sentence, son.” He uncapped a pen and signed a disciplinary action form. Then he handed it to me. “If you don’t do this, in addition to the extra fitness shit that I’ll be adding later this week, you won’t play another game this season.”
“If I don’t play, then the team will lose.”
“Then everyone on campus will blame you.” He smiled. “Then again, I think Grayson Connors can make any receiver look as great as you out there. Don’t you think?”
“No.”
“Then don’t try me.”
I groaned and signed the paper. “Anything else, Coach?”
“Oh, yeah.” He stood to his feet and walked over to the door. “The neighbors on Childs Street expect you to clean up all the cups, wood planks, and papers that you and your teammates tossed into their backyards. Get it done by tonight.”
“How can you expect me to get that done tonight and see this play?”
“You’ll figure it out.”