Foes & Cons

backward down the practice, a goofy smile on his face. “Sorry, Coach, I’ll do better next time.”
The thing is, he will. My fellow forward is light-years more talented than anyone on the team, but barely practices and constantly fucks up if not in high-pressure situations. Give him five penalty kicks to make in the state championships, and he’ll sink every one of them. But ask him to do a simple passing drill in practice and he’ll fuck it up royally.
Me? I have to try harder to be on top of my game. I love soccer, but I don’t necessarily have natural talent. The game has always been fun to me, and I work hard in the gym and on drills, but the sport isn’t in my blood.
“You’re going to make us run suicides, you know that, right?” I grumble at Glavin as we jog back to the goal line.
“Nah, not on the first day.” He shrugs.
“You asshole, Coach wants to win a championship this year. Just don’t fuck around.” Alton, our goalie, flips Glavin the bird.
Alton is serious about winning a championship, too. He already has a scholarship to a division one school, and it’ll look even better if he can add a title to his high school career.
I’m all for trying to win these guys a title, but I don’t have any offers after this. I have no interest in playing in college, or professionally. Maybe I’ll join a club team or play intramural sports, but I don’t want that pressure after this, especially over something I’m not that passionate about.
We finish up the rest of practice, and narrowly avoid suicide sprints, thank God.
“You want to come over and play COD?” Glavin asks as we walk to the parking lot.
I shake my head, refusing his invitation to play video games. “I already have homework. Plus, I told my dad I’d stop by the office.”
“You’re such a Goody Two-shits.” My best friend smirks. “The good little boy, off to do his homework after the first day of school. No wonder you’re so stressed, I’m barely doing homework this year.”
“Yeah, no wonder I’m going to get into college before you.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
He shrugs, not the least bit concerned with that. “Yeah, but you’ll still be studying when you get there and I’ll be knee deep in tits and ass.”
“Nice.” I snort, because it’s honestly all he thinks about.
And, unfairly, he’s still going to graduate and get into a decent university because of his soccer talent, and be able to think about nothing but tits and ass.
We fist bump each other and take off on our separate ways. I get in my car and steer it toward downtown Chester. Driving through your hometown as a senior in high school, it radiates this almost invincible feeling through your body. I’m the top dog now, and freedom comes in many forms now that eighteen and college loom on the horizon. With the ability to drive and the knowledge of almost flying the nest … it’s like this is the last year where the safety net is still in place, so you have no fear of falling off the tightrope.
I grab a slice of pizza from Marianna’s, the Italian place two doors down from my father’s architecture studio on Main Street and am halfway through devouring it as I walk through the door.
“Hey,” I mumble around a bite of cheese and sauce.
“You just missed Blair.” My dad stands up to give me a manly hug, but I freeze.
“Oh?” I try to keep my voice even.
“She was in here not ten minutes ago,” he replies. “How was the first day? How was practice?”
I hate that she’s in such close proximity to my life, that she’s the first word out of his mouth when I come in here. Once upon a time, that seemed like the best thing in the world. But after she blew up our friendship and shamed me in front of a lot of our friends, she became like an annoying gnat I just couldn’t shoo away. The fact that our dad’s work together is the cherry on top of the shit pie. I am constantly trying to dodge her or taunt her during family gatherings, because my parents still invite her and her father to everything.
“Both were good, should be challenging, but nothing I can’t handle,” I reassure him.
“And the college applications, have you done any more on it?” Dad turns back to his sketching table, and I look over his shoulder.
He’s working on a mock-up for what looks like a cool-as-hell log cabin, and I assume someone has commissioned him to design their vacation home somewhere in the mountains about an hour from Chester. I study the lines, the renderings, and the details on the corners and over the doorframes.
If soccer is one thing I’ve always had to work for, drawing and numbers in terms of architecture is something that comes second nature. Maybe I inherited it from my dad before I was even born, but I can look at his sketches or my own and things just click right into place.
Some people probably think it’s settling to go into architecture, that I have a guaranteed job with my father’s firm. But the truth is, I love it. This is what I want to do for the rest of my life, and I’ve known that from a young age. Now, I just have to go out and get into the best program in the country to make my dreams actually mean something.
“I’m working on my essay, trying to make it shine as much as possible for Brockden,” I tell him.
Brockden University has the top architecture program in the country. Located about two hours from Chester, in the woods of Pennsylvania, it’s a college town with as much school spirit as there has ever been. The program I want to get into is highly competitive; a five-year intensive architecture degree that has students coming out and working at some