Stuck here in the dean's office, surrounded by judgmental glances from the secretary, all thanks to that damn incident. Look, I'm no saintâthat's pretty obvious. But whatever's waiting for me back home feels like a punishment from hell. I can already picture my old man conjuring up a creative punishment: no parties, no food, no girlsâalthough he's definitely gonna deviate from his usual playbook this time.
One thing's for sure: I'm fucked
"I'm sorry, Sofia," a muffled voice breaks through, and though it's a bit garbled, yet I can still catch it. Out strides a tall, athletic-looking brunette with big brown eyes. Normally, I'd throw a smirk her way, or maybe even lay on some charm to test the waters. But her face screams, "Do not fuck with me." So, you know what? I'll do just that.
"Westerman!" The secretary raises her voice, Jesus fuck I already have a headache. I walk towards the office and open the door.
"Westerman, my man!" The booming voice rings in my ears. Great, more shouting. I sink into the chair, and if I had to guess, it's either the tanned brunette who made it smell like vanilla or Dean Richard has some explaining to do.
"Now, it pains me to say this, Steph, butâ"
"Stephan," I quickly correct.
"Of course, Stephan. But here's the deal: this is strike number three. Normally, that would mean a suspension of sorts, anywhere from a week to a month. Could be from school, or, heaven forbid, football. But, you and I both know, we can't have that. Well, at least not on the football one," he chuckles, rocking back in his seat.
Fuck.
"I messed up, and I can assure you, it won't happen again," I manage to get out, though my insides are twisting at the thought of facing my old man after this.
"Right. Look, I know we've got a close relationship..." Sure.
"But this behaviour is unacceptable. You're not just another student at UFN; you're a face that represents us. And the way you've been carrying yourself is starting to have repercussions for the entire school. So, I'm left with no choice. You're looking at a four-day in-class suspension and a game suspension for the upcoming home match. Clean up your act, Westerman. Believe me, I don't enjoy doing thisâfor either of us." He extends his hand, and I shake it firmly, a sinking feeling in my gut.
"It won't happen again," I say getting up and walking toward the door
"I'm counting on it" Is the last thing I hear before I'm greeted with a cold stare from the secretary again.
"Have a good afternoon" I smile heading out of the office
"I will now," I hear a soft murmur.
+++
Sitting in my parents' driveway, I wrestle with the decision to enter. The drive has already taken me thirty minutes from the school and 15 past my condo; there's no turning back now. I approach the front door, my fingers hesitating before pressing the first digit on the digital lock. The door beeps, granting me entry. There's no escaping this now.
As I step inside, I'm met with a sight. My mom's smile is strained, my sister discreetly mouthing "you're fucked" from the background, and my old man, well... If looks had the power to kill, I'd be six feet under.
"Hey, honey, how was yourâ" my mom starts, her voice faltering.
"Natalia, honey, don't entertain this bullshit," My father's words slice through the air, his pale green eyes drilling into me like daggers.
"Three strikes, kid," he continues, his voice tense. "You just had to make a damn fool of yourself, embarrass this family. And for what? To show up, what, drunk? Is this some kind of sick joke? Every damn thing your mother and I have sacrificed for you, and you throw it away."
"I'm sorâ"
"You're not sorry, but you will be," he interrupts, his voice like a vice.
"No car. No parties. No, Tommy. No going anywhere. You're finished. You finish school, your 'home', and I mean this home. not your fuck around, pad, the school got you."
"Dad..."
"Don't you dare fucking 'Dad' me right now! Maybe I should take away those meds of yours, and see if you snap back into reality."
"James, honey, please go cool down," my mom intervenes, gently guiding him toward the kitchen. He reluctantly complies as he mutters curses and something about TMZ.
I slumped, I fucked up, and I'm dealing with it. I knew Tommy's idea of drinking before 9:00 am was a massive fuckup, and yet I did it.
"My life is over," I mutter under my breath, defeat settling in.
Mom approaches, her hand cupping my face in a comforting gesture.
"It's not over, my love. I'll go talk to him. You know how he gets in the heat of the moment."
"Thanks, mâ" I start to say, but her glare stops me short.
"Don't think you're off the hook just yet. Here's the deal: you need to fix yourself, and I don't mean putting on a show for a week until you slip back into your old ways. I mean permanently. You're in your second year of college; start acting like it. I'll have a word with your father, but only if you promise me that," She levels a serious gaze at me.
"I promise," I reply, embracing her tightly. I catch Sloan in the background, rolling her eyes and mouthing "bullshit." I shoot her a defiant middle finger before letting go. So now, the challenge lies in "fixing my act," at least long enough to convince them to back off and let me get back to my own damn life.
+++
After enduring a painful dinner filled with my dad's piercing glares and Sloan instigating my anger by happily piling on reasons why Dad should disown me, I escape upstairs to my old room. It's been a while since I've been in here, and it's a stark contrast to the condo the school provided for me. This space is mine. Navy blue walls adorned with a ton of football posters, an empty desk housing my alarm clock, a big TV positioned across from my bed, and, of course, bits of clothes messily lying around.
With a heavy sigh, I flop down on the bed, exhaustion hitting my body. I should be at my condo, icing my knees, while Tommy rambles on about his latest hookup with God knows who, all while I plan my morning workout. Instead, I'm stuck at home, sprawled on my old bed, avoiding the world beyond my room, and thinking about "fixing my act" to appease my parents, school, and coaches.
There's a soft knock on the door, and without lifting my head from the pillow, I mumble, "Yup." The door creaks open, and Sloan slips in, taking a seat at the edge of my bed.
In stark contrast to me, and I mean beyond our looksâwith her blonde hair and our father's green eyesâshe's much more mature than I ever was at her age. Not that I'd ever give her the benefit of knowing.
"And what do I owe the pleasure?" I mumble sarcastically, prompting an eye roll from her.
"Whatever. You might as well embrace a new identity now that you're done for," she retorts.
"Become an anti-social gay bike rider. Get it? 'Cause Dad's gonna take away Tommy, girls, and your car."
I chuckle at her response, earning a reluctant smile. Sloan may be an annoyance as a little sister, but she's an asshole because she misses me whether she'd admit it or not, and this is her way of apologizing for being a D1 instigator at dinner.
"I missed you, Sloaner," I admit, pulling her into a side hug.
"Don't get sentimental on me, Stephan," she quips, pushing me away. I let out a quiet sigh, putting my head back on the pillow.
"Why, Stephan?" she asks after a moment.
"Why what?"
"Why do you do this?"
"I don't want to hear it from them, and I definitely do not want a lecture from my 16-year-old sister."
"Then prove us wrong. Right now, it looks like you're digging your own grave, and Dad's got a front-row seat."
"It's my damn life. He should get his own and stop micromanaging mine."
"Quit making him think you're a joke," she suggests, her voice soft but firm.
"Start by showing him you're seriousâput in more effort at the gym. Consider distancing yourself from Tommy and leaving behind his whole scene of drugs, alcohol, and parties. And those endless hookups? You could put a stop to those too, as your sister is getting grossed out with all the TMI with girls on TMZ. Actually, why don't you get a girlfriend? And I mean, a nice one, a good influence, might just be the thing that finally takes the heat off," she concludes, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Honestly enough with that bird Alix," she giggles, and I can't help but tug upwards in the corners of my mouth.
"She's not a bird," I laugh, lazily throwing a pillow at her.
"You can make it, Steph. Don't ruin it," Sloan's words linger as she walks out, closing my door behind her, leaving me with what she'd probably label as one of her 'amazing inspirational speeches.'
I let out a deep exhale and reach for my phone, pulling it out from my sweats. With a flick of my thumb, I start scrolling through my feed. Through the UFN posts, one catches my attentionâa promotion for the women's soccer team. Now, I've never been a fan of soccer, although Sloan plays; I find it excruciatingly boring. Typically, I'd just keep scrolling, treating it like any other UFN post. But there's something about the photo that catches my eyeâthe brunette from earlier.
Sofia.
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