Nothing important, getting talked down by your head coach

You and your friend arrive outside of school. The girls all looking at Darryl with attention-seeking missiles. The man could fuck whoever he decides. And he does use his high school frame to do just that. You haven't asked him how many, or if his steady head cheerleader girlfriend knows how his extra activity.

You both walk around the school getting to your first class before your coach pulls both of you aside. The balding blonde white man who has thirty-plus years stares up at Darryl and then down at his runt kicker.

"Guys tonight we etch our name into a state title. Darryl, I know you got us. No prep talk is needed for you. But you... If you cost me a title with a miss field goal, I swear there will be hell to pay. I and my guys haven't put in fourteen games of blood, sweat, and tears for us to lose because of a small jock strap-wearing kicker. You got me." The coach barks at you.

"Yes." You said.

"Yes, what." The blonde hair coach's name is Jeremy Jonathan says toward you

"Yes sir."

"That right boy. Now head to class." He said. You always hated this man, he seems to dislike and despise you on the same level. Not rescheduling kicking practice with you stranded in the dark some nights.

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