I thought this was a volunteer position?
What if I don't want to play anymore?
He felt the blood slowly trickling down his neck, but he couldn't take his eyes off his dad on the other side of the salon.
He also couldn't move or speak.
In his head, he asked, Dad, what are you doing here? But it was a moment where he wasn't too sure what was going on in his head and in front of him--and which was which.
"Do you remember the photo from my high school football team that hangs in the hallway at home?" his dad asked as if they talked every day, as if they were continuing a conversation from the day before, apparently about his high school football career. But they didn't talk every day, they hadn't talked for three years--at least, not in person.
He was so taken aback with his off-the-wall
