Tyler
By the end of practice, I’d concluded we were going to lose Tuesday’s game.
And that pissed me off more than getting dragged into the gym earlier like some criminal on public display.
And Principal Lawrence really stood there acting disappointed like he didn’t happily collect “donations” from half the parents in Lakeview whenever their kids screwed up.
“Sinclair! Get a grip!” Coach Bradford’s whistle shrieked through the gym again. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I lost count after maybe the fiftieth time he yelled it.
Because clearly he was still pissed about the fight. He just couldn’t bench me before Redwood, so instead he decided to verbally assassinate me during practice.
But the funny thing was, I did get a grip.
Really f*****g tried.
“You good, Ty?” Micheal nudge
