Page 8 - My FlipBook

Things I'd Rather Do Than Die

forms of torture in olliver’s hundred-degree humidity,
no less are officially ic ing my butt.
ot that oach avis would ever now it. ll he gets
from me is a cris es, sir and a shar nod of the head

when he bellows his orders. I’ve got to ee the rest of
my team syched and energized, so no one can see me
wilting. y dad loves to tell me how he used to chase the
slac ers on his team u three flights of stairs to the high
school bell tower when he was a uarterbac , threatening
to use their heads as the bell cla er if they didn’t ste
it u by the ne t ractice. f course, I’d never follow his

lead generally s ea ing, my most reliable guide ost in
life is to do the o osite of what my dad would do but I
do ta e my ob as a role model seriously, articularly now
that I’m a senior. I’ve got to set a good e am le.
till, I don’t have as much time for a wor out as usual.
I romised rianne I’d dro by at eight, so I’ll need to be
home within an hour to be able to shower and show u
on schedule.
It’s ust as I’m heading for the free weights that I notice

the girl from the front des wal ing toward the elli ticals
with a cloth and s ray bottle. he’s shooting me a loo .
ade. hat’s her name. e’ve been in a few classes together
over the years.
I slow my ace and smile. Hey, I say.
he offers a trace of a smile.
orry I’m ee ing you here late, I say, halting my

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