The Sophomore (College Years #2) - Monica Murphy Page 0,21

And I used my degree to get myself where I’m at today. It works. College is not a waste of time.”

He pauses and I wait for the giant but following this statement.

“But—” There it is. “You are on top of your game right now. There are multiple labels clamoring for you. Throwing money at you. You could become a household name in a matter of months, Jackson. Why wouldn’t you jump on that?”

Because I’m terrified of failure? Of the fame? Of the attention and expectations and agony that comes with it? Being a household name is great, but it was never a goal. Not originally. I just liked playing my guitar and singing songs. I enjoy writing songs. The more I performed, the better I got. The more attention I got.

This has been a wild ride, but right now, I need a break.

“You take the call,” I tell my father. He grunts in response, so much frustration in that one noise. “Tell me their offer. I’ll let you know whether I want it or not.”

I won’t. I can already guarantee it.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he mutters. “They probably won’t talk to me.”

“Then that’s their loss.”

“More like your loss.” I hear the creak of his desk chair. I can envision him leaned back, staring out the window at the Yosemite Valley spread out before him. He’s got the best view in the house, but he deserves it, considering he’s the one who runs that hotel. “You need to talk to them. Listen to what they have to say.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“It’s Friday. Take the weekend. Think about it good and hard, son.”

He ends the call before I have a chance to say anything else.

I toss my phone on my desk and plop down on my bed, resting my hands over my face. Everyone’s pulling me into different directions, demanding this or that. Wanting me to be something I’m afraid I’m not. I’m tired of it.

I’d rather focus on football.

There’s a game tomorrow, and I’m nervous. I didn’t get much field time last season. When you’re a freshman, and so many of us are fighting for the same position, it’s normal. Plus, last year I didn’t take football too seriously and I paid the price by getting benched.

Some of those guys who started with me gave up, and they’re no longer on the team. Some of them were released. Kicked off. One of them got arrested last spring for drugs and made the entire team look bad. It was a PR nightmare. The seniors graduated in May. Ash Davis got drafted. All eyes have been focused on our team for months. Since the bowl win in January.

This game is a big deal. Feels like all of Fresno shows up for our games, wearing their red T-shirts, tailgating in the parking lot before the game. It’s a party, and everyone is invited.

If I get a chance on the field, I can’t fuck up. None of us can. We want the win.

So bad, I can taste it.

Speaking of parties, I think of the one Hayden and Gracie are hosting tonight at Tony and Caleb’s. Ellie will be there. I’d bet money on it. But no one else would bet on it because they’d know I’d win.

She’s that reliable.

I want to see her, but I also know she’s still pissed at me. I can’t blame her. We kiss—and it was a fucking good one, I cannot lie—and then I hit her with the friend zone shit. She had full on heart eyes when the kiss ended and by the end of our conversation, the hearts were replaced by little orange blazes of fire.

They should make an emoji that looks like that. I bet it’d get used a lot.

I drop my hands from my face at the same time I hear a knock on my door. It swings open before I can say a word, Eli standing there in just his boxer shorts and nothing else.

“You’re going to the party tonight, right?”

I nod, not saying a word.

“Want to ride over together?”

“Yeah. You driving?”

“Fuck yeah. That’ll ensure I won’t drink too much. I need to be on top of it for the game tomorrow.” He sounds nervous. He’s starting tomorrow, and that would leave me a quaking mess.

“Perfect. This means I can get wasted while you’re my sober driver,” I tell him.

“Aren’t you starting tomorrow too?” He frowns.

“Nope. I’m not as fancy as you.”

Eli makes a noise. “Bro. Give me a fucking break. You’re on the verge of breaking