The Gold Standard

1.1.

Ever died trying to save something at the last second?

I might have.

The records will probably forget this touchdown, seeing as it was just an unofficial scrimmage between us Timberwolves and the Red Oaks, but I couldn’t care less. I’m currently breathing in more dirt than oxygen, and it’s still the best I’ve ever felt. If we’d lost, we would’ve had to ‘Red Oak’ tattooed on our asses.

"Yo, Blake! Get ready to be my bitch!" The words flew out of my mouth before I could even catch my breath. Blake was already charging. If he’d put a third of that passion into the actual game, his shorts wouldn’t end up looking like a gladiator skirt. Then—bam. His entire weight crashed into me, followed by every other Red Oak piling on like a mountain of meat. I’m pretty sure my lung burst.

My team dragged me out from under those bitch-babies, and before we knew it, a full-blown brawl erupted in the middle of the muddy clearing. We’re out past city limits, with no grass here, just dirt and rain.

The girls were screaming, some trying to pull us apart, but we were riding a high no one could touch. Eventually, a girl whipped out a taser.

I don’t know if she was a Cardinal or a Timberwolf, but she was zapping anyone in her way until she found her guy, grabbed his bleeding arm, and dragged him away despite his protests. That, and the sound of a patrol car’s siren, ended the brawl.

We scrambled.

My buddies and I piled into my car, speeding into the night and laughing like a pack of manic, soaking-wet hyenas.

The night didn’t end with the game, though. We all scrambled home, scrubbed off the mud, and geared up for the ‘Last Summer Night’ party at the Astor Ruins. Ever since we’d trashed the place with last year’s seniors, this night had been the only thing the town could talk about. My buddies and I spent all summer planning it with some of this year's juniors, even though I’d spent half that time in India visiting my grandma. Note to self --India in the summer is a humid mistake I won’t be repeating soon.

I threw on a simple black T-shirt, my grey biker jacket, and a fresh pair of jeans. Mom was working late again, so I didn’t even have to do the ‘sneak out the window’ routine. I fed Simba, grabbed a sandwich for the road, and took off.

The Astor Ruins are legendary around here; rumour has it the place is actually owned by the father of one of my classmates. What’s his name? Cal? Something like that. I think he's now the student council president.

The kids were already trashed when I arrived. I ignored the high-stakes Uno games in the corners and found my people at the centre of the noise. The music was this weird punk-reggae fusion that actually slapped. I started hitting the bottle hard.

Before I knew it, the world was blurring. I lost track of what I was saying, who I was talking to, and eventually, where my own limbs were.

It felt like barely a minute since my last shot when the world tilted. Suddenly, I wasn’t the life of the party anymore. I was flat on my back next to a bonfire, drifting off to sleep while the music thudded in the dirt. I knew one thing for sure, though --this definitely wasn’t how a jock parties.

By the time I drifted awake, the party had mellowed. Most of the girls had cleared out, and I didn’t see Miguel or Jack anywhere—which usually meant they were out on the prowl. I stood up with a long stretch, feeling my muscles loosen, when Minnie called my name from across the clearing. I rolled my eyes, swiped a drink from a nearby cooler, and wandered over.

‘Bro, you’re just in time. You won’t believe what happened,’ Sam chirped, looking way too hyper.

‘Too tired, man.’ I ignored Sam’s over-enthusiastic face and locked eyes with Minnie. She has these doe-like eyes and glossy lips that you wouldn’t even find on a professional model. Honestly, this town doesn’t deserve her.

Her eyes were twinkling, and I knew right then I had to make a move. We held eye contact for a heartbeat before she looked away with a smirk, only to glance back a second later.

Whatever anatomy was screaming at me to get closer to her had to wait, because Sam was shoving his blindingly bright phone into my face.

"Dude, are you eighty?" I growled, grabbing the phone to dim the brightness.

"Just read it, alright?"

I didn’t think anything on a school website could shock me, but I was baffled. It was a letter of apology from Principal Nina. If you know Nina, you know she never apologizes, even when she’s a hundred percent wrong. She usually just blames the parents when things go south. Reading her promise ‘swift punishment’ for the night’s fiasco had us wheezing.

We were rolling on the floor laughing, especially since the Student Council never misses a chance to humiliate us jocks for our grades, even though we aren’t even doing that badly.

It is with profound disappointment and indignation that I address the recent events involving a group of students in the currently vacated West Wing of our campus. blah....blah....blah.....and blah...

nothing of importance here. Except...wait!

The West Wing will be permanently alarmed and strictly off-limits to all students. Additional security cameras have been installed in all former 'blind spots' of the facility. A strictly enforced 4:00 PM curfew is now in effect for all non-athletic extracurricular activities. Furthermore, no students shall be allowed to speak to one another in the corridors between classes, and mobile phones are strictly prohibited inside the campus. Lastly, the detention protocol has been restructured to require absolute silence and single student per row policy.

We will not allow the reckless actions of a few to tarnish the reputation of the many.

Respectfully,

Principal Nina Vancer