We punching coaches now??
Damaged Petals.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 6140
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Damaged Petals.
This boy full-on deranged
We punching coaches now??
We punching coaches now??
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 13721
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
Season 1, Episode 12
Brice squeezed himself through the window, ducking under the screen as he rotated his body until both legs were through. He walked across the wet grass, dirtying his sneakers — a small price to pay to avoid another long day in the house with no phone, no laptop, and nothing to do but watch daytime television and clear out his Netflix queue.
He threw his hood over his head and buried his hands in his pockets, bracing himself for both the elements and the long walk ahead without anything to distract him. The nearest McDonald’s was only a ten-minute walk, but it was also the one closest to St. Joseph’s — meaning there’d likely be lingering students who would recognize him. Instead, he walked the thirty minutes or so to the McDonald’s on Michigan Street, across the river.
He used the kiosk to place his order, avoiding all human contact whenever possible as he kept his hoodie up. Leaning against the kiosk, he watched the workers through the open kitchen, aimlessly. At this rate, he thought, he’d be joining them soon.
When his number was called, he walked slowly to the counter — not like he had anywhere else to be. He grabbed his tray, shared a brief nod with the worker, then found a table near the corner after pouring himself a drink.
Brice’s mind was both quiet and cluttered, willing himself to think of nothing while everything pressed at once. Images of that night still flickered in his head, and he winced at every one of them. Did I really hit her? No way. Not even drunk, he thought. He had spent the past few days trying to put the puzzle together, forcing blurred memories into shape, each one becoming more fleeting by the day. The only person who could help him — the only person he wanted to speak to — he couldn’t. Not right now. Maybe not ever again. The thought of never feeling her skin against his, never seeing her laugh again, made him force all thoughts out of his mind.
It was during that mental battle that Brice looked up and saw Skylar walking in. She was bundled up in both a coat and a jacket, a scarf around her neck as she approached the same kiosk he’d just used. His gaze lingered a beat too long, and by the time he looked away, she had already spotted him. Feeling embarrassed, Brice looked back, and she offered a wave and a small smile.
“Just my luck,” he muttered to himself. He had walked the extra twenty minutes only to still run into someone.
He turned his focus back to his food, both to keep from looking at Skylar and to quiet his mind. Suddenly, he found himself oddly interested in the construct of his bagel sandwich — the layering of bacon and sausage.
“Hey,” she said softly as she approached him, offering another wave.
“What’s up,” Brice grunted more than spoke, only looking up briefly.
“I forgot you’re the one who told me about this spot,” she said with a wry chuckle. “Truancy cops don’t check this one, right?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, remembering the first time they’d skipped school together. He took another bite of his bagel, then a bigger one, hurrying his chewing.
Skylar stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do with her hands, occasionally glancing toward the counter to see if her food was ready — half-hoping it wasn’t.
“I’m really sorry about everything,” she said finally, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know why Con’s doing this.”
Brice said nothing — not because his lawyer would’ve told him not to, but because he didn’t know what to say.
“I mean, I know why,” Skylar sighed. Brice looked up, searching her face for answers. “She’s embarrassed about that night, but come on — to keep lying is only going to make it worse.”
“Order seventy-four!”
They both turned toward the counter as Skylar grabbed her receipt to confirm the number. Their eyes met again, and Brice’s shoulders began to relax.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she offered. “Everyone knows what she’s saying didn’t happen. Even if she does go through with it — which I don’t even think she will — everyone’s going to see she’s lying.”
Brice nodded, a lump forming in his throat. She looked down at her receipt again.
“You walked here?” she asked.
Brice nodded.
“I can drop you off,” she said. “Or we could hang out at mine.”
Brice nodded again.
...
Coach Butler grabbed the practice plan, stuffing it into the inside pocket of his jacket as he zipped it to the top and pulled a beanie over his bald head. The swelling under his right eye had started to go down, replaced by deep bruising that looked worse than it felt. He walked through the locker room, exchanging nods with a few players before pushing through the double doors leading to the practice field.
Coach Lanovoi remained in his office, looking out the window for any stragglers. Practice was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago, and outside of the junior varsity players and a few underclassmen, the locker room was mostly empty. No Jimmy, no Eric, no Marcos, and no Curtis.
He had seen them earlier that morning during the mandatory team meeting, where he announced that Brice, for his actions the previous Friday night, had been suspended from both school and the team indefinitely. Now, hours removed from that meeting, it seemed like by doing so, he was losing more than just Brice.
...
“How many are we looking at?”
“I think the magic number’s twelve,” Carter said as Notre Dame’s coaching staff huddled around the conference table. “We’ve got some guys trying to squeeze in a few credits, so they’ll sign, but we really won’t know until the end of the semester if they can enroll by January.”
“Any guys we need to worry about flipping?” Coach Freeman asked, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table.
“I like where we stand,” Carter said, glancing around as the position coaches nodded. “Maybe Zambrano drags it into February, but outside of that, we should be solid.”
Freeman nodded, tapping his pen against the desk. “What about the Colton situation?”
A silence fell across the room. Eyes turned toward Coach Guidugli, who sat up and took a sip of coffee.
“I’ll be honest — it’s not good,” Guidugli said, clearing his throat. “I haven’t really been able to reach him. Not much info yet on his legal situation, and after what happened Friday… I just don’t know if he’s the kind of kid we want leading our program down the road. He’s no C.J., that’s for sure.”
“I think we always knew the character eval wasn’t great,” said Coach Denbrock, the offensive coordinator. “Like I said back in the summer, he’s got talent and might figure it out, but you ask around about him — his coaches, his attitude — it’s not what you want in a quarterback.”
“That’s obvious now, right?” Freeman chuckled. “What are our options? It’s a little late in the year to ask another girl to prom.”
“I think if we made a move on the kid from Norco, we’d have a shot,” Carter said.
“I haven’t talked much with him,” Guidugli admitted. “I think he wasn’t exactly eager to join a class with Brice, who’s ranked ahead of him. But if we’re moving on…”
“I wouldn’t say we’re moving on,” Freeman interjected. “I just want all options open if — or when — something happens with him and it’s out of our control."
Brice squeezed himself through the window, ducking under the screen as he rotated his body until both legs were through. He walked across the wet grass, dirtying his sneakers — a small price to pay to avoid another long day in the house with no phone, no laptop, and nothing to do but watch daytime television and clear out his Netflix queue.
He threw his hood over his head and buried his hands in his pockets, bracing himself for both the elements and the long walk ahead without anything to distract him. The nearest McDonald’s was only a ten-minute walk, but it was also the one closest to St. Joseph’s — meaning there’d likely be lingering students who would recognize him. Instead, he walked the thirty minutes or so to the McDonald’s on Michigan Street, across the river.
He used the kiosk to place his order, avoiding all human contact whenever possible as he kept his hoodie up. Leaning against the kiosk, he watched the workers through the open kitchen, aimlessly. At this rate, he thought, he’d be joining them soon.
When his number was called, he walked slowly to the counter — not like he had anywhere else to be. He grabbed his tray, shared a brief nod with the worker, then found a table near the corner after pouring himself a drink.
Brice’s mind was both quiet and cluttered, willing himself to think of nothing while everything pressed at once. Images of that night still flickered in his head, and he winced at every one of them. Did I really hit her? No way. Not even drunk, he thought. He had spent the past few days trying to put the puzzle together, forcing blurred memories into shape, each one becoming more fleeting by the day. The only person who could help him — the only person he wanted to speak to — he couldn’t. Not right now. Maybe not ever again. The thought of never feeling her skin against his, never seeing her laugh again, made him force all thoughts out of his mind.
It was during that mental battle that Brice looked up and saw Skylar walking in. She was bundled up in both a coat and a jacket, a scarf around her neck as she approached the same kiosk he’d just used. His gaze lingered a beat too long, and by the time he looked away, she had already spotted him. Feeling embarrassed, Brice looked back, and she offered a wave and a small smile.
“Just my luck,” he muttered to himself. He had walked the extra twenty minutes only to still run into someone.
He turned his focus back to his food, both to keep from looking at Skylar and to quiet his mind. Suddenly, he found himself oddly interested in the construct of his bagel sandwich — the layering of bacon and sausage.
“Hey,” she said softly as she approached him, offering another wave.
“What’s up,” Brice grunted more than spoke, only looking up briefly.
“I forgot you’re the one who told me about this spot,” she said with a wry chuckle. “Truancy cops don’t check this one, right?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, remembering the first time they’d skipped school together. He took another bite of his bagel, then a bigger one, hurrying his chewing.
Skylar stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do with her hands, occasionally glancing toward the counter to see if her food was ready — half-hoping it wasn’t.
“I’m really sorry about everything,” she said finally, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know why Con’s doing this.”
Brice said nothing — not because his lawyer would’ve told him not to, but because he didn’t know what to say.
“I mean, I know why,” Skylar sighed. Brice looked up, searching her face for answers. “She’s embarrassed about that night, but come on — to keep lying is only going to make it worse.”
“Order seventy-four!”
They both turned toward the counter as Skylar grabbed her receipt to confirm the number. Their eyes met again, and Brice’s shoulders began to relax.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she offered. “Everyone knows what she’s saying didn’t happen. Even if she does go through with it — which I don’t even think she will — everyone’s going to see she’s lying.”
Brice nodded, a lump forming in his throat. She looked down at her receipt again.
“You walked here?” she asked.
Brice nodded.
“I can drop you off,” she said. “Or we could hang out at mine.”
Brice nodded again.
...
Coach Butler grabbed the practice plan, stuffing it into the inside pocket of his jacket as he zipped it to the top and pulled a beanie over his bald head. The swelling under his right eye had started to go down, replaced by deep bruising that looked worse than it felt. He walked through the locker room, exchanging nods with a few players before pushing through the double doors leading to the practice field.
Coach Lanovoi remained in his office, looking out the window for any stragglers. Practice was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago, and outside of the junior varsity players and a few underclassmen, the locker room was mostly empty. No Jimmy, no Eric, no Marcos, and no Curtis.
He had seen them earlier that morning during the mandatory team meeting, where he announced that Brice, for his actions the previous Friday night, had been suspended from both school and the team indefinitely. Now, hours removed from that meeting, it seemed like by doing so, he was losing more than just Brice.
...
“How many are we looking at?”
“I think the magic number’s twelve,” Carter said as Notre Dame’s coaching staff huddled around the conference table. “We’ve got some guys trying to squeeze in a few credits, so they’ll sign, but we really won’t know until the end of the semester if they can enroll by January.”
“Any guys we need to worry about flipping?” Coach Freeman asked, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table.
“I like where we stand,” Carter said, glancing around as the position coaches nodded. “Maybe Zambrano drags it into February, but outside of that, we should be solid.”
Freeman nodded, tapping his pen against the desk. “What about the Colton situation?”
A silence fell across the room. Eyes turned toward Coach Guidugli, who sat up and took a sip of coffee.
“I’ll be honest — it’s not good,” Guidugli said, clearing his throat. “I haven’t really been able to reach him. Not much info yet on his legal situation, and after what happened Friday… I just don’t know if he’s the kind of kid we want leading our program down the road. He’s no C.J., that’s for sure.”
“I think we always knew the character eval wasn’t great,” said Coach Denbrock, the offensive coordinator. “Like I said back in the summer, he’s got talent and might figure it out, but you ask around about him — his coaches, his attitude — it’s not what you want in a quarterback.”
“That’s obvious now, right?” Freeman chuckled. “What are our options? It’s a little late in the year to ask another girl to prom.”
“I think if we made a move on the kid from Norco, we’d have a shot,” Carter said.
“I haven’t talked much with him,” Guidugli admitted. “I think he wasn’t exactly eager to join a class with Brice, who’s ranked ahead of him. But if we’re moving on…”
“I wouldn’t say we’re moving on,” Freeman interjected. “I just want all options open if — or when — something happens with him and it’s out of our control."
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 13834
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Damaged Petals.
Skylar playing both sides the fence? Brice dicking down the best friend of the chick he’s beating on and gaslighting would check out
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 6140
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Damaged Petals.
Starting the story with the downfall is a choice, but I'm riding with it
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redsox907
- Posts: 3805
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
Damaged Petals.
maybe Skylar had ulterior motives for encouraging Connie to press charges 
Notre Dame still keeping a QB on their board that literally just beat up his coach>
Notre Dame still keeping a QB on their board that literally just beat up his coach>
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djp73
- Posts: 11496
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Damaged Petals.
Good length 
on the updates
on the updates-
Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 13721
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
boys starting to do the math, love to see it
you know i start at the bottom of the pitCaptain Canada wrote: ↑15 Oct 2025, 10:24Starting the story with the downfall is a choice, but I'm riding with it
appreciate it gang
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 13721
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
bump
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 13721
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
-
Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 13721
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
season finale otw