The Things Students Carry
Kontum high school quarterback Dylan Ross carried his football gear. Standard equipment for the day’s practice; it weighed about three pounds, he figured. Cleats. Gym shorts. Mouth-guard. His shoulder brace. The bag was a constant reminder of the feeling. The feeling of a crowd, of the game. Of his father’s proud smile from the bleachers. He would thumb through the contents of the bag during class sometimes, when no one was looking, just looking over the objects, making sure they were all there; none missing. He would sometimes unstrap the Velcro of his brace, refitting it over and over again. Changing it mere millimeters every time; getting the size perfect without it ever touching his arm. By the time he was through, the strap was the same length as it was when he had started. A small part of him knew this reality. A large part of him didn’t care. He spent the majority of his core classes in a daze, wishing he were on the field. Wishing he were with his team. His thoughts were full of plays, of routes, of whistle-blowing and coach-yelling. Pay attention man. His teammates’ whispers carried across the class. He was. Sometimes; sometimes not. Always. Never. Poor attendance and a slipping grade point average plagued his coaching staff’s thoughts almost as much as they did Dylan himself. Ineligibility this time of the year would be a big hit to everyone, especially him. The playoffs had started and it was looking like Kontum stood a great chance at going all the way. “Seriously bro, stop day dreaming and take notes,” Charlie hissed. He felt the weight of all the absent teammates saying the same. “Seriously, I am.” No he wasn’t. He never was, his mind was on the game. He looked at the brace once again and refit it, just to be sure. Then the letter arrived. This was the day that Dylan had never seen coming. He should have. He didn’t. Being on choice meant that his school