What We Take Away

Chapter 13 | Zac

I arrive at the most heavily congested corner of campus, where Church Street meets Crescent Drive. Hundreds of students pour in and out of The Hummingbird, the oblong building with tons of different eateries and meeting spaces. Across the street, Parrot Jesus is yelling again. Today, his sign rests against the low wall (NO TRYING BEFORE BUYING! PREMARITAL SEX IS A SIN!!), and his voice is somehow amplified as he shouts.

"Does he ever stop?" someone groans to my right.

The pedestrian light blinks and I stride across the street. Once in high school, Amy's church youth pastor invited a guest speaker to talk to us about sex. This woman held up a delicate white flower during her presentation and proceeded to crush it before our eyes. She told us that when we lose our virginity, we become just like a crumpled-up flower that can't ever be salvaged again. Some kids that night made a promise not to become damaged goods, but I didn't believe her fear tactics. I still don't.

I try to give Parrot Jesus a wide berth as I head towards the building behind him, but he suddenly stops shouting and points directly at me.

"You there!" he barks.

Shit. I whirl around slowly to face him, extremely aware of all the eyes watching me. I put on my best smile and ooze charm.

"Sir, I've gotta get to class—"

"Do you know what you need to put on before you have sex?" Parrot Jesus interrupts, fixing me with a scathing look.

"Uhhh..." I stammer, feeling panicky. Is this a test?

Parrot Jesus shoves his arm towards me. Is he giving me the finger? Wait... that's not his middle finger...

"A RING!" he announces triumphantly.

Several onlookers cackle and others swear.

"Ah, right," I say sheepishly, backing away.

Parrot Jesus turns to the rest of the students. "That's right, young men and women! Before you fornicate, you need a ring, signifying a covenant of marriage! Repent today, or you'll go to hell!"

Flustered, I jog away from the commotion and towards the side door to Parrot Hall. I dash up three flights of stairs and stagger into calculus, where Hasan the TA is already drawing equations on the board. He glances at me and clicks his tongue.

"Mr. Peters, glad you could join us," he says.

"Sorry, sorry..." I mutter, clambering into an empty seat.

"Let us continue with our exam review. I will cover asymptotes next, as they will be on your midterm on Friday."

I slouch low in my desk chair as Hasan begins to lecture. As I do, my phone vibrates again in my pocket. I stifle a groan and try to keep my eyes open for the rest of class. This is going to be a very, long day.

---

Things worsen an hour or so later as practice rolls around. While the rest of the school recovers from Homecoming weekend, Coach Dillon has the vaulters running sprint drills.

"Drive, drive, DRIVE!" he screams at us.

We charge up and down the brutal hill along the bleachers in Grayhorn Stadium again and again, like victims to the worst puppet master in the universe. All around us there are remnants of Saturday's storm and football game littered around the field and surrounding trees – pieces of trash, a stranded cup, unidentifiable paper.

"He's a sick fuck," Kyle moans ahead of me.

"This is cruel," Irina pants.

"Shut. The. Hell. Up—" Sampson gripes between clenched teeth.