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September 3
English—First Period
    Tyler’s back today. I was surprised to see him. For some reason, I thought he’d stay at home or something. Mrs. Harrison got him a chair to prop his foot up on when he came in on his crutches. He’s wearing a big white brace that wraps all the way around his left leg with Velcro straps and keeps his knee from bending. I can see it out of the corner of my eye because he sits right behind me. I caught his eye and said, “Hey, man,” when he passed my desk. He didn’t smile or anything—not that I can blame him. When Tyler gets pissed, you know it.
    Tyler. Is. Pissed.
    I am really afraid that he’s going to be pissed at mepersonally. Even though I know it’s not my fault. Hell, I even tried to stop him from running that play. It won’t matter though. When Tyler gets angry, he doesn’t think anything through. He was mad at me one time because I got a better grade on a chemistry test we studied for together last year. He was a total dick to me for a whole week even though he was the one who was texting Erin the whole time I was trying to quiz him about the periodic table. Somehow, when he flunked the test, it was all my fault.
    Finally I just told him to screw off. I said, “Dude. It’s not my fault you didn’t study. It’s not my fault you didn’t pay attention when I tried to help you. It’s not my fault your grade in the class was already in the shitter so flunking one more test got you benched for three games.”
    And then? Boom. Just like that everything was cool again. He didn’t apologize, but when I finally stood up to him, he backed off.
    I hate feeling like that’s going to happen again.
    Of course, Monica would say that it isn’t happening again. Not yet anyway. She’s always going on about how people worry all the time about what’s going to happen in the future so it ruins what is happening right this second. She’s always writing LITN in big letters on stuff—her notebooks, sticky notes in her locker, under her name when she signs somebody’s yearbook; online it’s her hash tag for almost everything: #LITN. Live in the now.
    I guess I’m not so good with that. I like to be prepared for what’s coming next. It’s why I work so hard in practice and even write plays out sometimes. Nothing is worse than a moment on the field where you get taken by surprise—where you don’t see it coming. It’s called getting blindsided for a reason.
    Crap . . .
    Joy Lucht just came in late and was walking to her seat behind Tyler’s desk. She accidentally bumped the chair his foot is propped up on with her purse, and Tyler shrieked and cussed a blue streak. Dropped an f-bomb in the middle of class. Everybody froze.
    Joy was tripping over herself to apologize, and Mrs. Harrison calmly walked down the row and told her to sit, that it would be okay. Tyler was red in the face. He threw his notebook on the ground and yelled that it would not be “f-ing” okay, only he said it. He actually said it again . In class. To a teacher.
    The only person I would rather not piss off in the entire universe besides Tyler is Mrs. Harrison. She stood very still right next to Tyler’s desk, just behind my left shoulder, for what seemed like a very long time. She was giving him the kind of look that turned animals to stone in Narnia. “Have you lost your mind?”
    Tyler crossed his arms and looked in the other direction.
    â€œExcuse me. I am speaking to you.” Mrs. Harrison has this way of saying things when she demands to be heard that is . . .well, terrifying. She very rarely speaks in this manner, so when she does, it is generally very impressive. It’s not loud, exactly. In fact, it’s less a matter of volume and more a matter of tone.
    Even Tyler was no match for it. He turned and looked at her.
    â€œI asked you a question, sir.