Chapter One

Shakir's POV

Preseason training has officially begun, and it is the first day of practice for the new drafted players. I am extremely nervous as I will be practicing with players way beyond my skill level.

I have dreamed of joining the league since I was a little boy running around the neighborhood playing tackle football in the middle of the street with my friends. However, subconsciously I never thought this day would come.

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I could barely sleep last night, anticipating the day to come, with a million thoughts running through my head. Thinking, "Will the other players hate me?", "Will I like the coaches' styles of coaching?" and "Will I mess up badly, or stick my foot in my mouth?" all while scrolling through all players' Instagram feeds to try to understand them better. I kept rereading Coach Lark Marx text over and over

Finally, around two thirty I fell asleep watching game clips from last season. The skill that some of these players, like Josh Allen, have is insane.

Walking into the training complex, it feels like I'm carrying a pack of bricks, but there's only a few outfits and some running shoes in my bag as the coach had told us not to bring too much gear because we are doing more conditioning and bonding exercises than anything else.

Nearing the door, I hear a bunch of chatter as there are over fifty players in there with a multitude of coaches as well.

I open the door, and it feels like the world has frozen. This morning I put on a pair of sweatpants and a Boise State hoodie as it is chilly in Buffalo. A few players continue conversing, but the majority turn to look at the new players entering because they know this is the rookies first practice. Some players even showed up earlier to see the confusion and fear in the new players eyes as they enter a new unknown realm of their lives.

I walk onto the field where a bunch of players and coaches are gathered. At this point theory has stopped glaring at me, I walk up to a group of players who seem to be offensive players.

"Hey man!", a player said to me as I approached.

Another asked, "Boise State?" "You the new receiver from there?"

"Yeah, I am Shakir. Khalil Shakir."

He responded, "Cool man. I'm excited to play with you."

With my palms accumulating more and more sweat, I scan the field for a familiar face. I see two... I spot Coach Marx on the other side of the field talking to a few other coaches, and that douche that ran into me at the bowl game a few months ago is in a group nearby.

I storm over to Coach Marx, and politely ask him, "May I have a word with you?"

He touches my shoulder lightly and says, "Just one moment."

I wait patiently, and glance at the man with the long locs again, this time he sees me looking, and I quickly dart my eyes away.

Coach Marx comes over to where I am waiting and guides me into an office area to talk to me. He shuts the door and I start yelling while pacing around the room.

"Why is that douchebag that ran me over here?"

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"Is he here to fuck with me?"

"Is he that fucking obsessed with me that he has to show up at my teams practice?"

"Shouldn't he be at his practice... wait, did he not get drafted? I thought I saw him there..."

"Khalil! Calm the fuck down!" "What has this man done, other than accidentally plowing into you that has you so wound up?"

I responded, "Nothing, I just hate him, and I'm jealous of his fucking hair!"

"Well.. get over yourself... because he is on the team too, and you are going to have to get used to playing with him, and his name is Cook by the way, James Cook."

"He is on the team, too!!! What the Fuck?!" "How did that arrogant asshole get drafted here too?"

"Maybe if you were paying attention on draft night you would have known about this"

I know I was too much in my head during the draft and should've stayed focused... I responded... "Yea, I know, I'll calm down Coach".

After taking a few deep breaths, I walk outside the office, and start to head back to the field, and I run straight into Cook.

"What are you following me now?". I look up at his face, and he looks sad again. Why is he so sad all the time?

Cook answers, "No. I saw you come in here with Coach Marx, and wanted to apologize, but I heard what you said. Do you really feel that way about me?"

"I don't fucking know just get away from me!"

"Okay" "And hey thanks, your hair is nice too though."

I shake my head and speed walk away in hopes that by the time I get out there the practice, or rather team building exercises have begun.

As soon as I step out onto the field, our head coach, Coach McDermott, blows the whistle, the field goes quiet and everyone gathers around to hear instructions.

He yells out "To make the teams fair... I'll have your guys count off by eights. Kindergarteners can do this, so can you, don't mess it up."

It gets to me, "Four", I yell out.

I scan the remaining players, I spot Cook in the group, as I spot him I hear his familiar voice yell "Four".

No fucking way I am going to be stuck in a group with him. This is going to be a horrible season, I already know it.