Going Long Read Online Free PDF

phone as it
was; the thought of him pushing buttons while he cruised along the highway in
his big-ass truck, going well over the speed limit, was about all my mind could
take. That stubborn ass had a death wish, I swear! But not on my
watch.
     
    I’d been massaged, whirl-pooled,
stretched, taped and wrapped. This was the part before the game where I sat on
the training table with my legs dangling, listening to my favorite playlist; it
was a new one Nolan had made for me. She sent me a new one every few games,
always with some funny song that she said was the key to defeating my opponent.
Colorado State had a John Denver tune, which was about as rockin’ as on-hold
music, but fuckin’ funny nonetheless. The Cal game was a series of Beastie Boys
songs—I kept that one around because it was just badass.
    Lying back, I shut my eyes and
readied myself for her latest masterpiece. The first one was some rancid song
from the ’90s; I think it was that chick that was married to Kurt Cobain? I
couldn’t even make it through the first verse without sending Nolan a text. I
knew she was still in Coolidge.
     
    Uh…grunge? What the hell?
     
    I flipped to the next song,
which was some old punk tune. Not half bad. This one I could take. I smiled as
soon as my phone vibrated in my hand with her response.
     
    Hey, first of all don’t knock
Hole. Vintage Courtney Love was the shit. Second, she grew up in Portland : - )
     
    I laughed. It was a stretch, but
she’d found an Oregon connection.
     
    OK, good tie-in. But still,
she’s not helpin’ me out here. I’m going to need to pull out my own stuff if
this list doesn’t get any better.
     
    I waited for just a few seconds
before she responded.
     
    Song 11. Trust me. XXOO, leaving
now. See you soon! I’m in section 111 with Sarah. I’ll catch up with you and
your dad after, ok?
     
    I scrolled to song 11 before
responding, and when I heard the familiar riffs of Thunderstruck start,
I got a huge-ass grin and wrote her back immediately.
     
    Ahhhh, now that’s more like it.
You do know me after all. Now, if I can just get you on board with Jay-Z and
Kanye…
     
    I waited, but there wasn’t a
response, so I knew she must have left. I tucked my phone into my bag and lay
back, getting lost in Nolan’s latest soundtrack, which, thankfully, got a lot
better and rocked out for the remaining songs.
     
    Dad showed up about an hour
before the game, just like he always did. Buck Johnson had a special pass, and
he got to wherever he wanted in the building—probably any building, I thought — on campus. His name was on more than a few
gold donation plates throughout the athlete quarters, and most of the coaches
knew him by first name. Hell, Coach Toms, my quarterback coach, had bought
every family automobile from Johnson Buick in Tucson since the late ’90s. To
say my dad was tight with the staff around here was putting it mildly. They
were family.
    Manly hugs and pats on the back
were being passed around. I just watched, leaning on the table. My dad could
work a room. I hoped that one day I’d have a tenth of his charisma. The love
fest was soon broken up by a series of whistles and catcalls. I watched my
roommate, Trig, jump up on one of the benches and cover his mouth, waving his
hand like he’d just bit into a hot pepper. He was starting to laugh a bit with
surprise when he locked eyes with me, almost as if he was trying to give me a
warning telepathically. His message, however, hit me too late. I was suddenly
in the presence of a five-foot-ten-at-the-very-least blonde with legs that
could make even the most faithful of boyfriends turn flirtatious and stupid.
    My elbow slid from the table,
making it impossible to hide my gawking. I hadn’t even pushed my eyes upward to
take in her face yet, but I knew from everything I’d seen so far that she was
hot…like…supermodel hot. I saw my dad put his hand flat against her back and
lead her closer to me, and for a moment, I