ɢᴜʏ ɢᴇʀᴍᴀɪɴᴇ
𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 right back into the asshole I first met two years ago. The 11-year-old in me wanted to believe that Tibbles was to blame--that he had pushed Bombay too hard. The 11-year-old in me wanted to believe that the man who saved our hockey team and made us the people we are, would never abandon us--would never put his reputation above us. But the truth was, he did. I felt like I should have seen it coming, he's left us before. How would this time be any different?
"Hold...2...3...4," Dean Portman instructed, leading us through various sorts of stretches and warm-ups.
"Coach isn't here," Connie mentioned with a roll of her eyes. "Why do we have to be?"
I had to give it to her, she had a point. There's no purpose if our own coach has given up. We're nothing without him--legally, at least. And my (many) muscles did not agree with these stretches. I could barely move and my back hurt.
"We have a game tonight. We have to work out!"
"I say mutiny!" Goldberg gave up. "Who's with me?"
"Goldberg, I'm too tired to mutiny," Dwayne protested.
"Come on, guys," Julie sighed. "It's not like we couldn't use the conditioning."
I don't know if we all have the same memory of last night, but I'm pretty sure we got a fair amount of conditioning in with the 50 sprints. "I think we're good, act-"
"Speak for yourself, babe," Dean said to Julie.
Adam stepped forward, his face scrunched up in disgust. "Her name's Julie, not 'babe'."
"Don't tell me how to talk," Portman yelled. "Rich boy."
Wow, Dean. You got him good.
"Hey, Portman, chill!" Fulton defended, stepping in between the two as they started to shove each other.
If we looked like a coordinated team a minute ago, we sure didn't anymore. People were pushing and pulling at one another. I thought it was stupid until I felt Luis hit his shoulder on mine. That was it. "What, Luis? You gonna try and steal Dean's girlfriend, too?"
"You're just mad because Connie chose me, amigo," he smirked, puffing his chest as he came closer.
"I'm not your friend," I scoffed. "And you can have her, just don't come complaining when she cheats on you next."
"Well, she actually likes me so I doubt that will be a problem."
"Yeah, your three-week relationship is really setting the standards for the rest of us. Think you'll be able to keep it up for the rest of the tournament?"
A hand grabbed my wrist just as I was reaching to grab the collar of Luis' shirt.
"Don't," Maeve muttered. "Just...don't."
"Oh, look," Luis sarcastically smiled. "You already found yourself a new girlfriend. Let's hope you make it past first base this time, right?"
"Do you guys think you look tough?" Mae asked, dropping my wrist and crossing her arms over her chest. "News flash: you're wearing the same thing. You look stupid."
I hadn't noticed it until then, but she was right. Luis had on the same blue sweatshirt with a red hood. Out of all the things Hendrix gave us, did he seriously have to wear the exact same thing as me? He scoffed and turned his attention when a new voice yelled over the rest of us.
"Hey, Team USA!" the kid yelled. He was recognized almost instantly as the loudmouth who felt the need to attend and comment on every single one of our games. I rolled my eyes. I think the last thing any of us needed was Russ Tyler. "What are you gonna do today? A million jumping jacks?"
