"I hate you so fucking much." She seethes as she walks towards me.
"Oh really?" I respond, arms folded across my chest.
"Yes really." She shoots back.
By this point there was barely any space between us, I could see all her features from her big bro...
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9:50 AM
I read the clock on the wall, my leg jutted as my fingers drummed against the desk. Boredom was an understatement for what I was feeling right now. Coach Larson had instructed us to head over to S17, where we were all sitting awaiting his arrival.
Judging from how his face ranged in emotions during the meeting in the Grand Hall, this 'talk' that was about to occur would consist of him throwing a tantrum whilst growing red in the face endlessly going off on us without allowing us to explain ourselves. He had a great poker face in public but behind closed doors, he would go on hour-long rants insulting and critiquing how we played. I wouldn't wish angry Coach Larson on my worst enemy.
Rink 2 being wrecked came as a shock to us all, we weren't expecting to kick off the new semester without a place to practice.
Sharing Rink 1 with the figure skaters was just not going to work. Our schedules were too different and we both had major competitions to prepare for and we couldn't afford to waste time.
I'm pretty sure the rest of the team agreed with me, since on the way here, Jake would not shut up about how terrible this was going to play out and why the higher-ups didn't have common sense.
The sound of the door being thrown open as it collides with the wall was impossible to miss. Coach Larson stormed in, brows furrowed, lips pursed and face beat red. He slammed his clipboard onto the desk causing us all to flinch as dread pools in every one of our stomachs.
Have I said fuck yet?
"We're fucked." Mutters Dami beside me.
No shit Sherlock.
His eyes were on us, scanning the room for something unknown.
"Would anybody like to tell me why the fuck my ice rink has been turned into a fucking swimming pool?"
He scans the room once again as his question is met with silence. He grows angrier at the lack of response.
"Answer me!" He roars causing us to jump once again.
Jesus.
I exhale deeply before answering, "We don't know what happened to the ice rink, sir."
"Yeah, sirs" fill the room, supporting my answer.
"You think this is a joke?!" He yells as we shift in our seats uncomfortably.
He continued his tirade, the frustration in his tone turned every word leaving his mouth into a verbal whip, hitting our consciouses collectively.
