KNOCKOUT

V: BARE-KNUCKLED

WITHOUT PROTECTIVE GLOVES

\ \ \

TO SAY CREW IS IMPORTANT TO HALE is to say plants like sunlight—a gross understatement. To say Hale lives and breathes crew—well, that's a little bit more accurate for him and the plants. He would do anything for his team, and they would do anything for him.

During the past couple of years, crew has really exploded in a lot of private schools in the area, especially at Carlton. Now, instead of going to football games on late Friday nights, most of the student body wakes up early Saturday mornings to watch the competitive races. (Hale generally tries not to be too proud of that fact that the attendance at crew races are higher than those at football games, after all, he does have some friends on the football team.)

Hale sits in a circle with the rest of his crew in the courtyard. It's one of those perfect days when the sun's bright and the sky's a pretty light blue. One of those days that can make you feel something real close to invincible.

Hale stretches his legs out in front of him, propping himself up on his elbows. With a turkey sandwich in one hand, he tilts his face up, content to just watch the clouds pass by while his teammates bicker.

"I don't get how they can give so much homework after the first week," groans James Kavinsky, pouting as he stares at his lunch in despair. As the only freshman on varsity, he's quickly become the baby of the team.

"You'll get used to it," Neil Bhatia assures him, biting out of an apple.

"Speak for yourself," Harvey Shou scoffs. "It's been three years in this hellhole and I'm still not used to it."

David Moulton, a senior and one of the fastest on the team, smiles smugly. "Oh to be so young! I remember when I was like you chumps."

Oliver Martinez, their coxswain (the guy with the microphone at the front of the boat who spends the entire race yelling at them), rolls his eyes. "Shut up, David. Hey Hale, how are tryouts going? Found anyone?"

Marco Sanchez, a former member of their team, was recently caught up in some sort of scandal with an older woman. His dad, a diplomat, quickly sent him back to Spain and now, they're short one member. Hale had spent the first few afternoons back at school with Coach, at tryouts, looking for Marco's replacement.

Hale furrows his brows. "Coach has some in mind. He might move someone up from JV."

All the boys let out a collective groan. "Not the JV guys!"

"They're assholes," Harvey mutters under his breath.

Hale shrugs, helpless. "Sorry—there's nothing I can do."

"Hale!"

Hale turns in the direction of the voice and sees Aelius Valerius walking towards him.

"Hey," Aelius says, out of breath. "Do you know when crew tryouts are?"

"The last one's this afternoon," Hale answers, smiling. God, please let him be good—I don't want to be stuck with the JV guys.

"Are you any good?" Harvey asks boldly, cocking his head.

David hits him with his foot.

"What?" Harvey hisses. "I'm just asking, jeez! Don't act like you don't want to know."

"I'm okay," Aelius replies modestly, but Hale doesn't miss the twinkle in his eye.

       Aelius was more than just "okay." He was freaking amazing. After his tryout, Coach threw his clipboard down and hugged him. Hale laughed at the expression on Aelius's face. He's exactly who we need to win the championship at state, Coach had whispered to Hale, and Hale couldn't help but agree.