High School War Zone

6. On The Field Of Battle

The week went by with few squabbles, but all the tripping, arguments, and middle fingers were all just building up to the big showdown: the tryout.

Drew suddenly kicked the ball out from under his feet. It was just afterschool, and tryouts hadn't started yet. He'd been trying to perfect his dribbling without looking down.

"I think I hate you," Logan announced, watching the ball roll far away from him. Drew seemed to be especially maddening today, like someone had stolen her lunch.

The hotshot female narrowed her annoying poop brown eyes, "Am I that infuriating, West?"

"Yes, you hit me over the head with a computer."

"And I thought we were over that!" Her voice was so awash with sarcasm he wanted to pull his own hair out, along with hers.

"I don't want you on my team," he said impulsively. "I hate you." It was something he couldn't take back, but he knew he meant it. He wouldn't be able to handle having this crazy Canadian girl play on the field with him.

"Too bad, Rodriguez."

"Don't call me that."

She shrugged, smirking, "Fine with me, Romero."

His head shot up, because hardly anyone even knew he had a middle name. Most people assumed it was West. "Were you stalking me? How do you know my middle name?"

Drew laughed at his expression, "Jordan. He heard it from Dennis."

Logan sighed. He absolutely hated that she and the flirty redhead were so buddy-buddy nowadays. They were constantly sharing information like a crazed ex and her best friend.

He decided to walk away from her. He shielded his eyes against the sun and waved at David on the bleachers, who was doing his homework and talking to Abigail.

Then Coach called them all over.

Max gave Drew doubtful looks, but didn't say a word against her—because that was stupid, she would kill him—and just listened to Coach.

Coach Junior was a cool guy from the Dominican Republic. Logan wasn't sure why his name was Junior, and the best explanation is could think of was that he was Something Something Junior while his father was Something Something Senior.

Junior wrote down everyone's desired positions, "Remember, chances are you're not getting what you want. Every position needs to have at least two people; we can't have twelve strikers. We'll do individual tryouts first, then have a test game with random positions. We'll go in alphabetical order from last names. Jordan Bell, you're up first."

Coach explained the tryout. Jordan had to dribble around some cones, then make it to the penalty box while another player tried to take his ball. Then he had to make a shot at the goal and get it past the goalie.

Cyrus, who was going to be goalie for the first half of the tryout, ran off to the goal area, and Coach turned to Logan. "Logan, you go with Jordan and try and get his ball." Then he smiled and slapped his shoulder, "Or maybe I shouldn't add the 'try' part."

He kept his groan to himself and got to center field, a meter from Jordan. He'd passed the cones and was now stopped in front of him.

The idiot was smirking at him, blue eyes and red hair gleaming in the bright hot sun. "Go easy on me, Romero."

Logan regarded him coolly, "Not a chance."

Jordan dribbled to the left, and Logan cut in front of him, intercepting the ball within seconds. His triumph over that was probably a little childish, but never mind that. "Now you gotta get it back."