RIDER
I parkmy ass down in a front-row seat while I wait to talk with the professor. After a quick glance to the clock, I pull out my phone to text Gabby that I won’t be able to meet her for lunch, but when I turn it on, a dozen messages fill the screen so fast, I know something’s wrong.
My first thought is Poppy, and my stomach knots itself as I scroll through the messages, but no one mentions her. The grim tone in every single text doesn’t make me feel any better, though.
Get yo ass to Coach’s office. He’s pissed. —Tank
Bro, shit’s goin’ down. Get to practice. —Olly
911, motherfucker. —Noxious
Dude. WTF RU? —B-Rod
I know it’s bad when Ben messages me. He’s been mostly radio silent since Gabby and I got together. He’s polite, but keeps shit as brief as possible. After our last game this weekend, I’ll make more of an effort to dig into that, but since he might also want to kick my ass, I’ve decided a respectful distance for now works for the team. No sense in dredging up drama.
But judging by the messages flooding my phone, drama has found me anyway.
Was in class. Headed there now. What’s going on? —Rider
I’ll have to catch my professor tomorrow. Ten minutes later, I pull up to the sports center and grab my phone, even more worried that none of my roommates responded to my text.
When I reach the weight room, I see why. Knox and Olly are in Coach’s office, and my other roommates are stationed outside like they’re waiting to see the principal.
Winston pauses mid-deadlift to bark, “You’re in such deep shit. Weren’t you the fool telling meIneeded to respect women? Kettle black, meet the pot.”
“It’s ‘the pot calling the kettle black,’ dumbass,” Trevor yells from the hallway. “And you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
I don’t get a chance to ask what the hell is going on because Coach sticks his head out of the office and bellows, “Kingston. In here. Now!”
Oh, fuck me.
In four years, Coach has never spoken to me like that.
When I reach the hallway, Tank juts out his lower lip and whispers, “Coach took our phones.”
They say when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. Judging by the expression on Coach’s face, he might be gearing up to strangle us.
A million things go through my mind as I enter his office.
This can’t be about Knox’s marijuana garden.I watched him till that shit last summer.
Olly stopped writing essays for players last year.I made him swear he wouldn’t start up again.
I told the guys to stop doing beer slip-and-slides across the yard months ago.
Thiscouldbe about the parties.But with one or two exceptions, my roommates have kept their drink max to two beers.
I cringe.I’ve swapped tickets for babysitting.Each player gets four tickets per home game. Did I violate the terms of my athletic scholarship by doing that? Or, fuck, am I now ineligible because I violated conference rules?
There’s one goddamn game left of the regular season. What the fuck did I do? How did I screw up so close to the playoffs?
“Close the door.” Sully’s voice is ice.
After I shut it, I sit next to Olly and Knox, who look like they’re about to shit their pants. I know the feeling.
Coach grits out, “What did I say at the beginning of the season? Anyone remember?”
Olly clears his throat. “You said—”
