He smushes his face next to Birdie’s and I can see the similarities. They’ve both got fair skin, green eyes, and a smattering of freckles. Birdie’s hair has more red in it, but that might have something to do with the fact that she’s an actual, licensed hairdresser. She’s almost as tall as Mickey, but their personalities are total opposites.
“What’s with you and people’s sisters?” Santos asks and Ollie just shrugs.
“It’s not my fault Booker’s sister is hot as fu-fudge. And Mickey’s sister is—” My best friend is aiming death lasers at Ollie, which has to be why he starts backpedaling. “a lovely person. Who can hold a baby. Nice job, Mickey’s sister.”
Van hands me a plate and I eat while my hands are free.
He hands a plate to Mickey, but the guy doesn’t take it. He’s glued to his phone. “Hol-y. Fuckballs. Sorry, Calla, but if you could talk, you would also say Holy Fuckballs.”
“Whatcha reading, Brannon?” Birdie asks him, using his given name instead of the bastardization of their last name that Ollie came up with.
“Did you guys see this? Holy?—”
“No,” Santos says, laughing. “You are literally the only one of us with a phone. Your sister’s holding a baby, Van’s grilling the meats, and Norris is eating hot food with undisguised pleasure.”
“It’s so freaking good,” I admit.
“What are you doing?” Birdie asks.
“Setting this up,” Santos says, holding up the little tent he got for Calla. It’ll protect her from the sun. And her UncleOllie’s Slip N Slide. That thing always sprays everywhere.” He sets the tent on top the blanket I laid out for her, and Birdie carefully slips her under it. She’s a pro because my baby girl doesn’t bat an eyelash.
Van hands me another burger, and I’ve got to admit, life is pretty good.
“Holy—”
“What?” we all ask Mickey in unison.
“The Tits have been shut down. Suspended. We’re going Titless next year.”
Van, Santos, Ollie, and I are wearing matching expressions of shock.
Birdie’s just confused. “What in the hell—a—phant are you talking about?”
“Woah. Like no Tits at all?” Ollie asks.
“There will always be Tits,” Mickey clarifies. “But none that play hockey.”
“Are you drunk?” Birdie asks her brother.
“No,” he answers. “We’re at Coach’s house. And I’m not talking about breasts. I’m talking about Tits. As in Bushtits. Specifically, the Woodcock Bushtits. Here, listen:
Coach Raymond Sellers was put on administrative leave Thursday when news of the hazing scandal began to circulate. He resigned his position as head coach of the Bushtits Hockey Program on Friday morning after video footage of training camp was leaked. Sellers is being implicated along with three senior members of the team, Corey Bradford, Josh Slagel, and Damien Ward. An investigation is ongoing, but hockey team members are being given special dispensation to apply to other schools and programs. We’ll keep you updated as this story unfolds.
“Wow,” Santos mutters, shaking his head. “That sucks. Those guys are all going to have to relocate.”
I shrug. “I bet half of them won’t. They’re loyal as hell to Sellers. But guys like Piper, Wagner, and Blue have got to be scrambling right now.”
Mickey rolls his eyes. “Wagner can fuck right off.”
Ollie plops down on the grass next to Santos. “That’s kinda the problem. He’s notoriously an asshole and I don’t know who’s gonna pick him up. Merriweather could use a guy with his speed, but they don’t get the attention Woodcock does. He’s a hell of a center, though. Maybe Mountville will pick him up?”
“No way,” Santos says. “They just picked up Jordy Devereaux. They’re stacked, which makes me wonder if Wagner’s screwed.”
“He might be,” Ollie agrees. “Now, Blue, he’s another story. That guy’s alright. I wouldn’t mind sharing a line with him.”
Mickey smacks him. “Fuck you. This is wolf territory. No Tits allowed.”
An hour later, we’ve sent Will and Mel on their way and we’re all packing up. Maggie took Calla inside to feed her and now she’s back with a milk drunk princess.
