His words came out too fast, and he was too energetic. I had a hard time following his questions. I wished he’d take a deep breath and calm the hell down.
“I came here straight from the airport. Didn’t see much yet,” I told him as I followed him out of the room.
“That’s depressing.”
“I’ve been traveling all day. I’m not really wanting to do the tourist thing.” I wasn’t even entirely sure I wanted to do the facility tour. It wasn’t like I’d remember anything I was shown. It would take more than a walkthrough of the building for me to know where anything was. It had taken me weeks to learn the basic structure of the Foxes practice facility. Now, I could navigate it blindfolded. I knew I’d eventually gain that level of comfort with the Scorpions.
Assuming I wasn’t cut the moment Fell got back on his feet. Ihadonly signed a one-year contract.
Milo nodded at my answer and started off down the hallway. I’d given tours to new team members in Fayetteville. I knew what was supposed to be pointed out: meeting rooms, the cafeteria, the workout room, things like that. Instead of showing me any of that, Milo chose to point out the most inane things: the overhead light that flickered when it stormed, an old mural that had been painted by a former coach’s kid, his favorite snack machine. We made it through three hallways before I realized that he wasn’t pointing out anything important.
“And where does the team meet in the mornings?” I asked after he went on a diatribe about one section of wall that was painted the wrong shade of maroon. (I couldn’t tell the difference between it and the wall across from it, but Milo seemed to think this was a very important thing for me to know about.)
Milo blinked and then sighed. “Ugh, that’s boring stuff,” he groaned.
“Then show me boring stuff,” I demanded. “I need to know where we meet. I need to know where the locker room is. I need to know—”
“Boring stuff,” he interrupted. He heaved another heavy sigh, one that made his entire body shudder. “Fine. I will show you theboringstuff.”
He sounded so put upon. Why had Coach Cal decided that he was the right person to give me this tour? Surely anyone else would’ve known better. Anyone else wouldn’t have wasted my time talking about murals, what hallway had the best lighting for selfies, and the weird-shaped water stain on the ceiling. But put upon or not, he started to give me a proper tour.
He showed me the different conference rooms, including the big one where we were all to meet in the mornings before practice started. He showed me the cafeteria and the nutritionist offices. He showed me the large fitness room and where all the personal trainers worked. He showed me the inside practice area and the doors to the outdoor one. “We don’t use the inside one a lot anymore,” he informed me. “We’re supposed to use it when the weather’s bad, but Coach Cal thinks we need to practice in the bad weather too. Coach Roberts, my coach rookie year, had us using that all the time.”
I understood Coach Cal’s point, but I didn’t think it was making that much of a difference. Not when I looked at the team’s record, but I supposed it could be worse.
Milo kept up a running commentary all the way into the locker room.
“Coach got you a locker all cleaned out,” he told me as he led me inside.
I took in the lockers around me. Everyone’s area was full of personality. One guy had a collection ofStar WarsPop Funkoslining the top of his. Another had a small stack of books. There were fidget toys in another. They were all fairly organized though and similar to what I was used to in Fayetteville. Some things were the same no matter where you went.
He stopped in front of an empty locker area with my name handwritten on a placard. One of my suitcases was tucked away in the area meant to hang jerseys and the other was sitting on the bench. On the top shelf there was a gift bag with the Scorpions logo.
“Oooh, you have a present,” Milo chirped. God, did this guy ever stop talking? Did he know how to dial down the energy?
“I see that.”
“You should open it. I love seeing what the team gets the new guys.”
He was practically wiggling with excitement. If I were a nicer guy, I might have opened it right then and there, but honestly, I didn’t want to. It was probably some generic thing like a Scorpions hat, and if he were watching, I’d have to feign excitement. I put the bag on my suitcase. “I’ll open it later.”
He let out another one of those full body sighs. “Fine. C’mon.”
I didn’t know what else he had to show me, but he clearly had something in mind. He led me across the locker room and stopped in front of the messiest locker I’d ever seen. Clothing was piled on the shelves, and several pairs of mismatched cleats were tossed haphazardly under the bench. There was a bag on the ground, falling over and spilling its contents into the area that was meant for players to get changed. Pictures lined the dividing wall, layered on top of one another and taped at strange angles. Knickknacks, fidgets, and various toys were peeking out from every corner. The longer I looked at it, the more things I noticed in the chaos.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this was Milo’s locker, even without his name and jersey number on the overhead placard.
“Want a snack?” he asked as he reached into the bag on the ground. He pulled out a small baggie of cookies. “My Aunt Ethel gave me the recipe, and I made them last night. They smelled really good when they were baking, and let me tell you, it was astrugglenot to eat them right as they came out.” He jangled the baggie in front of me, and the strangest smell caught my nose.
I did not trust that smell. I shook my head. “No thank you.”
“Oh, c’mon, they’re probably really good.”
The use of the wordprobablydid not instill a lot of confidence in me, but his full lips were in a bit of a pout, and I probably did need to make a good impression. He was my teammate, even if he was too loud and too chaotic. Against my better judgment, I reached out and took one of the cookies. They were hard. That was the first thing I noticed. The second thing I noticed was the smell was stronger once the cookie was out of the bag. I had a terrible sense of foreboding, and if it was possible to regret an actionbeforeyou took it, I was pretty sure I was feeling that too.
I mentally steeled myself before bringing the cookie to my lips. I was definitely going to regret this.
I took a bite of the cookie. It was hard and dry, and the moment it touched my tongue, I had to fight everything in me to keep from gagging. There was a chemical vanilla taste that reminded me of this atrocious vanilla protein shake I used to drink in college before I found a better powder and the distinct taste of a burnt bottom. There was a sour sting to the cookie, and did I taste raisins? I forced myself to swallow down the bite, and it fought me every bit of the way.
