Page 23 of Campus Heat

So all you could hear was the sound of the tape being torn off our wrists, and our shoulder pads hitting the metal benches. A graveyard had more life left in it than we did on that day.

Coach paced in front of us with his hands on his hips. “I know you guys aren’t happy with the result, but I couldn’t be more proud of you. We did great today. We scored points. There was no humiliation or backhanded comments. Come on, guys, this is a reason to celebrate.”

None of us responded to him. We didn’t even look up. We understood what he meant and were satisfied because of it, but it wasn’t a reason to celebrate. It was a reason to mourn, and that was exactly what we were doing.

Harris groaned and sank onto a bench. “You played with your heart tonight. That’s growth. It’s culture. We’re getting somewhere. We’re building something.”

“Yeah, but we lost, Coach, and it wasn’t just by a few points,” Cam said.

“They won because they executed better. That’s it. We were close, and that’s what counts.”

Close… I stared at the floor. Close was being down by three scores. It was an interception off a tipped ball because the play developed too slowly. A fumble born from confusion. But it definitely wasn’t what we had that day.

“Effort travels,” Coach continued. “Identity travels. If we bring this same energy next week, we’ll flip the score in our favor.”

Once again, there was silence. I wanted to believe him. I wanted his speech to fill the cavity in my chest where something kept tightening, but our effort wasn’t the issue. It was the structure. The timing. The lack of discipline.

I looked around the room. My teammates weren’t angry. They weren’t fired up, and they were in no mood to argue. They were tired, dejected in a quieter way than they were after the last game. What we felt was the kind of disappointment that settled in without a noise.

Coach opened his mouth to continue, but I heard the faint beep from the bus. So I grabbed my bag and walked out without giving him another second of my time. The rest of the guys followed, but we didn’t rush. Our pace matched our emotions: slow and sluggish.

Outside, the bus waited. The struggling engine idled and amazingly it was still rattling. The cheer squad looked at us from the window while their coach waved us over. They looked happy. It was annoying to think everyone saw this game as some kind of achievement while we felt like it was a bigger loss than the last one.

“Dude?” Malik said as he caught up with me. “Is there something wrong with us? How can everyone be so happy with the outcome of this game while we feel like death?”

“There’s nothing wrong with us,” I assured. “They don’t get it. They’re happy because we managed to get a few points but they don’t understand that we could’ve done a lot better if we hadn’t tried the stupid basketball trick.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, but then I wondered why we saw it and they couldn’t.”

“They watch from the sidelines. We’re the ones in the game, taking the punches and going back for more. They’ll never understand it the way we do.”

He squeezed my shoulder and got into the poor excuse for a bus. I took a deep breath, said a silent prayer, and followed. As I was walking through the rows of seats, making my way to the back, Elizabeth put her hand on mine and stopped me in my tracks.

“Wanna sit with me?” she asked.

I knew I should’ve refused so I could drown in my sorrows all on my own, but there was nothing I wanted more than to rest my head on her shoulder while she comforted me. Then my eyes roamed over her body and my heart nearly exploded. Her tiny skirt was hitched up. Her firm stomach was exposed and those gorgeous breasts that begged for my touch at the car wash were modestly hidden beneath her cheer top.

I knew at that moment that if I accepted her offer, things would go much further than I was comfortable with.

10

Elizabeth

Ethan hesitated for a moment, but then he gave me a smile and took a seat. I took an anxious breath. It was clear that he was upset by the outcome of the game, and I didn’t really know what to do to help with his mood. I had no idea what would trigger him at that stage.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Ethan asked, breaking the awkward silence. I nodded. “Why does Malik call you Pretzel?”

I laughed. That was an inside secret very few knew about. “It’s because I used to be a gymnast when I was younger. So he thinks that I should be able to fold myself like a pretzel.”

He gave me an incredulous look. “You did gymnastics? Like professionally, or was it just a hobby?”

“It started off as a hobby, but over my last few years in the sport I did end up in the national team. So I guess you could say I was doing it professionally.”

Ethan seemed impressed, and if I hadn’t known any better, I could’ve sworn that he was picturing me in a bunch of compromising positions.

“Were you successful?” he eventually asked. “I mean, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Yes, I was,” I admitted. “But I didn’t start off that way. In the beginning, I was terrible. It took years of practice and eventually I took two silver medals at the nationals.”