Page 80 of Campus Heat

“You don’t get to say things like that,” Dylan grated.

I steadied myself and shoved him right back. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dylan swung, and I twisted away so the punch only managed to clip my shoulder. And suddenly all hell broke loose as the locker room erupted into a brawl.

“Oh, shit,” someone shouted.

“Get him,” another added.

“Come on, Rose!”

I grabbed Dylan by the front of his shirt and drove him backward into the bench. As he crashed, Dylan swung again, catching me in the ribs. We moved together and slammed into another locker. The metal door rattled violently before gear bags spilled onto the floor.

The rest of the team crowded around us, shouting and laughing as the tension of the season exploded into something raw, idiotic, and physical.

“Dylan! Don’t miss!”

“You talk too much, Rose!”

Dylan lunged at me again, but I shook him off. Both of us were breathing hard now. Then a voice cut through the air like a knife.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Everyone froze in their tracks, and I saw Harris standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and a dark expression in his eyes.

I released my grip and stepped away from Dylan. Dylan did the same and wiped his busted lip with the back of his hand. Harris looked around the room slowly, and I waited for someone to speak up and tell him the truth.

“Is anyone going to explain?” Harris asked.

Silence stretched between us, and I kept waiting. I expected Dylan to say something or for someone else to mention the transfer, but instead all we got was a casual shrug from Malik.

“We’re just getting warmed up, Coach.”

A couple of the guys chuckled nervously, but Harris didn’t think it was funny. His gaze lingered on me and Dylan for a good while.

“Save it for the field,” Harris said sharply. “Practice starts in two minutes.”

Then he turned and walked out. The tension in the room lingered for a few seconds after that, but then Cam grabbed his helmet.

“You’re still an idiot,” he muttered.

Dylan fell back on the bench with a heavy thud, and Malik placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Malik said with a smile. “But he’s our idiot.”

I blinked in confusion. No one said another word about the transfer, and no one mentioned Harris. They just kept getting ready for practice like nothing had happened, and the shift carried to the field. Practice started the way it usually did, with sloppy footwork, missed timing, and a couple of dropped passes, but still something was different.

The guys were louder and sharper, as if the fight had shaken something loose. Then Harris called for one of his complicated maneuvers, a play we had been struggling with all week, and I braced for the usual confusion. The formation shifted, the receivers moved into position, and the snap came. I pivoted, faked a hand-off, and rolled to the left.

Malik cut across the middle exactly when was supposed to and Cam sealed the edge. The ball left my hands cleanly. It was complete, and Harris was quick to blow the whistle.

“Again!”

We reset and gave it a second try. The play ran even more smoothly. Harris lowered his whistle slowly, and for a moment he just watched us. Then he nodded.

“Good.”