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ready. Did I tell ju, I’m with Ricky now?” René’s conversations are always a mile a minute and probably a result of a case of undiagnosed ADHD, but I’m always able to keep up.
“Yeah. He’s the hot one?”
“No, he’s de ugly one. I love him, I tink.”
“You think?”
“I don’t know. I’m feeling a little needy lately. When can ju come to New York?”
“I told you before Christmas.”
“I mean to live, Mami.”
“Two and a half years?” It seems like a lifetime.
“Do jour parents know what dey are doing to ju?”
“They just want me with a diploma before I hand myself over to dance.”
“Ju are de best dancer I know. Dis is a waste of jour youth. School can wait. Ju know Ricky got an audition to do a tour? He won’t tell me who with because he tinks I show up.”
“You will.”
“Does no one trusts me?”
“I don’t. But I love you.”
“Do me a favor, Mami, send me a picture of him shirtless, so if Ricky pisses me off, I can make him jealous.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It was worth a shots.”
“Shot.”
“Shots are better.”
“You’re so crazy.”
“I have ta go, Mami, I have chickens in the oven. Love ju.”
“This Jew loves you.”
“Rainbows.”
“Rainbows.”
Lance
Coach slams his door, and we all feel the vibration, our heads collectively turning towards the hallway.
Texas in August is hell on earth. Two of the guys threw up today and that ended one of the most hellacious practices I’ve ever had as a ballplayer.
“Hope that ass was worth it, fucker!” Yates tosses his helmet across the locker room as everyone groans in agreement.
“What the hell is he going on about?” Orlando questions to my right, and I shrug as if clueless while dread cloaks me. Orlando taunts Yates on the other side of the room where we all are stripping off our newly ruined knee pads.
“What the hell you going on about, man? You need a tampon?”
