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"Their defence has a few holes," Dylan Montforth, our goalie, admitted, surprising me by speaking up. "Their attack is solid. That's why they win. Makes up for the dregs they shove at the other end of the field."
I nodded, grateful for the input, and glanced at our other attacker, Jason, a blonde behemoth I hoped could run with all that extra muscle padding him. "We can use that."
His shaggy blond head turned in my direction, and the hint of a smile flickered at the corners of his mouth."We can.”
“Their captain, their best player, has a bad left knee," Benson Mahoney, midfielder, added, looking up through his lashes at his captain slightly flirtatiously. "My fault, last season."
“I remember you getting fouled out,” Beau added, dryly.
Dylan cracked a smile. “Then our defence pegs him. Stay on him, keep him out of that crease.”
Beau shifted from his practiced bored position, interest lighting his eyes. Granted. Who else do you want in there with you?"
Dylan tilted his head on one side as the call came for us to leave the locker room. "Jason?" He held up a fist that the blond player tapped.
"We got this."
Beau scratched his head. "Right. Not the playbook we're expecting from Coach, but hell. Let's do it, yeah?"
“Let's do it," rumbled around the room in an irregular hum that woke the rest of the team from their daze.
Coach rose from his scribbles, his mouth open, his eyes slightly glazed and vacant.
Dylan thumped his shoulder, and the weedy man’s knees wobbled. “See you out there," he called to me.
I followed the trailing players along the small tunnel that let out into Cliffside's open field. A cheer echoed from the stands above, filled, I knew, with Rippton students who packed the four buses to support the team that never won. The culture was strong, even if the play was weak.
Part of that made me determined to ensure the team made a decent divot in the ground with this game.
Beau dropped back beside me, keeping pace with me. "The sun is shit here. Two quarters with it in our face, and this time of day, there's nothing we can do. The other, and we've got a headwind, so if you throw for the goal, brute force might cover your ass. I doubt Dylan’s gonna do as much as he wants. He pulled a hammy over the summer. Recovered now. But... our reserves are worse."
“Sounds like we can hold it from our end.” I shrugged, knowing the team’s track record and tried not to wince.
“What, you didn’t consider Rippton a solid choice for a lacrosse team for an early draft?”
“Not like I got a choice.” The look on my father’s face when I dared request Yale for their team wasn’t worth dwelling on.I’m here now.“He went to Rippton. I go to Rippton. Some ancestor probably etched his initials in the foundation stone for all I know.”
“You don’t buy into thepower and brimstone, rain hell on the plebeiansattitude?”
I shrugged. “Plebes fill the company walls. I have to work alongside them at some point.”
Beau loped along beside me, close enough in height that I didn't tower over him like I did most people. “That’s smart. Earn their loyalty; you’ll have more productive workers.”
“That’s the goal. Something about fucking harder, not smarter and all.”
He snorted. “Might do." A rough hand gripped my arm as we stepped out into the glaring sunlight. He was right. Visibility was shit. One arm wearing Rippton’s red white and...you guessed it, blue, colours extended into my field of vision. "Look for the brown suit. Leonard Kingroy. Utter asshole, scrooge and a dick. You don't want to work with him, but you don't want to miss him either. He's ideal for new kids like you who display raw talent."
My ears pricked up at that. "Yeah?" I craned around him without trying to look like I was sneaking a peek.
Beau offered me a side grin. "His eye’ll be on Cliffside, but make yourself known and he’ll start to watch you. The sports management grapevine starts here. They gossip like a pack of bitches but fight dirtier. He's one of the few that looks at all the games, including the first few in the season, because he knows the player has to be the top shit right off the starting gun. Play well, and help me find us a win occasionally, and you'll be on his radar.”
"Good advice."
Beau snorted. "Yeah? Well, here's something we're not supposed to do. Come on." He dragged me to the left, letting the team walk onto the field without us.
"The fuck are we going?" I jogged lightly beside him as he trotted towards the bleachers where the cheer team was in high gear, revving up the crowd. "Jesus. How many come to watch again considering you–shit, we–never win?"
I found out on my first training session that Rippton was the recipient of the past five lacrosse season’s wooden spoon, something they didn't tell you on the brochure, only featuring the rare high rolling past players that made it.
