AllFreeNovel
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“I’m meeting with Coach. I mentioned it earlier, remember?”
Conor shakes his head.
I roll my eyes. Our conversation was only four hours ago. “I asked you for a ride. You were ‘busy’ later.”
“Iambusy,” Hart tells me, resting an elbow on the boards.
I’m tempted to roll my eyes again. Busy skating in slow circles. “Yeah, yeah, looks like you’ve got Boyfriend of the Year in the bag. But Hunter’s my new favorite best friend, because he actually drove me here.”
“I left my favorite sweatshirt in my locker, actually,” Hunter says.
“Eyesore broke down?” Conor asks.
His disdain for my truck’s color is consistent; I’ll give him that. He’s been ragging on the red shade for years.
I sigh. “Yeah. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. Guess I need to call a garage and get them to take a look at it.”
“I’ll text you the name of the place I used,” Conor says. “They did a good job.”
“Great, thanks. See you guys later.” I start toward the locker room, knowing how much Coach hates tardiness.
Hunter follows me, heading straight for his locker and pulling his sweatshirt out. I continue toward Coach’s office.
“Hopefully this won’t take long.”
Hunter nods. “If it does, I’ll just ditch your ass here to walk home.”
This meeting could last four hours, and he’d still be sitting here when I walk out. He and Hart are two of the most loyal guys I’ve ever met.
I suck in a deep breath before knocking on Coach Keller’s door. The letters spelling out his name are peeling and worn, evidence of how long he’s occupied this office.
Year after year of disappointing seasons, something Conor is determined to change. We’ve only lost one game this entire season. Holt has the best record in our division, meaning there’s a good chance we could actually win a championship in March.
“Come in,” Coach calls.
I turn the metal door handle that’s rubbed shiny from use and walk into his office.
It’s small and sparsely decorated, which isn’t much of a surprise. It matches the locker room and the rest of the building, which I’m pretty sure is a decade older than I am.
“Take a seat, Phillips,” Coach tells me, nodding to the two chairs across his desk.
The patterned plaid is faded and worn. One of the cushions has a rip sagging open on the side. I choose the chair in slightly better shape, glancing at the bare walls and the two picture frames on the desk as I settle into the seat. They’re turned away, so I can’t see the photos, but I’m surprised they’re there at all. Coach has never struck me as sentimental. At the end of each dissatisfying season, he’s told us to look ahead, not back.
I wonder what he’ll say after our final game this year. If we don’t win a championship, odds are Coach K will never get one.
My elbows dig into my thighs as I lean forward, resisting the urge to bounce my knee. Maybe other players have gotten called in here for conversations before, but I never have. If Coach wantsto talk to one of us, he usually has us stay a few minutes late after practice. I have no clue why I’m here or what to make of the fact that he asked me to come.
“So…what’s up, Coach?”
Coach Keller sighs, shutting the open binder in front of him, setting his reading glasses on top of it, and then leaning back in his swivel chair.
Its loud squeak is the only sound in the small space for a minute.
He sighs again. “You failed Statistics last semester, Phillips.”
I freeze, dread trickling through me like icy water.
Failed. Not even a D.I fuckingfailed.
