AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Never mind. Got distracted.” And my burger is not going to eat itself, so I focus on that.
Unfortunately, Nate traces my line of sight and lands on a table full of Strikes.
“Well, no wonder your face changed.”
“Did it?” I ask with a mouthful of burger.
Nate snorts. “Yeah, it was like you went through the four stages of grief.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s five stages,” Conor says while dumping so much ketchup on his fries they’re more sauce than solids.
Nate waves a hand. “You get what I mean. It’s just that between the rest of school and the Strikes hating our guts, it’s enough to make a man lose his appetite.”
Something neither of us does, considering we all polish off massive plates of burgers and fries.
To make a point, I ask, “Should we get pie?”
“Oh yeah.” Conor rubs his stomach. “That’ll hit the spot.”
“You guys suck.” But even as he says this, Nate laughs.
“That’s probably why the Strikes hate us.” I take a good swig of my Coke.
Aside from the incidents during the bootcamp week, every little thing has turned into an opportunity to antagonize one another. The Strikes have bragged nonstop about having the opening game at home, while we had it away. They’ve tried to hog the program’s PT. And I’ve even heard them complaining that our equipment is better.
The Bolts aren’t innocent either.
With Boucher as the leader, the heckling has gotten bad enough that Coach had to sit us down to explain the difference between good-natured ribbing and something that can get us a formal complaint. Twice already, when it was time for us to leave the gym and suit up for the ice, a few of the guys loitered to cut the Strikes’ time with the equipment. That was my first real chance to go full captain on their asses. But rather than thanking me, the Strikes gave me death stares as if I were just as bad.
Is that it? Did Tinker Bell realize she was getting too chummy with someone she should hate with all her guts? Is that why she got so cold?
As if sensing my eyes, she tears herself from her conversation and looks at me. It doesn’t even last a second. She even makes a point of turning her nose up.
I slam the plastic glass of soda a bit too hard against the table.
I want to see her turn that pointy little nose up at me up close and personal.
Nate turns back around again. “But you know what? They’re not much better.”
I lean forward, closer to them. “What if we settle this once and for all?”
“Oh? Color me intrigued.” Nate rests his chin on a raised hand, ready for gossip.
Meanwhile, Conor narrows his eyes. I’m not sure if he’s interested or about to launch into a plea for sanity and pacifism.
“Calm your tits,” I tell him. “I’m not advocating for violence. I am, after all, a responsible man.”
“Sure, Cassiano.” His voice is droll. “You’re the paragon of responsibility.”
I gasp in an exaggerated way. “What have I done to deserve this sarcasm?”
“Oh, I don’t know. What about challenging the Strikes captain to a drinking game and further deepening the rift between the two teams?”
Oops. I forgot to add that little episode to the tally.
“What did you want me to do? Leave her defenseless against Boucher?”
“That’s a good point,” Nate says, nodding to himself. “That would’ve ended so much worse.”
