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At this rate, I’m going to be a disaster on skates tonight. I’ll have to spend the bus ride listening to hard rock to get me in the right mindset.
I pick up the pace across the gardens and back to the parking lot. Soon it becomes clear I don’t need to rush. The whole bus has drained of people and a crowd made out of both teams loiters on the curb.
As I approach, someone bandies out the word discrimination, and that’s how I find out it’s not for some kumbaya.
“What’s happening?” I ask Conor, the nearest Bolt I find.
“It’s a mess, man. The Strikes started complaining that their bus is old and they want to take ours instead.” He sighs.
“What?”
“I’m going to ask you to calm down your team,” Coach Green says to Coach Young.
The woman’s eyes blaze with ferocity, but somehow she keeps it in check. I’ve seen Dad asking Mom to calm down, and let’s just say the exact opposite happens.
Of course, that’s when Frankie Boucher opens his yap. “Yeah, you ladies need to stay nice and quiet.”
I make the mistake of glancing over the divide and meet Tinker Bell’s eyes. It’s pretty clear to me that if I open my mouth right now, I will be dismembered. If only in her mind.
“We are calm, Glen.” Coach Young’s voice could freeze the ocean. “It’s your boys who took a comment we made and turned it into a scene.”
That sounds about right. I can picture Boucher doing just that and riling up all these clowns. I run a hand down my face.
You know what? None of this shit would’ve happened if I’d just accepted going commando after tonight’s game. It wouldn’t have killed me. All this drama might.
“Why don’t you tell them to calm down instead?” the Thunder Strikes captain asks, folding her arms. “Or is it my fault again that men can’t behave themselves?”
And that’s when I put two and two together. She must have been the author of the comment. Boucher must’ve heard it, either because he wasn’t on the bus or because the windows were still open after they heckled me. The feeling that this whole thing is my fault grows into a boulder I can no longer shoulder. There’s only one way to drop the weight.
“I apologize on behalf of my team.”
My voice parts the crowd like they’re the Red Sea. Among the sea of surprised faces, chief is Coach Green’s. It’s like the thought of just saying sorry never crossed his mind. I get that he’s a tough guy who treats us all like we’re soldiers, but this is ridiculous.
So I say exactly that, with my whole chest. “This is ridiculous. We’re all wasting time here, even though we both have games we can’t be late to.”
Tinker Bell does that thing when words stumble on each other before they spill from her mouth. “It’s not ridiculous. Our away game is farther than yours. Why do we have to ride the smaller, crappier bus?”
“Because we’re bigger, princess.” Boucher throws his hands up in the air. “How can you expect us to squeeze into that minivan?”
Volume rises up on both sides again. I press a hand against the sudden throbbing in my temple. The fact that Luz Rodriguez looks at me as if I’m the bitterest enemy doesn’t make me feel any better. Here I thought we’d made peace yesterday, but this isn’t just about the buses. It’s about the fact that we’re going to forfeit both games if we keep this up.
“Coach.” I sidle up to him. “Way over ten minutes have passed since our departure time.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?” He frowns as if he isn’t the adult here. “I feel like I’m walking on landmines with everything I say. This is why my wife’s threatening to divorce me.”
And Coach Young doesn’t look any more willing to talk. If anything, I think she’s holding it together by a thread.
I’m the Bolts’ captain. There must be something I can do.
Abruptly, I whistle over the noise. When I get the attention of both teams, I say, “I’m sure no one wants to forfeit their game. So how about we solve this by flipping a coin?”
Taking the silence as consent, I fish around my pockets, take out the boxers by accident, and jam them back in. It makes someone snort, and I glare at the offender. Of course, it had to be Tinker Bell. This night can’t possibly get any more humiliating.
Finally, I find a coin and show it to everyone.
“Strikes, you’re heads, and we’re tails,” I say. Someone whistles at some hidden meaning there, and I ignore it.
“Fine.”
