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The tapping of my foot has turned nuclear.
“Am I making myself clear?”
“Stay out of the media. Got it,” I grate, halfway rising from my spot by the time I finish because I can’t fathom spitting out what else I know he wants from me.
The tapping isn’t enough anymore. I want something louder. A good lay and music are what I need, and not necessarily in that order.
“I mean it. No more mistakes or mess-ups. Be responsible this summer.” Coach’s words of wisdom ring off my back like a tragedy as I exit.
My headphones are back in before I round the corner. I understood him perfectly. Unlike basketball, maturity is, unfortunately, the one thing I’ve never been willing to master.
two
Finn
“Well,ifitisn’tthe hammered hellhound.” Eli snickers as soon as I take a seat in the booth.
“Wow. You really couldn’t help yourself and had to get that one out right away, didn’t you?” I mock.
Eli’s eyes narrow, matching my own. The only difference is his are out of humor and mine are of moderate embarrassment. Not because of the article itself but because of the scolding Coach gave me.
I can admit I’m still saltier than a cracker about it.
“Notmyfaultyoumade both of us subscribe to the mailer. You’re the one who wanted us to be informed of your success as soon as it was mentioned in the sports section,” Eli rebuttals, while casually flicking a thumb between him and Cole.
He’s definitely not sorry, not one bit.
I cross my arms, smug. “Joke’s on you. It wasn’t even in the sports highlights.”
Eli’s hand flings to his chest in faux astonishment. “How uncivilized of me to actually read all the news instead of only your section.” His eyes go lazy and unsympathetic.
I don’t appreciate the sarcasm any more than I do his lack of sensitivity.
I sneer. “Youwould.”
“Ido.”
Eli would be one of what I assume is maybe ten people who actually take the time and read the entire thing. This is saying a lot, considering we go to a school that has over fifty thousand students.
“Hammered Hellhound.” My eyes find the ceiling with a scoff. What an original title for the front-page headline. The nickname our small group earned in high school, unfortunately, followed us into college.
I never hated it until this article was published.
The luxury.
The only thing worse is being accused of acting as a traitor to my own school after I was snapped with our rival’s mascot in a comatose state.
Complete and utter slander.
Briefly, I glimpse around, trying to distract myself. The bar is busier than I expected since the breaks started. Most of the out-of-town students head home for the summer, driving the population to about a quarter of what it is during the school year.
I know because I’ve turned into somewhat of a local. Eli and I have spent most of our previous breaks up here at the house the three of us share. Cole always went back to our hometown to work at Hardin with Rory.
This year I don’t plan on being any different. Why break tradition?
The place we’re at is technically a bar, but honestly, after they remodeled last year, it’s been redressed. The place gives off more of a club vibe most nights.
Not that I’m upset about that.
