Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“You kidding? Haven’t you been paying attention?” “Dude won’t stop talking about him, about wanting to end that guy.” “It’s gonna happen soon, before our big game this weekend.” “Most of the team’s going out tonight, we’re gonna plan it with Brock, it’s gonna be so fucking fun.”
Kyle hadn’t heard a word about this until now. “When are you all meeting? Where?”
“Brock will call you,” said one of them as he lathered a bar of soap under his armpit. “It’s gonna happen fast, all of it.”
“That’s not right,” said Kyle.
“Not right? C’mon, that freak had it coming.” “You don’t mess with Brock,” said the other as he ran his soapy head under the water. “Fuck no, you don’t mess with Brock.”
They were right back to square one.
Except this seemed worse than before. Much worse. Kyle wasn’t sure if Tristan could be lucky again with a sleeping trick. Considering the power of the whole team, Tristan could really be in trouble.
Kyle twisted off his water and faced them. “You guys don’t understand,” he said, jaw tightening. “It’s a bad idea. All of you, all of you should just let it go. Brock, especially.”
Through the noise boomed a voice. “Let it go?”
Brock’s shape emerged through the steam. He was flanked by three others.
All chatter and laughter in the showers ceased.
“Do you even care,” asked Brock, “what that fuckin’ freak did to me? What he could do to anyone on our team? What he could do to you? Everyone sees you hangin’ with him, even the coach. How do you think I feel, watching you befriend that guy who fuckin’ assaulted me? How do you think that looks?”
Kyle tried to keep his back straight, to keep his voice level. “You’re the one who came after him first. He was defending himself. It was four of you, four of you against a new guy who’s just trying to find his place.”
“Five of us. You were with us that day.” Brock took a step forward. “Or were you already on his side back then?”
“I’m not on anyone’s side.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Why don’t you just say what you want to say?” Kyle came forward now. “Tell everyone, right now. Tell the whole team the real reason you want to beat Tristan up. The real reason my friendship with him has you all mad.”
Kyle recognized the tension in the showers. The same kind of tension that first day Brock confronted Tristan in class.
But this time, no teacher was nearby, nor would be.
The coach, kicking back in his office, oblivious, far away.
How the whole team watched, excited, hungry for blood.
The danger was real.
“Tell them,” dared Kyle, ignoring his fear, feeding the tiny devil on his shoulder, itching for it. “Tell them you’re jealous.”
Brock’s eyes narrowed. “You were always on his side, since day one, Kyle. It’s fuckin’ obvious. You were never one of us.”
“I wasn’t one of you since the day you made varsity and left me behind in the dust.”
“He even admits it,” said Brock to the rest of the room, like a show, spreading his hands. “He even fuckin’ admits it.”
“Because you can’t stand to share the spotlight. You can’t stand to share anything. You want it all for yourself. And now I made a real friend, someone who has time for me, who listens to me, who knows me, and you’re foaming at the mouth to take him away. At least I’m mature enough to admit the truth. You just want me all to yourself. You’re just—”
“Say one more word and it’s over.”
The word was hissed with teeth. “Jealous.”
For once, Brock kept his promise. There was no sleeping trick to save Kyle’s face from the fist that came swinging. Kyle felt nothing for one solid second, as if his cheek turned as numb as ice, as he flew back. Steam mixed with water mixed with red as Kyle fell against the wall, slipped on the tiles, then crashed to his back. A single punch, and his face felt like it broke apart, an earthquake, shattering from the point of contact to every end of his skull. Water poured over his face. His head spun. He tried to focus on something, but everything was fuzzy, an angry blur.
Until Brock’s face appeared. His body looked like a distant mountain with arms as he reached forward and took hold of Kyle’s face by the chin, fingers digging like claws. “You know my connections. You know my dad. With just a whisper, you would be off the team, off every team in the country, no hope to pursue a future in anything related to football, or any fuckin’ ball, for the rest of your life. Just with a whisper. I can do that. All you gotta do to stop me is say you’re sorry, right now.”
Kyle’s eyes stung as he stared up at Brock’s face in disbelief.