Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“I’ll read it, but just so it’s said: you are making a mistake.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I’m not,” Jeremy said, with a smile Jean could hear from two thousand miles away. Jean had seen that smile in a half-dozen broadcasts and in the endless articles about the Trojans Kevin had loved to read. He could picture it too easily, and he dug his fingernails into his own face in vicious warning. Unaware there was a problem, Jeremy continued with easy cheer: “I’ll let you go, but thanks for taking my call. You’ve got my number now if you come up with any other questions.”
It was close enough to a goodbye, so Jean hung up on him.
He was willing to think the whole thing a strange dream, but when Wymack came over for dinner Monday night he brought a folder of paperwork for Jean to review. Jean pored over it in silence, letting most of it blur away to nothing until he found the only part that mattered: Signed player agrees to present himself in accordance with USC Trojan standards.
Beneath it was a list of the most important talking points, to include not speaking ill of opponents to anyone who would publicize it for clout and being a good sport on the court during matches. It was exactly what he’d asked for and needed, but reading it had Jean scowling at the papers. Raven detractors could complain about attitudes and violence all they wanted, but at least the Ravens embraced the nature of the game. How the Trojans consistently ranked in the Big Three when they put muzzles on their players was beyond him. At least this fall he’d finally see how much malice simmered behind their foolish masks.
One of the final pages had the list of available jersey numbers. Seemed the Trojans stuck to a system when assigning numbers to their players: the dealers took one through five, offense six through nineteen, defense twenty through thirty-nine, and goalies had the forties. Even if his number wasn’t taken, they’d never let him have it so long as he was a backliner.
Jean pressed his fingers to the tattoo on his face, stomach roiling with sudden violence. He’d had 3 since he was fifteen. As soon as Riko bestowed a number on him, the Ravens were no longer allowed to put a 3 jersey on the court. It’d waited for him until he entered the line-up. To go from that to a double-digit was unthinkable, borderline offensive.
For a dizzying moment Jean considered tearing the stack of papers in half. He ought to return to Evermore. He knew the Ravens. He knew Edgar Allan. Why was he even considering leaving? If he trusted Ichirou’s word to be good and believed the master would keep Riko from interfering with his brother’s business, then why shouldn’t Jean go back? Jean wrung his unsteady hands together, not caring how much it hurt if it kept him from destroying his best ticket out of here. It was barely enough, so he chucked the file toward the foot of his bed.
He spent Tuesday and Wednesday with the papers scattered on the sheets in front of him, thoughts going back and forth in constant, anxious circles. Wymack and Abby couldn’t miss the mess as they came through on their occasional check-ins, but neither of them asked him if he’d made up his mind. Renee was the first to broach the topic when she stopped by on her way home from practice Wednesday evening.
“Still thinking about it?” She changed out his water glasses and then set to work putting the files back in order. More than one page was bent from leaving them strewn about while he slept, but Renee smoothed the edges flat with patient hands. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t belong there,” Jean said.
“No?”
“You’re a better fit than I am,” Jean said, a touch grumpily. “Unhinged optimist.”
“I am happy here, but I think you will do better than you know.” She laughed at the disgruntled look he sent her. “You’ve endured the storm long enough. Don’t you think you’re overdue for some rainbows?”
“Yours was the first I saw in years,” Jean said, motioning to his head to indicate her hair. “We left Evermore for classes or away games, but we didn’t exist outside in the world if we could help it. We belonged to the Nest.”
If she’d been thoughtless enough to look at him with pity, Jean would have been able to stop, but Renee’s expression was almost serene as she studied him. Jean was the first to look away as he tried to remember where he was going with this. “Evermore was a grave, and the only color we knew was blood. I’d forgotten anything could be…” beautiful was too reckless to say aloud, even if it was true; just hearing it in his thoughts was enough to make him wince.