Eli
“We going to the library again?”Cody asks after a hellish practice. One where our coach thought it’d be fun for us to do a hundred laps and that was after a full-on scrimmage.
It’s been a week since the last time I went to the library to use one of their study rooms. I’m not sure why. Maybe because whatever thoughts I had about that girl, Emma, are probably not good ideas. Shaking my head, I say, “Nah. I’m beat.” That’s no lie. I don’t know what got into Coach Montross today, but he had it in for us. “What was up Coach’s ass today?”
“I think he heard about the party.”
“What party?”
“The one you blew off Saturday.”
“So, he kickedmyass for something I had nothing to do with?” Actually, he kicked everybody’s ass.
Cody shrugs. “There was some nudity.”
“What?” God, these assholes need to grow up.
“And social media.”
“What the fuck, dude? You guys filmed naked women?” That’s appalling. I mean that.
“Nah, man. We––” He points at himself. “A few of us, the players were naked.”
“Jesus,” I mumble. “You put your naked asses on social media?”
He shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“What about now? Does it seem like it was a good ideanow?”
“For me? Sure. But I’m hung like a horse.” Then he laughs. “Not so much for Buck and Sam.”
Sadly, I get what he’s saying. “You’re a dumb fuck. You want to get drafted, man, the last thing you need is that kind of scrutiny.”
“Boys will be boys.” He shrugs again.
“You watch.” I point at his face. “That’ll come back and bite you in the bare ass.”
“Maybe.” Cody keeps shrugging this shit off when, for a guy like him, a good player—maybe even a great player, who needs every bit of help he can to catch the eye of a pro team—this kind of bullshit will have them passing him right up.
“Pull your head out of your ass, man.” I wave him off as I walk toward Coach’s office. “I’ll catch you later.” Cody merely shrugs again, grabs his bag, and leaves.
Raising my fist, I’m about to knock when his deep voice yells from within. “What?”
Turning the knob, I open the door and poke my head inside.
“What, Baxter?”
“For the record, I wasn’t at that party last weekend.”
“I know.”
What the fuck? “So you knew and you still—”
“You’re part of a team,” he says, interrupting me. “When one of you fucks up, all of you fuck up.”
I’ve been playing hockey since I could walk so none of that’s a shock. “I get it.” I nod. “I just wanted you to know I wasn’t there. If I had been, I’d have stopped it.”
“I know. So next time go.”
