“I like sausage more than he does,” Ethan argues, nodding at me.
Creed rolls his eyes. I chuckle on my way out of the locker room, musing to myself that he’s definitely wrong. I love sausage.
Coach’s office door is ajar. I drop my bag outside and knock.
“Come in, Caulder,” he calls.
I push the door open, and my stomach gives an uncomfortable twist. Our assistant coach is here too, which isn’t a big deal, but the PR manager, Robert, is also here andthatworries me. It shouldn’t because I really haven’t done anything that would require a PR conference.
“Shut the door and have a seat,” Coach says.
I’m too nervous to ask what’s going on so I just do what he says. Once I’m sitting across from him, Coach asks, “Do you have a Viraly account?”
It’s a strange question. My face scrunches a little. “Yeah. I don’t get on social media much though, so it’s not active.”
“When’s the last time you were on Viraly?” Robert asks.
Viraly is one of my least favorite platforms. Not only because you can sit here and watch fifteen second videos for what feels like ten minutes, but you’ve really lost three hours, but because there’s so much toxic shit on there.
“I don’t know—a year? Maybe longer. Why?”
“Do you get on ShareIt?”
“Probably six months ago. Why? Has someone hacked my accounts?” I’m not sure how they’d know that unless someonehashacked my accounts and is posting a whole bunch of shit. I wince at the thought. I should probably just shut them down.
Our assistant coach, Elvyra, comes out from around Coach’s desk, where she’d been leaning against the wall and hands me her phone. It’s on a paused video with a sonogram on it. I look up at her with confusion. Was I supposed to know someone’s pregnant?
“Watch it,” she instructs. “Scroll down for more.”
My confusion keeps my questions in, and I mutely push play. The sonogram scrolls out and a woman appears on the screen.She’s young, brunette, with bright red lipstick and long, cakey lashes.
“I’m pregnant,” she says and turns to the side to run her hand over the tiniest of bumps. “And this man—”a picture of me from some event pops up onto the screen—“is the father, but it’s been impossible to get a hold of him.” She turns to the screen. “Caulder Haines, if you see this, you have a baby on the way! Message me, daddy.”
My stomach drops. The video plays again.
I flick the screen up so the previous video she posted appears. It plays immediately.
“Story time. November 10thwas the hockey game between the Philadelphia Hatters and the Buffalo Skidmoss. When Buffalo won, some of their team headed to this epic Philly club—Lyra on Ninth—and celebrated. How do I know this? Because I hooked up with Caulder Haines in the back! Now I’m pregnant—which happens when you don’t wear a condom, fellas—and it’s impossible to get ahold of him. Help me out, Viraly! Help me get in touch with Caulder Haines.”
The next one.
“I want my baby to have his daddy! Don’t you want to know your baby, Caulder Haines?”
On and on it goes for the past month or more. I feel sick. My body breaks out in chills as my stomach violently threatens to display everything I’ve eaten today on the floor in front of me. I can’t take a breath. My hands shake.
Finally, I look up and meet Coach’s eyes. “It’s a lie. I don’t know that woman.”
“An anonymous hook—” Robert begins.
“No!” I insist. “I never went to that club! I’ve never seen, never mind touched, that woman. It’s a lie.”
Silence settles around the room.
Coach Melvin leans forward. “I need you to think about this, Caulder.”
“There isn’t anything to think about,” I say, feeling myself spiraling down a very long tunnel. “Ineverleave the hotel after a game, win or lose. The only time I go out is here, at Sceptre, with the team.”
“You left the hotel in Arizona a couple days ago,” Coach Elvyra says.
