I just have to keep the pace. Keep my eyes on the game.
And nevereverleave my gear in the hallway again.
By the time practice ends, my shoes are dry, and the smell is, well, I don’t know what the smell is, because it either disappeared or I got used to it.
I don’t care to know which.
Marcus slaps me on the shoulder on our way to the locker room. “Not bad, new guy. Maybe next time bring a snorkel, though.” He indicates my feet.
“Maybe next time I’ll show up dry,” I shoot back, a breathless chuckle slipping through my lips.
Once we make it to the locker room, I collapse on the bench and go straight for the laces. I peel my shoes and socks off and shove them into my bag, wrapped in my sweaty shorts.
I’ll find a dry cleaner. Iknowthere’s bound to be one of those around here.
As I strip off my jersey, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look like someone who just escaped from a car wash. My eyes are tired, my dark hair matted, and my arms visibly shaking.
But it feelsgood. Because this is what earning your place looks like.
Guys hit the showers around me, towel off, or lounge around half-dressed on leather benches, sipping their fancy water. I continue to sit at my locker, taking in the team that I have to find a way to mesh with. Somehow.
The rookie who I passed earlier is livestreaming on Instagram, narrating every move he makes for his followers. “Big day in the gym, grind never stops,” he says, flexing in the mirror.Again.
And then we make eye contact.
Oh no… No. Nope.
He turns, pointing the camera at me. “This is the big Dom from Alabama! Tell ‘em hi, man!”
I cringe, manage a nod, but the words don’t come.
“Well, okay, then. Guess we got a shy one.” He bursts into laughter and goes back to shooting his physique in the mirror.
I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s much better that way.
My phone buzzes from my bag, which surprises me. It’s a group chat from my old team in Alabama. It hits with a whole new ache.
Jackson:Hey, big man, how’s the coast?
Colby:Caught your media day on ESPN. Miss you in the paint.
Weston:Y’all think you’re gonna win?
My stomach knots up with that same homesick feeling. Iwantto answer. I really do. But instead, I stare at the screen and long to be back in a jersey I feel like I belong in.
It’ll just take time. It always takes me time to warm up.
I’m still working that out in my head, as if my pep talk will change the feeling somehow, when I hear laughter from a group near the showers. I glance over to see Marcus at the center, spinning a story and doing impressions.
I don’t understand what he’s doing, but the way I hear the wordswimming, I already know I’m about to be in trouble.
He catches my eye, grins, and jogs over, dragging two other guys behind him.
“Yo, Neelson!” Marcus drops onto the bench next to me, his hair still wet from the shower. “You’ll never believe what I got for ya. Found it in the janitor’s closet.”
He produces a bright blue spray bottle and holds it up with both hands, like he’s about to hand me something that will change my life.
The label saysPet PEE-rific: Extreme Odor Control.
