Dominic
I don’t knowwhois having a party in the apartment building, but they must bedestroyingtheir eardrums.
But I can be tolerant. Some people blow off steam by blaring music.
I hum along to the songs I recognize as I stare down at the plays from Coach Ellis, trying to commit it to memory. He’s been brutal the last few days, and my sore calves are the evidence of it.
Well, and this playbook.
I scan it again, as if repetition will unlock something I’ve missed. Coach Ellis’s sets are all about misdirection.He wants the guards darting, the wings popping out, the bigs setting screens and holding their ground.
It honestly looks simple on paper, but I’ve never met a lineup that made it look less easy. We’re not enmeshed the way we should be…
Or maybe it’s just me.
Plucking my pen up from beside me, I start to diagram one of the plays myself to get a better mental image. The partier’s bass drops hard, rattling the glass in my living room and startling me enough that I make a dark line through my work.
“Come on,” I grumble, shaking my head. I glance at the clock. It’s a little past ten, which isn’tthatlate, but still…
Isn’t an hour of loud music enough? Or is someone really having a party? Can you even have those here?
Pursing my lips, I try to rack my brain about the policies I had to sign for the apartment complex. Iknowthere’s a strict rule about quiet hours, because there are signseverywherereminding us.
I try to focus a little longer, watching the clock as twenty more minutes rolls by. However, I can’t focus with the tunes assaulting my ears. Giving up, I close the playbook and pace the length of my living room a few times.
If this keeps up, I won’t sleep, which means I’ll drag tomorrow, which means I’ll get a lecture from Coach and be heckled by the guys, and then probably get dunked on by the rookie point guard.
Ugh.
I stop at the window, arms crossed, watching the pool deck below for signs of a rave, but the only movement is the blue glow of string lights and the motionless shape of a sleeping inflatable flamingo.
My eyes narrow as I spin around. I lean into the noise’s origin, trying to discern where it might be coming from.
And it takes me about eight seconds to realize who’s disturbing the peace.
Nicole.
“Because why wouldn’t it be her?” I say with a heavy sigh. I don’t want more drama with my neighbor, but as much as I want to pretend the music isn’t bothering me, itis.
Also, if Ipolitelytell Nicole to turn it down, it might even benefit her, too. Because if it bothers someoneelseon our floor, they’ll probably file a noise complaint. So basically, bymetelling her to turn it down, it’s a win-win for both of us…
And totally not an excuse to walk across the hallway and see her.
I grab my Comets hoodie and slip it over my head, rolling my shoulders and smoothing out my hair for good measure. I slip out of my apartment and into the hallway, confirming with the way her door is rattling that she’s the culprit.
Just knock and be nice. Not that hard, Dom.
I don’t know why it takes a pep talk for me to speak with my neighbor. But it helps.
Sort of.
When I make it to her door, I knock twice.
Nothing.
So, I knock again, a little louder this time.
Nothing.
