* * *
Ace
“The first gameis a couple weeks away and y’all still playing like a high school JV team.” Pops crosses his arms in the center of the court. “Partying, drinking, and more partying. Half of y’all couldn’t even get here on time today because you were still hungover from Saturday night. I ain’t got no sympathy for you.”
LaQuan groans next to me on the bench even though it’s been two days since Splashtown. The team doesn’t know how to deal with Pops when his drawl takes over. They don’t know that a double shot of whatever fucked them up over the weekend is the only way to practice through a hangover either.
“When Southern come blow you out on your own turf, I don’t want to hear a damn thing.” He swipes his bald head. “What the hell is a Surftown, anyway?”
Marquise coughs. “Uh, it’s Splashtown sir—”
“Boy, I don’t care! The point is all those folks y’all were up there parlaying with at a water park don’t have to be on this court with you. They’re there for a good time, not a long time. That’s it.”
I heard this speech before too. He pounded it in my head after me and Javier’s first weekend away at UCLA. The point was that I’d never make it to the NBA by getting fucked up every weekend. I guess he was right.
“They’re not working to turn this team’s reputation around—youare! Y’all are working to turn this campus around. You think folks wanna donate their hard earned money for a bunch of knuckleheads who can’t even show up and show out when asked because they’re too busy snapshotting and Instagramming themselves turning up over the weekend?”
“It’s Snapchat...” Marquise groans under his breath.
Pops glares at him, twirling his finger around. “Snapchat ain’t gon' get you a new gym. I’ll tell you that much. Go wash up!”
Their groans and grumbles blend as they push up and fall over each other.
We walk into the locker room with Pops’ hot words hanging between us. The door doesn’t even close all the way before their eyes plow into me like we didn’t just get our asses served to us.
I guess they’re still big eyed about a two second viral moment that doesn’t matter anymore. That type of shit came and went and when it went, controversy always followed. I heard the whispers as soon as I sat next to Brandy in biology, but she didn’t care. Jersey chasers only cared about the nuanced details of their prowl, like if I’d be starting in the first game of the season.
“I’ll be there.”She grinned.“Even if you blew me off this weekend to play DD. I know how important first games are for you athletes. My ex had so many annoying pre-game rituals.”
LaQuan coughs and nudges me from behind. “So how was your weekend, Hollywood?”
I shrug, walking to my locker and flinging it open. “Straight. I stayed in.”
“Bet you did,” Bryson mumbles under his breath.
I pull my head out of my locker and look over at him, but he has his head down, yanking the laces on his shoes. “You say something?”
“He said ‘bet you did,’” Marquise says, staring at both of us, smirking.
LaQuan flings his towel out while the rest of the team laughs. “You messier than a female.”
“I’m just assisting with facilitating a discussion, man.”
“Coach should’ve never taught your ass what ‘facilitate’ means.” LaQuan howls.
There’s something cooking, and the pecking order is at work again.
I pull my slides out of my locker while keeping my eyes on Bryson, but he still won’t look at me. I want to look him in his face though. I want to see if there’s any regret in his eyes because of how he did Phat Saturday night. I’m still not over it and I don’t want her to be over it either.
“You good, homie?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He kicks off his sneakers. “You good?”
Marquise snickers. “Translation—Bryson is tight because you left Splashtown with his gal. So he’s far from good, my boy.”
Bryson smacks his lips and flings his head up, squinting at him. “Okay, you can stopfacilitatingnow.”
I don’t feel the stomach-dropping doom that I should because one of them caught me and Phat leaving. Instead, I’m hot. My tongue burns in the places Phat touched it and my lips are on fire, but I can’t tell them that the plotting and planning they’ve been doing on her will never come to fruition. She couldn’t handle it, just like she couldn’t handle that article Blake dangled in my face.
