I shrug and dig into my eggs.
“How do you two know each other, exactly?” Aaron asks.
I keep my tone light, feigning indifference. “We wrestled once in high school.”
“No, there’s got to be more to it than that. I can see him being competitive if you won, but he’s acting like your presence here is a personal vendetta against him.” Fish cuts his eyes to a nearby table, where Pierce is telling a story—probably about me—to a table of mostly freshmen athletes. His voice is loud and self-satisfied. “Not to mention whatever Pierce’s issue is.”
I groan. “It’s too early for this crap.”
“Pierce is just intimidated that someone he deems below his social status might show him up,” Aaron mutters. “But he and Beck seem to be getting along better than usual. That’s concerning enough.”
“Does anyone else get the impression that Pierce is up to something? He’s been more annoying than last year,” Fish.
Jay nods. “I assumed he’s feeling cockier because he’s not the youngest anymore. Would explain why he’s buddying up to all the freshmen the way he is.”
“I heard he’s getting them to do stuff for him, like his homework and laundry,” Aaron says, lips turning down in a disapproving grimace. “I don’t get it.”
I’m not surprised. He and his brother always had their own little cult of assholes that followed them around. The smaller a mind is, the easier they are to impress and control. And when you’ve been born into the kind of privilege most can’t comprehend, it comes with the kind of confidence that makes even the weakest person believe you’re worth more than their deeds.
“Doesn’t explain why Beck is suddenly tolerating him though,” Fish says quietly, almost to himself.
My breakfast suddenly isn’t very appetizing. “Whatever it is,” I say carefully, “I’m not interested in drama.”
Fish gestures vaguely. “Too late. This could only be more interesting if you were prettier and had boobs.”
Smirking, I lift my arms to pull my hair loose from its top knot and flex my pecs. Fish wolf-whistles, and Aaron bites back a laugh.
Jay nudges my tray. “For real, though. You settling in okay?”
I look around at the chaotic dining hall, at the team scattered between tables, and the guys around me that have been welcoming despite multiple members of their team acting like I’m some kind of pariah.
“Yeah, I am,” I say, and mean it. Despite yesterday’s mess of a practice and the discomfort of knowing Pierce is up to something, I had a great first week of school. I like all my classes, at least a few of my teammates seem cool, and I feel better knowing that I’m closer to home if my mom and brother need me.
I’ll just have to make the best of the rest of it, and hope that everyone else gets used to my presence.
Still, I keep my guard up, especially as I notice more and more of my teammates and classmates watching me with curious and judgmental eyes. I hope I’m just paranoid, but the way some of them watch me reminds me of what it was like in middle and high school.
By the time I get to the wrestling building for afternoon practice, I’m more tense than I want to admit to even myself. I don’t know if it’s anticipation or instinct, but my body feels braced for impact in a way I can’t quite explain.
The locker room is mostly empty when I walk in. I’m early, but I head to my locker to get dressed and do some extra lifting before practice. I almost slip in a puddle of something on the ground. I frown and look down. A dark, foamy puddle spreads from the bottom seam of my locker door.
For a second, my brain doesn’t compute what it is. Until the smell hits.
Beer.
The pungent smell of stale beer is strong enough to make me think it could have been here all day, maybe since just after morning lift when I was last at my locker. The stench makes my stomach roll.
I open my locker slowly. A mostly empty can of Miller Lite lies on its side on the top shelf, tipped just enough to let the last of it drain down over my uniform, my shoes, and my towel. The label is facing outward in case I don’t get the punchline.
I stare at it for far too long, forgetting to school my features. The room is quiet around me. I can hear the hum of the overhead fans, the distant thud of someone dropping weights outside the locker room doors. My hands go a little numb from the way I’m clenching my fists.
This is stupid. Really, it is. It’s completely juvenile. And it’s also obvious who’s behind this stupid prank, considering it’s not the first time Pierce has done this sort of thing. And just like every time before, I resolve not to let them see how much it upsets me.
But sometimes it really sucks being the bigger man. My first instinct is to take the can and crush it in my fist. The second is to breathe. So I do the second.
Then I remove the can, set it on the bench, and start pulling things out. The shoes are thankfully salvageable, and everything else is washable. But of course I’ll be late for warm-ups on the first day of real practice with the coaches, considering I’ll need to run back to the dorm to get some new workout clothes.
Even when Pierce’s voice slithers up behind me, I don’t turn around right away. I keep moving, like this is a normal inconvenience.
