Firefly

22: sports equipment room

Chapter 22: sports equipment room.

Justin

"Relax the scowl, brother." As if my day wasn't bad enough, his voice prepared me for another ride through hell. "It's a woman repellant." 

I shut my car door with force. I turn around, slow and deliberate until I'm facing Ace Dempsey. My inscrutable face told him how little I cared. "Untrue. It got your girlfriend." 

Satisfaction, being the only less miserable feeling since last night, filled my chest at his tight jaw. He picked the wrong day for a brother-to-brother talk. This was me subtly informing him that. 

"Bastard," the curse was generic but his intentions behind saying it was dirty. "Coach Jensen is calling you. Something about the fifth player on the team." His smirk made my blood boil. "I guess I'm not just here for clearing backlogs." 

"No fucking way. I'm the captain and I don't approve of this." I lock my car as I take further steps toward him. His smirk grows bigger. Confidence. He's done something irreversible. "Dream all you want, it isn't going to last." 

My brother takes a step closer too. His nose inches away and below mine. "Sure. Sports equipment room. He's waiting for you." Ace hits my chest with his shoulder as he walks behind me. 

I cannot let him contaminate basketball for me. Work can wait, I need to fix this mess. I jog to the sports room at the opposite end of the gym. My arms are weak, my legs are weak, and I desperately need caffeine to rejuvenate. Overexerting with cardio and boxing bags wasn't on the schedule for a Monday morning. I'd somehow survived the day speaking only three sentences until now. Thanks to Mr. Malcolm's viral fever, his absence reduced the heavy load. 

I enter the equipment room, dimly lit and noticeably silent. The equipment room was originally a decent-looking room. But all the shabby ballers that this school has fueled have ruined it. Everything is unorganized. Three shelves make the room look like a compressed verandah. I walk until the last shelf, passing through the marking cones, white powder bags, hula hoops, spare baskets, spare jerseys, and footballs until I reach the basketball shelf. 

My face emanates frustration. "Coach, if he's playing I'm not--" All my anger becomes a lump and congeals at my throat when chocolate brown eyes turn to me. What is she doing here? 

The girls have practice after school. But she's not in her training outfit. She probably changed and was about to leave. 

Her body tenses at my sight. She backs off to the wall, abruptly leaving the basketball she was holding to drop down. It bounces between us until it's leveled with the ground. I see the door of the equipment room closing. Motherfucker. I sprint from my position to hold the door but it slams shut and I hear the jingling of the keys as the lock turns. 

"Dick move, Dempsey. We're not twelve, open the fucking door." I yell but there's absolutely no sound on the other end. 

I try to push the door open with my shoulder. The lights of the room turn off. Great. There was no Coach Jenson waiting for me. He laid the bait and I walked into the trap without thinking it through. I fucking reacted. 

But she's here. He wouldn't lock her up, especially with me. He didn't know she was here. But why this room? He could've locked me up anywhere in school but why--no fucking network. I tap on my phone turning around and pointing it to the ceiling. No network at all. I clasp the bridge of my nose. He should go home, lock all doors, hire five bouncers, and pray for his fucking life. He has volunteered on my To Kill list. 

She peeks through the last shelf at me, slowly coming into view as she stares at me. Rather at the door behind me. She hasn't looked at me since last night. She won't look at me ever. I move away, letting her get a better view of the door. Her eyes don't follow me. She was looking at the door.