Page 31 of Every Move You Make

“Yeah.”

“It better be,” Dad says. “If you’re going to be the USA Valor’s head coach, you’re gonna need—”

“Dad!” I hiss.

“Wait, what?” several people ask at once.

So much for trying to keep Dad in the loop. I’m not telling him anything ever again.

“Nothing’s official,” I seethe. “I don’t even know if I have the job yet. I probably won’t get it.”

“Of course you will,” Raf says with a pinch between his brows. “You’d make an excellent head coach.”

“Whoa, whoa, back up,” Dane says. “What about Robyn?”

Sweat forms under my arms. “What about her?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dane drawls. “Maybe it’s the fact that you’re in love with her?”

I need new friends who are not my family.

“I’m not in love with her,” I lie.

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” Jonah asks rhetorically.

“I think you mean ‘bear,’” I say.

“No, I think he means ‘hat,’” Raf replies. “He meant to say: Does the Pope wear a funny hat?”

“No,” Dane says. “The phrase is: Does a bear shit in the woods?”

Jonah puts his hands up to quiet the noise. “Irregardless—”

“That’s not a word,” Angie and I remind him in unison.

“The point is, if you get this job, you’re going to be around Robyn a lot,” he smirks and points his fork at me. “And as it is, you’re afraid to be around her.”

“I am not.”

“Who wants to hear about the time Isaiah met Robyn?” Rafael booms over everyone. At that, I get up from the table and book it downstairs to the basement, but not before I hear Raf start, “It was his sophomore year…”

Chapter 13

Certified Freak

Isaiah

Spring. Sophomore Year.

This is exactly how I like to spend my Saturdays: coming off a win against Penn Valley on their own turf, and drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon from a keg at a house off campus. Penn isn’t too far from my college in New Jersey, so our club teams regularly play each other. Plus, it’s nice to see my sister and Rafael since they attend Penn.

Raf played one hell of a game and has a bag of ice strapped to his shoulder. He’s holding a beer in one hand and taking a puff from a joint that’s being passed around.

We traveled with our women’s team today, the Lady Killers, so there are four rugby teams filling this house and backyard. Some people have already left to go back, but there are still about forty people here.

“IceMan,” my vet, Gimli, says, throwing an arm around me. He’s nicknamed Gimli because, well, he looks like Gimli fromLord of the Rings. “I need you to sing ‘Titties.’”

Gimli picked me as his rookie when I started on the team freshman year, and even though I’m technically a veteran, I’ll always be his rookie. And rookies do as they’re told. Not that I need much convincing. I know every rugby drinking song by heart now.

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