Page 46 of Jaded

“Damn straight you are.” I hold up a hand again. “Don’t worry, though. I ain’t gonna say anything.”

No, I ain’t. ’Cause the blare of another buzzer has called my attention back to the game, and out of nowhere, my big stupid ADHD brain invents a big stupid light-bulb realization that I will probably dismiss in seven seconds, but for right now seems . . . well, sort of Grand Canyony.

I think I just figured out the problem with the Dingoes: they’re the Grand Canyon of Day River. The the thing that’s right here, that everybody’s stopped seeing. Not to mention that, like Nat said, nobody cares about a bunch of random Cali boys.

So, how do you remind people to look?

How do you make them care?

“Why wereyouat the Ice Out?” Nat turns away from the ice, back to me.

“I’m all about experiencing every aspect of a place.” My fingers tap against my thigh, unable to keep still. “Excited tourist, remember?”

My brain’s still tripping over itself about thisrealization, so I’m only half thinking about what I’m saying. “Kinda blew me away, not gonna lie. It was, um . . .darkerthan I had any idea it was gonna be.”

“Welcome to Day River.” Nat turns as yet another buzzer shrieks out over the arena. Another goal against us. “Looks pretty on the surface, but it’s got a lot of dark secrets lurking underneath.”

“Yeah,” I agree, my voice so low I’m not sure he hears. “We gravitate towards the darkness reflected inside of us.”

But given a choice, won’t all plants tilt their faces towards the sun? Or at least, to the shiny new penny glinting on the darkened street.

Olli’s Big Stupid Brain kind of wants to find out.

Chapter 13

Olli

Welose.Obviously.Becausewhy would we suddenly win? Then I’m back in the locker room, along with a bunch of sweaty, mopey, pissed-off dudes, and I’m trying not to wonder again if this is a lost cause.

“This is why Cap left,” somebody mutters.

“Nah, Cap left ’cause he got a better deal. This is whyDanielsleft.”

It’s why they both left—because playing for a losing team is one thing. Playing for a losing team that nobody cares about . . . That’s hell.

The darkness scratches at the corners of my soul. The sudden surety that I’ve messed up. I had a nice normal career. Moving slow, sure, but trending upwards. And then I thought, you know what? I’ll cut some corners. Take a risk.

I’m Olli James. I can do it!

I resist the urge to groan and dig my hands through my hair. I really hate Optimistic Olli sometimes. He’s so inconsistent.

“So. James.” Everton leans his way into my line of sight. A pile of blond locs slips over his shoulder. “You coming to my house tonight? Big party to um, you know, celebrate being alive even though we suck?”

He tilts his head towards his linemate—Skyler Legolas Johnson. Skyler shrugs. “Sure, man.”

“Celebrating life, yeah.” Everton turns back towards me. “You coming?”

Shoot. My least favorite part of team sports—the teaming. The extrovert stuff. The parties, the drinking, the games and banter and laughter and shouts and shots . . . All the things I’m not good at.

Just the thought of all thatstuffmakes me want to curl up and sleep, but I pull my mouth into a relaxed grin. “Course I’m going. I got new teammates to impress with my witty jokes and drinking prowess or whatever the hell it is these days.”

Everton laughs, and Charlie shoots me a thumbs up as he heads to the showers, stark-ass naked. Devereaux trails behind him, a towel slung around his waist. Thankfully, their attention shifts away from me.

It’s so easy here, to don that mask, slap on the smile, be the jack-o’-lantern, the grinning sunshiny bro that guys love sharing a locker room with ’cause I’m always ready to throw down a quippy one-liner or a crass slightly too edgy sex joke.

They’ll think I’m less fun at the party when I spend the whole time trying to invent non-lame ways to avoid drinking games and, generally, leave early.

Introvert’s life, man.

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