Page 86 of Running With Lions

“I don’t wanthimin this family.”

That voice in the back of Sebastian’s head grows louder:Do it. His hands are numb, white-knuckled. A few other players join the crowd around them. Mason’s pushing through the mass of bodies. To his right, Emir is rigid; his eyes are dark slits.

Sebastian turns his glare back on Carl. “Screw you, Tiller,” he says, seething. “You don’t know him.”

“What, you want us all to have a group hug and pretend this isn’t how it goes? Team sports doesn’t mean everyone makes it at the end of the day. So now we’re playing rookies as starters just because? I’m not down with that, Hughes.”

Beating Carl up would be a mercy deal. The guy doesn’t have too many allies, and Sebastian can’t be the only one fed up with his tireless complaining. He has no sympathy for Carl, or his inability to lock down a starting position. That’s no excuse to be a dick.

Not all of Sebastian’s anger is directed toward Carl or is about Emir. This is for all the guys who shoved Sebastian around. For the ones who made him dislike his appearance. The kids chanting “Bastian the Trashcan.” For every asshole who sneered self-righteously at him, at his friends.

“Yourfriend,” Carl says, grinning, “can ride the bench by himself like he does during lunch.”

The room’s attention falls on Emir now. He looks away. Sebastian’s rage finally hits a new peak.

“Fuck you.”

Sebastian doesn’t know where that came from. His chest cracks open with pride. It’s as if he spat those two words at everyone who’s a douche like Carl.

“Yeah, fuck you too, Hughes. You’re not the captain,” Carl barks.

Sebastian’s fists shake at his sides. Coach Patrick doesn’t tolerate violence, not unless it’s on the field. All’s fair on the green. Sebastian just needs something to put his fist to. A wall, a door, whatever.

He’s giving in to the chant in his head:Do it, do it, do it…

“Move!” Coach Patrick barks like a rabid dog. Players are shoved around. His hand presses flat against Sebastian’s chest. His other hand grabs Carl’s shirt. He shoots Sebastian a glare. “Since you half-wits want to forget we have a game in a few weeks, we’ll skip lunch for another round on the pitch! You want to fight? Fight exhaustion, because I’m going to wear your asses thin for this.” When no one moves, Coach barks, “Now! Gear up.”

A mass exodus breaks out. Sebastian can’t identify who’s glaring at him and who’s looking at him with compassion. Breathing roughly, he slumps into a locker.

Coach seethes. “I expect more, Hughes, a lot more.” He stalks off, and Sebastian nearly crumbles under the weight of that last glare.

Sebastian drags a hand down his face. He tilts his head until fluorescent lights blur in his wet eyes. Coach hasn’t been this pissed in forever. Sebastian hasn’t let a guy get in his head like that since childhood. Dealing with bullies was easier back when he was undersized. He couldn’t fight back.

Today, Sebastian was ready tocrushCarl. What kind of candidate for captain is he?

“Dude,” says Zach, patting Sebastian’s shoulder. Sebastian can’t look at him, but he sounds shocked.Join the club.

“C’mon, Bastian,” Mason whispers. “Shake it off.”

The scuff of cleats on the ground signals Mason’s exit. One by one, Sebastian’s failing his friends. When he finally raises his eyes, Emir is in front of him. His arms are folded and he’s not saying a word.

“What?”

Emir’s mouth parts, but he only sighs. His eyes are drained of brightness. Without a word, he stomps out of the locker room.

Yeah, I had that one coming, too.

When the room is empty, Sebastian pushes off his locker. He turns, rolls his shoulders, and then slams his fist into a locker door. His knuckles throb, but at least his anger is centered on the pain. It’s a shame, though. Relief doesn’t come.

* * *

“Is this who you are?”

Nope.

“Is this the type of player or person you want to be?”

Not at all.

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