Page 80 of Lost Boy
“There are dry clothes over here!” Cole shouts, and I jog over, seeing the picked-over pile that Dustin, Seth, and Rich left behind. We’re all supposed to be on the sameteamtoday.
God, I hate them.
“I’m done. I’m out. Fuck this,” I say, completely fed up, running a hand through my wet curls. “I’m just gonna chase those fuckers down and take ’em all on.”
“Like hell you are, dude!” Cole yells at me, peeling his shirt over his head. His normally shaggy hair is slicked back and dark.
Jamie hands Fallon a towel and throws one at me.
“Be smart, Ry. That’s not smart. For many different reasons.”
“Did you see what they did?!” I shout in my best friend’s face, letting my overwhelming feelings get the better of me.
“Yes, Ryder. We all did. But you don’t need to go running into the fucking woods, guns blazing!” he yells back. “You’ll be killing our season. Your dreams.Everything.Don’t do it.”
“He’s right. Let’s finish this,” Fallon says with a fluffy white towel wrapped around his shivering shoulders.
“What?” I ask in utter disbelief.
Is he serious right now?
“No fucking way, Fallon. You nearly drowned!”
God, why am I shouting so much?
I don’tshoutand especially not at my friends. This is exactly what those assholes wanted, and it pisses me off even more.
“I’m fine,” he repeats, but his teeth are chattering.
“He said he’s fine and wants to keep going,” Cole encourages. Of course he does; he just wants to win everything all the time.
“Just beat them on the court. Completely wipe the floor with them,” Jamie adds with his voice of reason.
I stare at Fallon, wanting to wrap my arms around him. Help him change. I want to warm him with my body heat and press my naked skin to his. But I can’t. I can’t do any of that. Because I’m not out. And it sucks.
I’m okay,he mouths, imploring me with his blue-gray gaze.
I take a deep breath and release it slowly, lifting my dri-fit shirt and peeling it over my head. Our new T-shirts have Camp Dakota printed on the front.
“Guess we’re gonna keep going,” I give in, unwilling to disappoint my team. I’ll get my revenge on the court later.
* * *
“Oh, look at the pretty, pretty princess. Will you be my cheerleader? Or has Cruz already locked that weird shit down?” Rich taunts cruelly before I “accidentally”elbow him right in the fucking mouth.
Bastardo.
He immediately throws his hands up, muffling his curse, before spitting a mouthful of blood onto the outdoor concrete court Cole found behind the showers. It’s perfect for this early morning scrimmage, and I sneer in disgust at Rich’s bloody spit on the pavement.
Andy, one of the juniors, is acting as our ref and blows the whistle, but it was worth it. They can take their foul shots. They’re still going to lose.
“Fucker!” Rich yells, his teeth shining crimson, and I smirk.
I glance at Fallon sitting on the sidelines, which is just another log. He’s got his headphones in, so he didn’t even hear that homophobic bullshit. Not that Rich knows anything. He’s just trying to egg me on and get me to hit him or any of them. I realize that now. It won’t work, though. The guys and I just spread the fouls out so no one gets ejected. We already discussed this.
“Why are you all so obsessed with Fallon, huh? That’s what’s weird, dude. And unwanted. Go the fuck away.”
Rich sputters a little, walking over to the free-throw line. He assumes his position, and Andy tosses him the basketball. The teams line up on either side. Flustered by my comment, Rich misses both shots.
