Page 19 of Puck Your Feelings
"You know what I mean."
I do know what he means, and I hate that I'm almost enjoying this stupid back-and-forth. "Are you going to finish unpacking, or are you planning to live out of your bag for three weeks?"
"Bold of you to assume I've planned anything."
He does eventually finish "unpacking," which seems to involve shoving everything into drawers without any organizational system whatsoever. His recording equipment creates a nest of cables on his desk that makes my eye twitch. His clothes are wadded into balls that vaguely resemble folded items if you squint and have recently suffered a head injury.
But he's done, and the cabin has achieved a state of détente—half militarily organized, half looking like a tornado hit a sporting goods store.
"There," he announces, flopping onto his top bunk. "See? System."
"That's not a system."
"Works for me."
I'm about to argue when my phone buzzes. Team dinner in twenty minutes.
Saved by the bell.
***
Becker
DINNER IS UNDERWHELMING, to say the least—protein, carbs, more protein, vegetables that taste like punishment, and enough electrolyte drinks to drown a village. I load up my plate because I learned in my rookie year that you never know when the next good meal is coming, and Kane is watching me like I've personally offended his nutritionist.
"That's a lot of pasta," he observes.
"Carb loading."
"We haven't done anything yet."
"Preemptive carb loading."
He just shakes his head and returns to building what looks like a sad, beige sculpture of chicken breast and brown rice.
After dinner, Cap gathers us for the official welcome meeting—standard stuff about training camp expectations, safety protocols, and a thinly veiled threat about what will happen if anyone posts anything stupid on social media.
Everyone looks at me during that part.
"What?" I ask innocently earning a few eye rolls.
Cap finishes his speech with a reminder about morning conditioning at oh-six-hundred, which is a time that shouldn't exist for anyone who isn't a farmer or deeply masochistic.
By the time Kane and I make it back to Cabin 12, I'm exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the bus ride and everything to do with the constant low-level awareness that I'm now living with someone who probably color-codes his dreams.
"I'm showering first," Kane announces, already grabbing his toiletries.
"Go for it."
He disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the water start exactly three seconds later.
I pull out my phone and check my podcast stats while I wait. The press conference episode is up to 300K views. My subscriber count has jumped to 18K. Comments are split between people who think the whole thing is hilarious and people who are genuinely concerned about "workplace harassment."
One comment catches my eye:They have insane chemistry. Like they're two seconds away from either fighting or fucking.
Ugh. Gross.
I close the app so fast I nearly drop my phone.
