Off the Field

Chapter Nineteen

I didn’t want to talk to either of them, so I ignored their stammered questions as we reached the lockers, expecting Mal to leave and find hers. But she stayed next to me with her arms full of books and a worried expression on her face. Ray dropped his stuff in front of his locker and leaned against it, looking at me.

“Coop, what did Clark say to you?”

“Clark?” My fingers slipped on the combination lock. “He didn’t do anything.”

“What?”

For the life of me I couldn’t remember the numbers of my combination, the tick marks blurring before my eyes. I spun the lock in frustration, knocking the locker with my knee, but it refused to budge. Aware that Ray and Mal were looking at me like I was crazy, I forced myself to take a deep breath and tried the lock again.

“Did your dad come?” asked Mal quietly.

I pulled on my locker again, but it wouldn’t open. Exhaling, I leaned my forehead against its cool metal, fighting to keep my voice steady as I said, “Yeah, he had some meeting with the athletic director anyway, so it was just so convenient to drop in.”

Ray and Mal exchanged a look I didn’t miss, one of those let’s-tread-carefully agreements that they always thought were so unobvious. I braced myself for the questions to come, and after a moment Ray said slowly, “So what happened?”

“I tried to talk to him calmly, like you said I should.”

He looked surprised and a little impressed. “And?”

Straightening up, I set my fingers on the lock again, determined to get it. “And it went about as well as I expected it to. He started lecturing me, I tried to say something, he blew up at me, I blew up at him, he told me I’m not a captain anymore –”

My mind blanked, my locker stuck, and I kicked it angrily, slamming my palms against it as Mal gave a small exclamation of shock. I looked at the two of them defensively, my breaths quivery and my hands shaking. Without a word, Ray shouldered me out of the way and spun my lock for me, popping open the locker.

“Good thing I always know your combo,” he said, clapping my shoulder, and took the book from my arm, chucking it onto a stack of binders.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, pulling out my backpack and staring listlessly at my books.

“Danny,” said Mal, her voice shaky, “I’m so sorry –”

“I don’t care.” I threw my trig book into the bag.

She bit her lip, her brown eyes wide. “But this is my fault! I should’ve just walked away and made you come with me – if they hadn’t said anything about me –”

“How the hell is this your fault?” I demanded zipping my backpack and throwing it over my shoulder. Mal looked at me miserably; she seemed to have forgotten she was supposed to be boiling mad at me. I shrugged despite the lump in my throat. “I don’t care, okay? It’s just a stupid –”