Stickers and sticks

Prologue: Everett

The problem with being captain is that eventually people start expecting things from you.

Leadership. Responsibility. Maturity.

All words that sounded great in interviews and significantly worse when they were attached to your actual life.

I was halfway through a post-practice stretch when Coach dropped the bomb.

"Community outreach."

Every guy in the locker room groaned.

I didn't.

Mostly because I was still trying to figure out what he meant.

Coach tossed a stack of papers onto the center table.

"University wants more involvement. Athletic department wants better visibility. Local schools want role models."

"Sounds like everyone's problem but ours," Mason muttered.

Coach pointed at him.

"Congratulations. It's yours too."

A chorus of complaints followed.

I tuned most of it out.

Because none of it mattered.

Not really.

The season mattered. Our ranking mattered.

Keeping these idiots focused long enough to survive conference play mattered.

Everything else was background noise.

Coach continued talking.

Volunteer hours.

Elementary schools.

Reading programs.

Partnerships with the education department.

I stopped listening around the time he said "children."

Across the room, Liam looked horrified.

"Kids are sticky."

"You're 21," Jace said.

"Exactly. I've spent years avoiding situations where people hand me applesauce."

Coach pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You'll survive."

"Will we?" Liam asked.

"No."

The locker room laughed.

I checked my phone.

Three unread texts.

Two missed calls.

One message from a girl whose last name I couldn't remember.

A pretty accurate summary of my life lately.

Mason dropped into the seat beside me.

"You look thrilled."

"I'm thinking about how fast I can fake an injury."

"You'd rather block slapshots than read books to kids?"

"Correct."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"Fair."

Coach pointed at us from across the room.

"Especially you, Hale."

I looked up.

"What did I do?"

"Nothing."

That answer was never good.

Coach crossed his arms.

"You've got the grades. You've got the leadership position. You're the face of this team whether you like it or not."

I immediately didn't like where this was going.

"You'll set the example."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

The locker room erupted into laughter.

Traitors.

Coach ignored them.

"Twenty-five volunteer hours."

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Neither of us blinked.

Finally, he smiled.

I hated when he smiled.

Because it always meant he'd already won.

"You'll thank me later."

I laughed.

A genuine laugh.

Because that was the funniest thing I'd heard all day.

There was absolutely nothing about spending my semester reading books to elementary school kids that was going to improve my life.

Nothing.

Not one thing.

And if someone had told me that six months later I'd be sitting in a kindergarten classroom arguing with an education major about whether twenty-three glue sticks counted as a reasonable amount to carry in one pocket—

I would've laughed at that too.

Because some things are too ridiculous to believe before they happen.

And Hazel Whitmore?

She hadn't happened yet.