Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,21
practice?” he asked as we locked our bikes up.
“Yeah. See you.”
* * *
Coach Winfield must’ve liked torturing Chapel Hill High School’s Student Athletes. That’s the only explanation I could come up with for why he had us doing an hour of wind sprints.
Only Trent Bolger got off light, because apparently he had a “bad case of shin splints.”
The Sportsball-Industrial Complex at work.
By the time Coach Winfield blew his whistle, I thought I was going to throw up. Even Gabe was bent over his knees, gulping for air and looking a little green, and like I said, he was the fastest guy I knew.
“All right, gentlemen,” Coach Winfield shouted. “Get cleaned up and get out of here.”
I limped to the locker room, trailing behind Jaden and Gabe. Both of them had their hands behind their heads in Surrender Cobra, which was unfair, because they both had really nice shoulder muscles.
I wished mine looked that nice.
“Perv alert,” Trent said behind me.
“Shut up, Trent.”
“Make me, Dairy Queen.” He jogged ahead of me, flashing me his middle finger.
Jaden turned around. “Did he—”
“Yeah,” Gabe said, glaring at Trent’s retreating back. “How can you let him get away with stuff like that?”
I shrugged. “It could be worse. Last year he kept calling me a terrorist.”
Jaden frowned. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
The thing about Gabe and Jaden was, they were nice guys, but they never had to deal with being Targets. They never knew what that was like until they met me and saw how Trent treated me.
I think they understood something about me just then.
Jaden slowed until I came alongside him and rested his arm across my shoulder.
“You’re a cool guy, Darius,” he said. “You don’t deserve that.”
And Gabe took my other side and said, “We’ve got your back.”
I wanted to cry.
Just a little bit.
But I couldn’t do that in front of them.
So instead I said, “Thanks. But it’s best not to dwell on such minutiae.”
CATASTROPHIC HULL BREACH
“How’d you do?” Chip asked. He was already dressed for practice, leaning up against a locker with his arms folded as I laced up my cleats.
“Hm?”
“On your algebra.”
“Got a C. Hanging in there.”
“You want to go over it later?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
I studied Chip.
He wasn’t grinning at me—not really—but there was something going on in his brown eyes. The ghost of a grin, maybe. Or a temporal echo of a grin he hadn’t actually grinned yet.
“Okay,” I said. “Sure. Thanks.”
I adjusted my shin guards and followed Chip out to the field.
“Coach Winfield had us doing wind sprints today,” I said. “If I die during practice, tell my tea I love it.”
“If you die during practice, can I have your locker?”
Chip’s was at the other end of the locker room, with all the football players—one last legacy of his time on the Chapel Hill High School junior varsity football team. At least once a week he complained the smell was getting to him.
“All right, Chargers!” Coach Bentley called as we hit the field. “Give me a couple laps and then circle up at the whistle!”
Chip patted my back and then broke into a jog. I kept pace with him despite the burning in my legs. We passed Jaden, who looked like he was hurting as bad as me. Gabe ran like he always did, sure-footed and swift and tireless, like he hadn’t done an hour of wind sprints after lunch.
Halfway through our fifth lap, Coach blew her whistle twice, and we circled up by one of the goalposts.
The rainy morning had given way to an overcast afternoon, and the cool breeze cut right through my jersey and had me shivering where I stood. We linked hands, and I was grateful to be squeezed between Chip’s and James’s warm bodies.
Coach started us off. “You all won our first game, and I’m proud of you for that. But I’m more proud of all the hard work you’ve put in. Let’s keep it going.”
Jonny Without an H told us all how Jaden had spotted him lunch money; and Gabe told us how Ricky had proofread his assignment in their Creative Writing class.
Next to me, Chip said, “I was in a really bad mood this morning, but I ran into Darius and we biked to school together. It made me feel a lot better. Thanks, Darius.”
He gave my hand a little squeeze.
My ears burned.
I hadn’t done it on purpose.
I didn’t deserve Chip’s praise.
Then it was my turn, so I said, “Chip said he’d help me with Algebra II. I could really use the help.