Sworn Enemies - Rebel Hart Page 0,1
to our favorite bar, where my brother also happened to work, to get some discounted drinks and watch the Montpelier Vipers play semi-pro ball.
“Mornin’ Quinn.” The grate of the security gate blocking the front doors screeched out, nearly drowning out Jansen. Jansen was always the next person in after me at MontRec on Wednesdays. She had some senior swimming classes in the morning and then led some of the kids’ classes in the afternoon. She was also a Widow, one of our wide receivers. “Happy Wednesday.”
“You too. Ready for some football tonight?” I high-fived her as I passed her by on the way to the breaker to flip on the community center’s lights.
“You know it. I know you are, so I won’t even ask.” Jansen was tall and thin, with long blonde hair and crystal-blue eyes. She was a typical cheerleader type, but when it came to football, she preferred to be on the field instead of cheering next to it. “Spritz after practice for the Vipers versus Minnesota, yeah?”
I watched as the lights clicked on one by one, staring at each of the sub-rooms to make sure they illuminated, as well. “Yep. Hollie and Kris are in, too.”
Jansen wiggled her hips in a little dance as she walked toward the back where the pool was. “I can’t wait.” She was out of sight a moment later.
The day passed by just like any other. We didn’t schedule any programs between noon and three o’clock on Wednesdays so that we could flip MontRec and get it ready for the influx of kids. We started the three-hour prep time with our provided pizza lunch, and then we all buzzed around, getting things in place. MontRec wasn’t a five-star facility by any means, but it had a lot of expensive stuff that I simply felt better having padded or out of sight. Each of the program directors was responsible for getting their own room ready, and I filled in where I was needed.
Around the time that schools let out, the kids arrived. I stood at the front door, offering high fives and hugs to those that wanted them and moody, silent head nods to the older teens. From three to four-thirty, I walked around and looked in on all the classes. The kindergarten Run, Jump, and Play classes helped keep the babies active. In the middle school Busy Bodies, Busy Town program, the kids created and ran their own city to prepare for the adult world. They were in week five and had already established a bank and mini-MontRec, which made me proud. The high-schoolers mostly had tutoring and grad-prep programs, but there was one athletic program that Jansen led, my favorite of the bunch—the MontRec PowderPuff Prep League. Ninth and tenth-grade girls who wanted to try out for our high-school’s junior varsity and varsity football teams could prepare and practice as a group.
“Oh, looks like we have a visitor.” Jansen motioned me onto the field when she noticed me standing behind the fence. “The captain of my football team, Quinn Dallen.”
One of the girls let out a little gasp. “Are you number twenty-eight?”
I unzipped my sweat jacket and revealed my t-shirt underneath. It was one of our Black Widows’ t-shirts, gray cotton with a black spider on the front, but instead of a black widow’s notable red keyhole shape on its back, we each had our numbers in red. I pointed to the number twenty-eight in the middle of my spider, and the girl squealed.
“Looks like you guys are doing good work! You’re learning from the best, so I won’t take up your time.” I smiled at them and could see myself reflecting back at me in each of them. “Good luck. You can tell Coach Cal I said hi.”
I didn’t hang around because if I did, I’d end up getting lost in the fun. I still had my own practice to prepare for, so I left MontRec’s personal football field, designed and painfully painted by me, and headed back into the center.
Most of the Widows’ practice gear would already be outside from Jansen’s class, but the really important stuff—our regulation footballs, jerseys, and pads—I kept locked in my office. Not only were they among some of the most expensive things in MontRec, but they were also the most important to me. I entered my office, unlocked the closet, and started to pull everything out.
“Coach.”
“Jesus.” I jumped and hit my head on the rod that fed through the closet and had the