guarantee the rumor ring’s firing on all cylinders right now. Not to mention how the three are known to tune out the world when on the court in uniform and were seen paying more mind to me than the game tonight. Yeah, people are gonna talk.
Fuck them.
I don’t even consider moving from my seat as the team exits and the crowd disperses.
As I expected, Bass attempts to talk to me, but I shake my head and look away. He knows damn well I’m not interested in his backward worries – too little too late.
The guys take longer than normal in the locker room this time, likely getting reamed by their coach, and when they do come out, they’re the only ones to step through the double doors.
All three sets of eyes zone in on me, making sure I’m still where they left me.
They slow their steps enough for me to catch up and together we head for Captain’s Denali.
Once we’re all seated, they take a few deep breaths before turning the engine over.
My stomach turns as anxiousness begins to grow inside me.
Any time now they’ll start in, demanding answers, and no matter how many times I’ve played out the conversation in my head, preparing myself for possible questions and coming up with preplanned answers, none of them are believable.
I’m not even sure I could flat out lie to their faces when it came down to it.
Thankfully, they seem just as damn done with the day as me.
Captain heads straight for the house, dinner is skipped, and everyone moves for their own rooms. They lock themselves inside, so I do the same.
I throw myself back on the mattress, sucking in a lung full of air.
Perkins said he got a transfer form on his desk today. That happened so much faster than I anticipated.
My time with them is almost up.
After an hour of sitting on the couch, waiting for at least one of the boys to come down, it’s clear not one of them plans on going to school today, all three are likely burnt out after the last few days with little to no chill time. And I sure as shit couldn’t care less about going, so I head into the kitchen to try and find some kind of food I can make on my own.
I scan through all their fresh ingredients and weird worded foreign shit I’ve never even seen before, let alone tried, digging out an old pack of Eggos. I’m pretty sure they’re covered in freezer burn, but I go for it anyway. It’s not like I’ve never eaten old or expired food that people claim is still good.
Nothing in my house ever lasted long enough to get old, but everything that came from the church was a solid week or more past the ‘best by’ or expiration date. The only thing that didn’t come expired was the milk, when we were lucky enough to get it.
I was always the one to have to go down on donation days. Being a kid all alone in a line full of mostly adults, their bleeding hearts felt bad and they’d give me more than the others, something they thought would brighten my eyes a little. It did. The one extra box of semi-stale cereal or a jar of canned jelly to go with the cheap Peter Pan peanut butter would honestly make my day, and sometimes my month when a spoonful of each was what held me over at home until the school days where I’d eat free meals in the cafeteria.
I stopped going to the donation centers though when I saw one of the other moms from my trailer park, who was there with her youngest kid, get turned away for lack of goods.
I’d heard my mom try to turn her out once, but she wasn’t one to run tricks to buy her drugs like my mom. No, she chose to sell her food stamps instead. So, without the church’s food, her kids simply didn’t eat. She was never hungry since her drug of choice was meth, so I doubt she even noticed all the times her kids would make their way to other neighbors’ houses hoping for an invite to stay and eat that didn’t always come.
They were only five and seven. I was nine.
I left my box on their steps that day.
I think that was the moment I realized other people had it worse than me.
If I could go back there and pull all those kids from