Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 87395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
The rest of the walls were covered in photographs. Some of them were official: team photos, snapshots of the Foxes' goals, and pictures obviously clipped from newspapers. The majority of the pictures looked like they'd been taken by one of the Foxes themselves. These were scattered anywhere they could fit and held up by tape. Taking up one entire corner was a clump of photos featuring the Foxes' three ladies.
Exy was a co-ed sport, but few colleges wanted women on their lines. According to Fox lore, Palmetto State refused to approve any of the women Wymack asked for his first year. After the Foxes' trainwreck first season, they were a little more willing to listen, and Wymack signed three women. On top of that, he made Danielle Wilds the first female captain in NCAA Class I Exy.
If Exy fans weren't kind to the Foxes, they were downright cruel to Danielle. Even her teammates were willing to shred her in public during her first year. The more outspoken misogynists blamed her for the Foxes' failings. Despite the controversy and with only Wymack at her back, Danielle held onto her position. Three years later, it was obvious Wymack made the right choice. The Foxes were still a mess but they fell in behind Danielle and slowly started racking up wins.
Neil's mental picture of Danielle was that of an aggressive and unrelenting woman, but the pictures he was looking at undermined that impression. Danielle was smiling in every photo, a toothy grin that was equal parts menace and mirth.
Nicky noticed his distraction and tapped the faces in the closest photograph. "Dan, Renee, and Allison. Dan's good people, but she'll work you to the bone. Allison's a catty bitch you should avoid at all costs. Renee's a sweetheart. Be nice to her."
"Or else?" Neil asked, because he could hear it in Nicky's tone.
Nicky only smiled and shrugged.
"Let's go," Kevin said.
Neil followed him out of the lounge. A hallway led from the lounge past two office doors labeled DAVID WYMACK and ABIGAIL WINFIELD. A door with a simple red cross on it was next. Further down two doors opposite each other were marked LADIES and GENTLEMEN. Kevin pushed open the GENTLEMEN door a bit, showing Neil a quick glimpse of bright orange lockers, benches, and tiled floor. Neil wanted to explore, but Kevin wasn't slowing on his way down the hall.
The hall dead-ended at a large room Neil dimly remembered from news clips. It was the room that opened into the stadium and the only place where the press could meet Foxes after games for interviews and photographs. Orange benches were set here and there, and the floor was white tile with orange paw prints. Orange cones were stacked in a corner, three deep and six high. A white door was on the wall to Neil's right, and an orange door was opposite him.
"Welcome to the foyer," Nicky said. "That's what we call it, anyway. By 'we' I mean whatever clever smartass preceded us."
Andrew straddled one of the benches and dug a bottle of pills out of his pocket. Aaron handed Kevin the whiskey they'd snitched. Kevin brought it to Andrew, waited while Andrew shook a pill onto the bench in front of him, and traded him the whiskey for the pill bottle. The medicine disappeared into one of Kevin's pockets, and Andrew swallowed the pill with an impressive swig of whiskey.
Kevin looked at Neil and gestured to the plain door across the room. "Gear closet."
"Can we—?" Neil started.
Kevin didn't let him finish. "Bring your keys."
Neil met him at the orange door and let Kevin pick out the right key. The other side of the doorway was darkness. There wasn't a ceiling, but Neil could see the walls rising up on either side. Neil followed Kevin into the shadows. Ten steps later he realized they must be in the stadium itself.
"You get to see the Foxhole Court looking its best," Nicky said behind him. "We made enough money off Kevin's presence we could get the floors refurbished and walls done. Cleanest this place has been since year one."
Light from the locker room bled into the stadium, the path to the inner court was too long for it to be much help. Inner court was mostly inky shadows with vague outlines. Neil closed his eyes and tried to imagine it. This space was reserved for the referees, cheerleaders, and teams. Somewhere around here were the Foxes' home benches. The plexiglass walls surrounding the court were invisible in the dark, as was the court itself, but knowing the court was there set Neil's heart racing.
"Lights," Aaron called from somewhere behind them.
Neil heard the hum of electricity before the lights came on, starting with emergency lights at his feet and cascading upwards. The stadium came to life before his eyes, row after row of alternating orange and white seats disappearing into sky-high rafters and the court lighting up in front of him. Neil was moving before the ceiling lights turned on, crossing the inner court to the court walls. He pressed his hands to the thick, cold plastic and looked up, where the scoreboards and replay TVs hung over the court's ceiling, then down to the glossy wood. Orange lines marked first, half, and far court. It was perfect, utterly perfect, and Neil felt at once inspired and horrified by the sight of it. How could he possibly play here after playing on Millport's pathetic knockoff court?
He closed his eyes and breathed in, breathed out, imagining the way bodies sounded as they crashed into each other on the court, the way the announcer's voice would only come through in muffled, scattered bursts, the roar of sixtyfive thousand people reacting to a goal. He knew he didn't deserve this, knew beyond a doubt he wasn't good enough to play on this court, but he wanted and needed it so badly he ached all over.
For three and a half weeks, it would be just the five of them, but in June the Foxes would move in for summer practices and in August the season would begin. Neil opened his eyes again, looked at the court, and knew he'd made the right decision. The risks didn't matter; the consequences would be worth it. He had to be here. He had to play on this court at least once. He had to know if the crowd screamed loud enough to blow the roof off. He had to smell the sweat and overpriced stadium food. He needed to hear the buzzer sound as a ball slammed inside the white goal lines and lit the walls up red.