Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Torres understood what Jeremy didn’t say. “I suppose he wouldn’t know us. We’ve always been irrelevant to the Ravens.”
“You had a really strong season last year,” Jeremy said. “I’m excited to see how you’ve built off of that and kept the momentum going.”
Whatever Torres had to say on the matter was drowned out by the next announcement: “White Ridge Bobcats now in attendance. Coach Jones, Coach Caper, Coach Hatcher. Captain Thomas Ennis, vice-captains Peggy Walter and Adam West.”
Jeremy’s stare went unbidden to the newest arrivals. The largest team in the west, there were thirty-three Bobcats on this year’s roster. With a dozen-odd dates in the mix, the line seemed to go on forever. Jeremy wasn’t surprised to see them seated a safe distance from USC, as Arizona saw no benefit to stoking antagonism this early in the season. The Bobcats had placed second in the district almost as many years as USC placed first, and it was always a toss-up as to who’d win their fall showdown.
Torres didn’t seem to notice his distraction. He still had his eyes on Jean as he asked, “How are you liking the Trojans? Bit different from the Ravens, I assume.”
“Yes,” Jean said, and didn’t elaborate.
The seat across from Jean was already taken, but another Wildcat approached to steal it. When her teammate didn’t immediately get up, she rapped him on the shoulder with an impatient, “Move.” He heaved a put-upon sigh as he relinquished the spot to her, and she almost hip-checked him in her hurry to sit down. It took Jeremy a moment to recognize her without her gear on, but the number hanging from her neck confirmed her as one of the Wildcats’ goalkeepers.
The Canadian, he remembered, a half-second before she launched rapid-fire French across the table at Jean. Jean stared at her in dead silence for several moments before answering, and it was her turn to size him up with a fierce frown. Jeremy looked from one to the other, idly wondering how he could police Jean’s rudeness if he couldn’t understand what he was saying. Both players looked equally annoyed, but not enough to call it off.
“You two good?” Jeremy asked.
“Probably talking mad shit about us,” Torres said, nudging his goalkeeper.
“His is hands down the worst accent I’ve ever heard,” she said.
Jean’s scandalized, “Mine?” startled a laugh out of her, and they went back to harassing one another. Torres offered Jeremy a helpless shrug, and Jeremy sat back to listen. He’d assumed Jean was naturally introverted, not hesitant to speak, but the easy way he held his own against this stranger was eye-opening.
Jeremy mulled it over, trying to make sense of it. Jean had always been a touch defensive about his English proficiency, even as he was willing to hide behind the excuse of a language barrier when he didn’t want to speak to someone. Five years of immersion in the US should have given him a bit more confidence, except even as Jeremy thought it, he felt the missing pieces fall into place. He’d told Jeremy at Hannah Bailey’s office that he’d learned reading and writing via his coursework—the same day he’d said, “my year of English lessons.”
“I was not allowed to speak French at the Nest,” he’d said. He’d been allowed a single year to study English before being shoved into the deep end at Evermore. Jeremy wondered how patient the Ravens had been with the bewildered foreigner dropped in their midst. Not very, he assumed, and it made him ache. On its heels was renewed determination to master French, and he checked his phone to see if William had secured him a tutor yet. The last message he’d received was a simple promise that he would look.
A text came in from Ivan Faser as Jeremy was about to put his phone away: “Where you staying tonight?” Jeremy glanced down the length of the table to where the backliner was sitting. The junior offered him a rakish, hungry smile when their eyes met, and Jeremy teetered between need and revulsion. Faser was very good and very enthusiastic, but Jeremy didn’t know if he could drag someone to bed here without tearing open too many memories.
“Ask me later,” he sent back. “I might have other plans.”
“Lame,” was the response, followed by a string of frowning faces.
Jeremy shrugged an apology at him, and Faser turned his attention to the Trojans across from him. The arrival of two more teams back-to-back brought an end to Jean’s conversation; the goalkeeper’s face lit up as the second one was announced and she excused herself from her seat to hurry away. Jeremy didn’t ask, but Torres saw his nonplussed look and said, “Her boyfriend plays for Nevada.”
Jeremy nodded easy acceptance. “How many are left to arrive?”
Torres tipped his head back to think. “With Nevada and San Francisco, we should be at ten teams, so... three to go? Couldn’t tell you who, though, I wasn’t paying enough attention. Make that two,” he added as he was interrupted by another announcement. One of the Wildcats players came over to speak into his ear, pointing across the room, and Torres caught Jeremy’s eye before tipping his head. Jeremy nodded understanding, and the two Wildcats left together.