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)
The hot weight of fingers around his wrist snatched him back from dangerous thoughts, and Jean was almost startled into looking Rhemann in the face. He hesitated when he realized he’d dug half-moon marks into the back of his hand. Slowly he relaxed his grip, and Rhemann released him shortly thereafter.
“And you think you’re steady enough to be on the court,” Rhemann said.
It wasn’t quite a question, but Jean knew he was two seconds from being relegated to the bleachers all afternoon if he didn’t work his way back into Rhemann’s good graces. “This won’t impact my performance, Coach,” Jean said, lifting one hand to his temple. “I am perfect Court; I can always play. I will not fail you. Please let me prove it.”
“Has it occurred to you that there is no perfect Court anymore?” Rhemann asked. “It was Moriyama’s obsessive daydream, and he is unfortunately no longer with us. Day rejected his place in it, and Josten only had his number for a few months. You’re the last man standing. I’m not questioning your skill or dedication,” he added, putting a hand up like he honestly expected Jean to argue, “but you’ve got to start looking beyond that narrow dream. If there’s no perfect Court, there’s just you, and you have to take care of you. You’ve got to learn how sooner rather than later. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Look at me when you say it.”
Jean dragged his stare up and knew immediately from the look on Rhemann’s face that “Yes” was not the right answer. He amended it to an “I’m trying, Coach,” and that was enough to take some of the stiffness out of Rhemann’s expression.
“Here’s the deal,” Rhemann said, and waited to make sure Jean was listening. “I’m going to let you participate in drills and scrimmages this afternoon on the condition you pull yourself should anything start acting up. On top of that,” he said before Jean could respond, “I want you to call Dr. Dobson and see if she can speak with you once a week until your regular schedule starts in August. I will follow up with you tomorrow to see what her response is.”
Jean could see no quick way out of it. “Yes, Coach.”
“All right.” Rhemann rolled his chair out of Jean’s space and said, “Go suit up.”
Jean went for his locker like he thought Rhemann would change his mind. As soon as he lifted his helmet off its hook, Cody made a loud yipping sound. It was picked up by the rest of the defensemen in increasing volume, and Jean sent a nonplussed look at Cat when she joined in. She just grinned and knocked her helmet to his in encouragement. Jean wrote the line off as a half-mad loss and focused on getting changed.
Jimenez and White took turns putting the Trojans through their paces: suicide runs, cone drills, and a half-dozen other exercises that put a good ache in their thighs and a steady prickle of sweat down their backs. After a week it was easier to remember where the Trojans tweaked theirs from standard—or where the Ravens had, Jean wasn’t sure—and Jean was content to throw himself into everything the coaches put in front of him. Thinking about Exy was easy, and it was loud enough and big enough to drown out all the rest.
The first partner drill of the day was a basic one: a simple push and shove to practice getting past each other. All last week Jean had been working with Jeremy, but today Derrick came jogging over with a wild smile.
“Okay, okay, let’s see it,” he said. “Show me why my stance is bad.”
“You should already know,” Jean said as Derrick settled in front of him.
White hadn’t blown his whistle yet, but Derrick was already moving, bobbing almost imperceptibly. It sent him rocking on his feet, a subtle heel to toe and side to side that Jean assumed made it easy for him to change direction on a whim. Besides being irritating, its fatal flaw was how predictable it was. Like Derrick had said earlier: he was bobbing to music only he could hear. He was slave to a beat, and Jean could count it out with little effort. As soon as White blew the whistle, Jean put his foot forward. He caught the underside of Derrick’s foot right as he was shifting, and Derrick teetered off-balance immediately.
“Danger, Will Robinson,” Derrick yelped as he stumbled.
There was no such person on the team, so Jean waited in silence for him to take his place again. Derrick almost immediately settled back into his rhythm, and Jean idly counted it as he waited for the whistle. The timing this second time let Derrick get a step on him, but Jean didn’t try to follow; he didn’t have to. He simply darted his foot out to the side and got his toes right into Derrick’s arch again.