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 Trojans filed out of the stadium in a straggling line. The reminder that Jean should be a sophomore had taken some of the cheer out of them, or maybe that was Lucas’s abject misery infecting the rest. How long it would take them to realize what Lucas was referring to, Jeremy wasn’t sure; they’d all heard rumors about how Jean made the Ravens’ lineup, but they’d moved on from such outlandish gossip months ago. Hopefully it would stay forgotten, and they’d get too distracted by Lucas’s grief and Jean’s parents to worry about the crueler details.
Lucas was only twenty minutes behind them in making it to Lyon. His teammates were heartened by his arrival, assuming he’d sorted out whatever was bothering him, and rallied around him with good cheer that sounded less forced by the minute. The mood was almost normal when they finally left, but getting intercepted on the way back to the stadium by a handful of reporters didn’t help. Luckily Shawn and Shane didn’t need to be asked, and they ran interference with too-bright smiles and easy reassurances.
Knowing the press was around had Jeremy’s group sticking to the locker rooms at lunch. They’d just gotten settled in one of the huddle rooms when Ananya came looking for them. She folded her arms across her chest as she said, “Your continued crusade against my racquet is admirable but unnecessary. I told you I like lighter racquets.”
That Lucas had passed on Jean’s demand was unexpected, but Jean seemed more annoyed than pleased as he pushed his rice in agitated circles. “This time it is about his mistakes, not yours. He relies too much on power and not at all on finesse. He would be stronger in the long run if a lighter touch forced him to rethink his style. If you won’t come to your senses at least loan him one of your spares today.”
Ananya considered that for a few moments, then sighed and set a box of Band-Aids near his bowl. Jean went still to frown at it, and Ananya motioned to it as she stepped back. “Emma was too afraid to bring you these herself since she wasn’t sure how you’d react. They’re for your fingers,” she explained, crooking her fingers at him to show him her painted nails. “In her wrap-up Hannah mentioned how you hurt yourself whenever she made you uncomfortable, and it made Emma think about how often she’s seen you at it this summer.”
“Oh, I like it.” Cat upended the box and started stripping paper off. “Pick a hand to start with!”
“You aren’t serious,” Jean said.
Jeremy didn’t think Jean would let her get away with this, but then Cat pressed a careful thumb to the fresh scabs on his throat. Jean muttered something rude in French but offered his left hand. Ananya nodded satisfaction as she left to finish her own lunch, and Cat made short work of the task set before her. She covered each of Jean’s fingers with two Band-Aids, one over the nail and one around the fingertip to hold the first in place. Jean considered her handiwork with distaste as she carried her trash away, but he didn’t bother to peel any of the bandages loose.
Afternoon practice felt a little stilted, leaving Jeremy to wonder how much his teammates had been gossiping over lunch, but no one was cruel enough to voice their speculations on the court. The only real fuss came from Derek and Derrick, who started gleefully referring to Jean as “lil bro” during the final scrimmage. Jean tripped them both so violently he was almost pulled from the line, but they defended him stridently enough that White simply switched them to mark Cody and Pat.
It bought Jean only forty minutes of peace, as the pair hounded him all the way to the showers after practice for a French equivalent to call him. Jeremy idly wondered if he ought to intervene, but Jean seemed more confused than distressed: offended by their excitement over his age and bewildered by their persistent good humor in the face of his caustic irritation. He obviously wasn’t used to being teased, or maybe it was the complete lack of maliciousness behind their jokes that threw him off his game.
Xavier finally arrived at the showers and took stock of Jean’s predicament in a glance. A helpless smile twitched at his lips as he announced, “I see the bazonga line is in full menace mode today.”
“Wow,” Derek protested. “I thought we moved past that nickname like two years ago.”
Derrick clocked Jean’s lost look and made an exaggerated gesture near his own chest. “Derek and Derrick, double D? Jillian really thought she was funny with that one. A step up from being the Oreo line, at least.” He reached past Jean to thunk Derek in the shoulder. “Speaking of bazongas, don’t forget to show Jean a picture of Cherise. I would literally slit my throat for her. Please tell her I said that.”