Alley-Oops I Think I'm Falling in Love (With the Wrong Guy)

[14] Glutton for Punishment

It was such a waste of his talent.

After a particularly disheartening practice, I shuffled out of the locker room, my legs feeling like weights. The walk home was not going to be pleasant, I winced at how dark it was outside. Despite it being midday, it looked like night would soon fall. A blanket of roiling black clouds blotted out the sun and a rumble of thunder sounded as my fingers brushed against the cold metal of the interior door.

I groaned as fat raindrops pelted the windows and instantly darkened the cement sidewalks. I didn't have a phone and my parents were unlikely to answer even if I did call. My best bet was to wait it out.

I could hear the screeching of Roscoe's sneakers on the hardwood as he ran his laps and one of the coaches heckled him to push harder. Why did he do this to himself? Surely he knew by now that Coach Brown wasn't the one to get into a pissing contest with.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Coach Brown strolled out into the corridor and caught sight of me. "Do you have a ride?" He asked, looking over my shoulder at the storm raging outside.

I felt my cheeks redden as I lied, "Uh... yeah..."

I didn't want him to feel like he had to babysit me until the rain cleared up. I'd done this dance before. Best to say your ride was just around the corner.

A wrinkle appeared at his brow, but he let it go and he continued on into his office. Once his door closed, I pushed through the first set of double doors and sat down with my back against the wall. Now, if he re-entered the corridor it would appear as if my ride had come in the interim and I could keep an eye on the rain.

I let my head fall back against the cold, red brick and my mind wandered lazily towards my favorite day dream as of late — the one where Taylor Arroyo pinned me against the locker room door. Things were just getting steamy, when agitated voices ripped me from my fantasy.

"Aria shouldn't have got the jump on you today, but you know why she did?" Coach Brown's voice sounded, rattling me. "Because while you've been up partying all night, getting your ass whooped, or sleeping around, she is locked in.

"She does back-to-back training sessions. She takes a beating from you guys and returns to do it all over again the next day. She's stacking reps and you're just out here floating. What happened to you? This isn't who your father raised you to be."

"Keep my old man out of it." Roscoe groused, with a surprising amount of venom. I could hear their footsteps approaching.

I stiffened, pressing my back into the wall.

"No, I've tip-toed around this long enough, Roscoe. I've let a lot of shit slide with you, because of my love for your old man and be caused account of your mom asked me to look out for you. But this ain't working — you damn near run a marathon after practice every day and you still can't be bothered to show up on time. You are a generational player, but it won't mean shit if you're not coachable. I'm doing you a disservice by keeping you on my team. I think it's time we consider the possibility—"

"Coach, don't—" Roscoe interrupted, his usual aloofness gone. "I don't want to play anywhere else, or for anyone else. My dad wanted me to play for you, that was his dream. I'll change, I'll do whatever I gotta do, just... don't kick me off."

Coach Brown sighed, "It's not because I want to get rid of you, Roscoe. Your dad was my best friend. You're my godson. I'm trying to do what's best for you.

"You're headed down a dangerous road and I don't know how to make you see it. First it was the underage drinking, then your grades started slipping, now you've just given up on the thing you love most? When I used to work with you, your dad had to pry you out of the gym. Maybe a different coach is exactly what you need."

"I'll get right. I swear, Coach." Roscoe said, his tone desperate.

I didn't want to hear this, it was too personal, too... I don't know... unfair? I loathed Roscoe. I'd do just about anything to see him fall, but the idea of using his grief against him was repugnant. That was one line I would not cross.

My skin felt like hundreds of little pine nettles were jabbing into it, mirroring the discomfort I felt inside. I shrank in on myself, hoping to give them what privacy I could. I hadn't tried to ease-drop, but the evidence was pretty damning — it looked like I was crouching down to hide behind the door.

Biting my lip, I frantically dug through my bag for my headphones. Just as I shoved them into my ears, the doors swung open and Coach Brown looked down at me in surprise.

Coach Brown scanned the horizon and the torrent of water still cascading down the window, then his hazel eyes turned back to me.

"You sure you have a ride?" He asked. I plucked one of the headphones out of my ears, pretending like I'd had them in all along.

I nodded hesitantly, my muscles tightening as I strained against the lie again. He glanced over his shoulder at Roscoe who had just appeared, looking more broody than the storm outside.

"That chance you asked for, it starts now." Coach Brown ordered, moving into Roscoe's line of sight. He beckoned at me, "Stay with Aria until her ride gets here. It's your job to make sure she gets home safe. You want to be on this team? Start looking out for your teammates, thinking about someone other than yourself."

"She isn't—" Roscoe argued, but swiftly clamped his mouth shut at the warning tilt of Coach's chin. Roscoe didn't dare take out his anger on him, so his golden eyes drilled into me with icy resentment.

"I need to see a change to your patterns, Roscoe." He reiterated.

I could see the muscle flickering at Roscoe's temple and the fire in his eyes, but his voice was deep and smooth, "I got you, Coach." He replied.

Satisfied, Coach Brown pulled on his hood and ducked out into the storm, leaving me alone with the Dark Lord of Hoops.