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)
“I will never understand you,” Cody said, with only fondness in their voice.
“Cody can’t make anything more complicated than grits,” Cat told Jean before jabbing an accusatory finger at Cody. “They’re almost as useless as Jeremy is in the kitchen. Jeremy’s got a private chef. What’s your excuse?”
“Laziness,” Cody admitted without hesitation or shame.
“Living off cereal and takeout is why you’re so short,” Cat decided.
Cody leaned toward Jean. “Don’t listen to her. Mom is four-ten.”
Jean stared. “You’re lying.”
“No, look, I got a picture of her here.” Cody rocked to one side to dig their wallet out. The plastic flap that should have held their ID instead had a picture of Cody and Mrs. Winter. Jean wasn’t sure what was more appalling: the thick neon green hair Cody sported in the photograph or how abysmally short their mother was. That Cody had gotten to five-five was a miracle of nature, even if it made them the third shortest on the team after Min Cai and Emma.
Jean cast a sidelong look at Cody’s current hair, which was now buzzcut and fire engine red. “Do you even remember what color your hair is supposed to be?”
“Oh, blond,” Cody said, and grinned over at Jeremy. “Naturally blond.”
“Explains a lot, honestly,” Cat said. Her watch beeped a warning, and she packed her dirty dishes into the lunchbox with a melodramatic sigh. “Lunch gets faster and faster every day, I swear. We ready?”
They headed back to the stadium as a straggling group. Cat and Cody went a mile a minute about an upcoming event, but Jean stopped listening when he realized they were talking about one of their online games. Jeremy was drumming an uneven beat on the back of his guidebook with his blunt fingernails. Halfway back to the stadium he thought to look over at Jean and ask,
“Are you up for it? Going with Cody, I mean.”
“It is a more practical use of my time than a museum.”
Cat interrupted herself to offer an indignant, “I heard that!”
“Jeremy is also terrible company,” Laila said. “The last time we tried to bring him anywhere cultured he disappeared on us almost immediately. Said he was going to the bathroom and ended up dozing in the café near the gift shop. It took us almost an hour to realize he hadn’t come back.”
Jeremy answered her accusatory look with a toothy smile. “If you didn’t even miss me, no harm no foul.”
They were among the first back, and Coach Jimenez was lying in wait for them. He motioned Jean over and sent him along to the nurses’ corridor for a quick check-up. Jeffrey Davis was on duty today, and Coach Rhemann was waiting with him. Jean tolerated Davis’s poking and prodding in silence, hoping his pliant behavior would win Rhemann’s favor. Rather than give a verdict, Davis just motioned and left the room. Jean looked from the closed door to the whistle hanging from Rhemann’s neck.
“Your teammates are of the unanimous opinion we should put you in for drills today,” Rhemann said. “Davis seems to think you’re up for it physically, but I want to know where your head is.” He folded his arms across his chest and rolled his stool closer to Jean. It was an attempt to catch his eye, but Jean skirted it easily. “Thompson was careless enough to admit he thought the violence would do you good, but I don’t want you out there if you’re going to hurt yourself or them.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Can you play today as a Trojan?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“You’re allowed to think about it,” Rhemann said wryly. “I would trust you more if you did.”
“Yes, Coach.”
Rhemann studied him. The longer they sat, the more certain Jean was he’d done something wrong. Or was Rhemann waiting for him to answer again? Jean weighed the potential consequences of speaking out of turn and decided silence was the better course of action. In the end Rhemann cracked first.
“When is your first session with Dr... Dobson?” he finished, a little uncertainly.
“First week of August, Coach,” Jean said.
“And there it is,” was the weary response. “Last Thursday you sat in this exact spot and said you were going to call her. As soon as you got home, you said.” He waited a beat, but Jean sat silent and frozen. “There is only so much we can do for you here. I want to know you’re getting the help you need.”
Jean clawed for the only thing that might save him: “I had an unexpected guest, Coach.”
Rhemann’s face was inscrutable. “Neil Josten. Is he getting you into trouble?”
That malfunctioning cretin existed to cause trouble for everyone in a thousand-mile radius, but Jean only said, “No, Coach.” When it was obvious that wasn’t a reassuring enough answer, he added, “I had asked him to look into something for me, so he was sharing the results.” An easy enough lie, since it was the foundation of what they’d told the FBI. Neil had told Browning he was in Los Angeles to hear what Stuart Hatford had found out about—