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)
“You would win,” Jean insisted.
“Yes, but would I enjoy it?”
“Presumably more than you would enjoy a loss, if you actually cared.”
Nabil turned a look of calm rebuke on him. “I do care,” he said, quiet but firm. “That’s why I want to play it my way. If I have to be a Raven or a robot to take first place, then what is the point?”
It didn’t make sense, but Jean was done arguing with these brick walls. He pushed Nabil aside to start for the court door, and Nabil didn’t try to call him back.
Jean made it two steps off the court before Jimenez flagged him down and redirected him to the nurses’ ward. Jean peeled out of his gloves so Davis could give his wrist a cursory check. Jean was beyond tired of these questions and this prodding; he’d said on Friday he was fine, and his answers hadn’t changed. Their obsession with his injuries was grating, as it only drove home how readily they would take him off the court. But Jean couldn’t argue with a nurse, especially with Coach Jimenez watching from the doorway.
At last Davis sat back. “Everything seems to be healing well. He’s all yours,” Davis said over his shoulder. “Until you bang him up again, anyway.”
Jimenez lifted his fingers from one bicep to motion Jean out of the room. “You’re free to go, then. Good work today. Form looked good.”
“Thank you, Coach.”
The delay meant he was the last to the showers by several minutes. Unsurprisingly, Jeremy was still standing under the spray as he chatted with Sebastian and Preston. Jean wouldn’t let his gaze linger, but he saw enough to put a hungry knot in his gut.
Luckily Xavier served as an easy distraction to find his footing. All last week Jean had been in and out before Xavier ever showed up, but today Jean had been delayed long enough for the vice-captain to beat him here. Jean might not have given him more than a passing thought, but Xavier was showering with black shorts on. Jean considered asking, decided he didn’t care enough to endure a conversation, and found a showerhead as far away from the others as he could manage.
It bought him only thirty seconds of peace before Tanner appeared at his side. The freshman backliner was scrubbing furiously at his hair as he stared owl-eyed up at Jean. He didn’t wait for Jean to acknowledge his uninvited presence before asking, “How did you learn to pass like that?”
“The obvious answer would be drills,” Jean said.
“Well, yeah,” Tanner allowed, “but I mean, I’ve been playing almost nine years now and I can’t throw like that. What kind of drills are we talking about? Is there a book? A video? Can it be taught?”
Jean thought about Evermore’s eight precision drills that took Raven freshmen anywhere from weeks to months to master. Perfecting them was the only way to earn game time at Edgar Allan, and the consequences for failing were brutal.
For a moment Jean was looking through Tanner at Ryan, a freshman who’d started alongside Jean. He’d had so much promise, but he never could get past the fifth drill. No amount of hazing from his teammates or beatings from the coaches could unlock what he needed. One day the master finally hit him a few too many times. The official cause of death was a hit and run, an unfortunate accident suffered when making laps around campus between classes. His partner had obediently confirmed the story to anyone who asked.
“Ummm... Is that a no?” Tanner asked.
Jean forcibly focused on the upturned face in front of him as he cranked the water off. “It can be taught. Whether it can be learned is another story.”
“I can learn,” Tanner was quick to say, but Jean was already turning away. “I promise!”
“Perhaps,” Jean said noncommittally as he headed for the door.
“You really do shower like you’re allergic to water,” Xavier commented as Jean drew even with him again. “I’d heard you were insanely fast, but I thought it was an exaggeration.”
“Military shower.” That confident declaration was from Preston. “My sister’s quick like that whenever she comes home.”
“Oh, wow,” Tanner said. “I didn’t know you served.”
Jean slowly turned to stare at him, sure he’d misheard. But Tanner looked genuinely interested, and Preston gave no sign he was aware of his idiocy. The least Jeremy could do was look ashamed by the braindead fools he was captaining, but his too-wide smile said he was seconds from bursting into helpless laughter. Jean scowled at him, and Jeremy only tipped his head into the spray to send water streaming down his face and throat.
The lashing they deserved would have to wait; Jean needed to get out of here. He settled for a sour, “A team of all talent and no intelligence,” as he stepped through the doorway.