Page 137 of Altius
The starting and backup quarterbacks lobbed easy passes to a steady stream of receivers while hype music pumped through the stadium speakers. Players joked and danced between running plays.
After a successful fifty-yard kick, Landon jumped into the air and clicked his heels together.
The team’s energy was good. Spirits were high. Too bad they weren’t favored to win on Saturday.
“Yeah, that’s how you do it!” Tyler beat his chest, not hesitating to get in the face of the backup nose tackle. “Watch and learn, son. Watch and learn!”
Pulling up his pheromone tracking report, I sighed. Tyler had been spiked. Again.
“Hartsen?” Dr. McEwen asked, arms crossed, tendons flexed, mouth tense.
I nodded.
Staring at the domed ceiling, he exhaled and walked away, muttering obscenities under his breath. He hated being forced to play possum like this. But our hands were tied.
The university and Redwing were still squabbling over the potential scope of the investigation. It didn’t help that the university president had put off Tabitha’s request for a personal meeting until next week.
Meanwhile, these kids were running around, feeling fantastic about their performance, without any idea they’d been spiked.
The university was playing a dangerous game.
One that I trusted Tabitha and Owen would end on their terms. Eventually.
“Smells funny in here.” Alijah sidled up to me, nose wrinkled, fussing with his camera settings. “It’s like grass, except that it’stoograssy. Almost fake. Plasticky.”
“Might be a turf treatment,” I said.
Raising his camera, Alijah took a few photographs of the defensive line. “Well, whatever it is, it stinks.”
Figuring any lead was worth pursuing, no matter how illogical, I asked, “Would you classify it as oppressive or unusually strong, or more—”
“For fuck’s sake.” A few feet away, Coach Garvey turned around, beady eyes locking onto me, drawing the attention of a dozen players nearby. “Stop being so paranoid, sweetie. There’s no fucking pheromone bomber. I mean, it’s cute and all, watching you sniff around like a well-trained bitch—”
“Hey—” Alijah started, taking a step forward, intending to defend me.
I held him back.
“What’s the matter, beta?” Garvey jeered. “Can’t take a joke?”
Clutching at Alijah’s arm, I whispered, “Let it go. He’s not worth it.”
“What’s a pheromone bomb?” one of the players asked. “Is it a new play or something?”
“Coach,” Amir interjected, “Tyler’s starting shit.”
Garvey hurried toward the stand-off near the practice sleds, where Tyler was getting in Knox’s face.
Knox grabbed Tyler’s jersey in retaliation and punched him square in the face. A black eye was all but guaranteed.
“You fucker!” Tyler went nuts, pummeling Knox’s torso with his fists.
Coaches and other players rushed over, trying to separate them, as they hurled vicious jabs and kicks at each other.
A knot formed in my stomach when I spotted a local reporter hovering nearby, taking a photo of the fight between Knox and Tyler.
Was it possible they overheard what Garvey said? What if they started asking the university and Redwing questions about the pheromone bombings?
I pulled up my phone, hurriedly typing out the contents of Garvey’s conversation and the names of every player and staff member in the immediate vicinity before I forgot.
