Page 31 of Off the Rim
But how unhinged and rough—how detached—Marcus was aside from those little flashes of surprise or awe, is throwing me for a loop. It's not that I expected him to be sweet and gentle with me. I didn't. I don't know what I expected. Hell, I think most of me expected that he'd push me off him and run away.
A mixture of nerves and numbness from being on the ground has my legs shaking as I stand and try to straighten myself up. The doors to the auditorium where the ACC Tip Off festivities are being held loom only a few feet away. Looking back and forth from the doors to the shadowy spot that definitely wouldn't have hidden us if anyone came out here, I marvel at how fucking stupid that was. I've done some reckless shit before, but never something like this, and never sober.
The mental turmoil threatens to make me crack, and I hold back laughter as I open the doors and make a beeline for my bag, and then the bathroom. I'll need to come up with a good excuse for why I changed out of my uniform, but I have a team hoodie and t-shirt that I planned to wear on the plane ride home. Once I get dressed, I can find Marcus and talk to him about what happened. I need to make sure he's okay, and part of me wants him to do the same for me, even if I don't deserve it.
The scrimmage is a shit show. We pull off the win, which was expected considering it was against a smaller Division Two team. It would have been, should have been, a shutout, but Marcus and I seem to have lost whatever camaraderie we had on the court before the ACC interview. Coach laughs it off for the row of media reps that came to watch, since this is an open scrimmage to get the fans excited for the upcoming season. Most of them are here reporting for local news, but because we've been getting so much attention nationally, there are a few well-known sports news sources that have reporters here. None of them look impressed, and I know we're going to get our asses handed to us once we're back in the locker rooms.
"Well, it wouldn't be very sportsmanlike to embarrass the other team when they came all this way, now would it?" Coach says to the reporters. "Don't you worry, though. These boys are ready to dominate this year. They won't be pulling any punches come time for the season to start."
A reporter tries to pull Marcus aside, but he sidesteps them and keeps walking like he didn't notice them trying to get his attention. I'm not so lucky.
"Congratulations on the win tonight, Ashton. It seemed to be a tougher game than expected. After tonight's performance, do you anticipate any adjustments to the team lineup or how do you plan to move forward to ensure the team meets the high expectations for CVU basketball this season?"
Looking down at the woman, who is easily two feet shorter than me, I struggle to keep a pleasant smile on my face. Thankfully,there is no camera, just a recording device that she holds up to my face and waits expectantly for an answer.
"Thanks. We're looking forward to the season beginning and showing everyone what the Cumberland Valley Cougars are made of. We had a bit of an off night, but the team came together and came through for the W. Make no mistake, tonight was a fluke, and we're coming for that championship." With a rushed thanks, I excuse myself before anyone else can try to divert my attention.
Before I can escape into the locker room, Coach pulls me into his office, where he already has Marcus waiting. He sits in one of the chairs on the opposite side of Coach's desk, but it's pulled out to face Coach Burke, who is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. As soon as I pull out the other chair and sit, he slams the door and rounds on us.
"What the hell was that out there tonight?"
"We won, Coach, isn't that what matters?"
Coach Burke focuses his angry gaze on me, and I wonder if I should be concerned for his health. His face is getting redder by the second, accentuating the loose skin around his mouth and neck.
"Are you even paying attention?" Coach shouts, his face flushed with rage. "When your father hears?—"
Shit.Him calling my dad, when I've been avoiding his phone calls for the past two days since the interview, is the last thing I need. "Please, Coach. I'm sorry. It was an off night. It won't happen again."
"It better not. Do you know how much is on the line here? I stuck my neck out for both of you." He juts a finger out to each of us. "This team didn't need another player, but your father went out of his way to make sure you got a starting position. I turned away other prospects to make room for you, and you repay us both by not taking this team's chances for a championship seriously," he says to me, then turns to Marcus.
"And you. Do you know how much bullshit I've had to wade through to ensure that you were a good fit? Do you know how many complaints I've gotten from players and parents that my quote-unquote 'pet project' has taken court time away from them?" Coach puts his finger down, crossing his arms again, looking down at us like a disappointed parent who found his kids vandalizing a children's hospital. You'd think we'd committed a crime, not had one shitty night.
"For the past couple weeks, you were showing them the potential I've seen in you, but something happened in Charlotte. You acted like teammates, maybe even friends, on the flight there and during the interview. But then you both disappeared, skipping out on the rest of the event and flying back home in silence. Does anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on?" He looks back at me. "Or would you like to tell me why your father is calling me day and night, making a fuss about the two of you playing together?"
I try to glance at Marcus, but he pointedly avoids looking back at me, dropping his chin to examine the threads of his uniform.
"It doesn't matter. I don't care if you don't get along. You're going to stop acting like children and start acting like teammates, or you'll both be benched. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," Marcus says. I echo him quietly.
"Hit the showers. I expect you to come back from the break with new attitudes, and ready to play as teammates."
Without another word, Coach ushers us out of his office, shutting the door hard behind us. I pause, thinking I hear Coach say my name through the closed door. No, not my name.My father's.He's on the phone with my dad.
Fuck, this is bad. I didn't even consider that my dad would see the interview. He’s not into sports and never watched any of my games or interviews before that I know of. Probably someone tipped him off. That's how it usually goes. One of his buddies will see the game, or hear about a win or loss, then use it in conversation to try to forge a bond with my father. Aside from getting me to agree to attend CVU so he can have more control over my life, so I won'tembarrass himfurther, he doesn't actually care about my place on this team. Clearly, he didn't do any actual research about the team, because it was Marcus' name on the roster that was the deciding factor for me. I wanted nothing to do with CVU until I sawhewas here. And I've purposefully left out any mention of Marcus being here in the two conversations we've had in the past three months, because I knew he wouldn't like it.
But considering how many missed calls and messages I have from him since Wednesday, it's safe to say the cat's out of the bag. And now that fall break is here, I won't be able to avoid him.
Marcus and I are the only ones left by the time we make it to the locker room. I open my mouth to say something, but Marcus doesn't spare me a glance, walking straight to the showers and locking a stall behind me. Figuring he needs time to cool off after that meeting with Coach, I let it go. For now. But we need to talk.
I get my chance sooner than I think when I run into him in the lobby, looking out the glass doors at the shitty turn the weather has taken. It's pouring rain, and wind is thrashing the surrounding trees.
"Jeez. It's really coming down," I say, pulling a hoodie from my bag and slipping it over my head. "Do you, uh, want a ride?" I usually walk to practice, but today I had a class on the opposite side of campus, and I didn't want to walk in the rain, so my car is parked less than twenty yards from the door to the basketball complex.
Marcus shakes his head, still avoiding my gaze. "It's a short walk."
"It's fuckingtorrential out there, dude. You'll be soaked before you get to the sidewalk."
