Page 4 of These Wicked Games
“Oli, I thought you were better than this.” I swallow hard, trying to make sense of this. The label. That’s Andre’s cup, but the label. That’s not right. My name is written across the label. “If you need help, you should have come to us—”
“No!” I shout, standing up. I can’t fucking breathe. “There’s a mistake, that’s not mine, I—”
“Oli,” Tripp barks. “If you need help, we’ll get you help.”
“No, no wait, I know that’s not mine, the hearts, it’s Andre’s, that’s Andre’s cup,he—”
Tripp silences me with a hand. “If you need help, I get it. You’ve been going through a lot with your mother—”
“No, no wait, what?”
“But blaming my son, your friend . . . I’m really disappointed.”
I can’t think straight. This isn’t right, this doesn’t make fucking sense. My cup, it’s . . . that’s not. “We’ll get you started in a program,” the doctor says. “Until you complete your program, though, we’ll have to suspend you.”
“What?!” I stand. “This isn’t fucking right! That’s not my fucking cup!”
“One more word and I’ll kick you off this team!” Tripp barks.
My mouth snaps shut. There’s no fucking way. Then I remember . . . my mother’s phone call. Andre. He took my cup. He . . . He . . .
No.
He wasn’t worried at all about the test. In fact he was calm.
He switched my fucking cup. He took the labels and switched them.
Rage pools inside me, filling my veins, my nerves, my goddamn bloodstream. I feel like I’m bleeding out, the blade of betrayal slicing my jugular. I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this! “I need you to come to the arena on Monday—”
“Retest me. Right now. Right fucking now!”
“Oli—”
“No. This is bullshit—”
“We’ll help you. These things happen.” Dr. Wexel looks at Tripp, my coach.This doesn’t make sense. “Monday, come to the arena and we’ll go over the next steps.”
I can’t be suspended. I can’t afford to miss games! I can’t fucking believe this.
“Coach, please, there’s been a mistake. You don’t understand, I need—”
“That’s enough, Oli,” he says, and I know he won’t budge. The hurt shines in his eyes. I’ve let him down, or he thinks I have. “We’ll figure this out Monday.” We have four upcoming games. I can’t afford to lose that income. Fuck. This doesn’t make sense.
I feel like I’m shaking, and my eyes sting. I can’t fucking believe this. I can’t! Slowly I get up. I feel like I’m vibrating, like all of my atoms are getting shaken up, but also so fucking numb at the same time. I’m freezing, my blood turns to ice. The Viper scouts will be there tomorrow night. They . . . My mother. No, this is . . . I look back at them and I know they won’t help me.
With shaky fingers I open the door, and swallowing hard I head back to the locker room to grab my bag. I can’t begin to wrap my mind around this. Walking toward my locker, I faintly hear the locker room door open, and I think—I hope—it’s Tripp or Dr. Wexel telling me they did make a mistake.
Instead, red smokes my vision as Andre walks into the room. “Hey are you ready—whoa, whats going on?”
I lunge.
Gripping Andre by the collar of his shirt I slam him into the wall. A grunt forces it’s way out of his lips. “What the fuck!”
“You fucking prick! You backstabbing motherfucker!” I swing, but he’s not expecting it and my fist collides with a crack. “You fucking snake!”
“What the fuck, Oli!” He grips my fists, now bunched in his shirt. I feel manic. Blood pours down his face. I think I broke his nose. “What are you doing?!”
“The fucking cups! The labels!” I swing again but he dodges. My fist connects with the hard wall. Pain ricochets through my hand.
