Page 10 of Bad Teammate
“Câlisse,” Jean-Gabriel Parisi, aQuébécoisforward, swore in his French-Canadian accent. “I didn’t speak English in my first year, either, but I never missed a game, did I?”
“Hold up,” I said. “He hasn’t missed a game yet.”
“Not yet,” Mikey said, “but it’s not looking good. By the way, Reavo—you need to talk to that roommate of yours about stealing our girls. That broad I was with all night? She left me to go dance with him! I’m not gonna go clubbing with him anymore if that’s how it’s gonna be.”
“Jesus.” I rolled my eyes. “That is honestly theleastof my worries right now, Mikey.”
“You guys wouldn’t need to go clubbing if you settled down,” Hathaway said as he cleanly snipped the stick tape off the roll. “Just gotta find the right girl.”
The single guys, me included, groaned.
“Hath’s right,” Dane agreed. “I’m in bed with Austen by ten o’clock, every night.”
The groans grew louder.
“You guys in the Married Crew know I’ve got your back,” I said, “but it’s just not that easy out there anymore. You both lucked out, meeting two phenomenal girls. But most girls these days? All they care about is if you’re tall, rich, and famous.”
“Okay. So what’s the problem?” Dane asked with a laugh. “Are we not literallyallof those things?”
Once again, everyone laughed—everyone except for me.
“Ah, hell,” I said. “Nevermind.”
I regretted bringing it up—the last thing I wanted was to revisit last night’s debacle at the club. Instead, I turned my attention to the clock as the cutoff neared.
One by one, precious minutes rolled off.
With less than a minute to go, at the exactmomentI’d given up all hope, the locker room door flung open. Everyone applauded asNiko staggered in.
But the applause ceased the moment everyone realized what kind of shape Niko was in—or the shape hiscorpsewas in. The kid looked like death—his skin sickly and yellow, awful bags under his sunken, half-shut eyes.
He trudged past me, leaving the smell of vodka in his wake.
“Damn,” I said, wafting away the alcohol fumes. “Smells like Niko had a late night.”
Niko took his spot at his stall. But instead of hurrying to suit up with the rest of us, he slumped over and shut his eyes, apparently content to take a pregame locker room nap.
I went over and shook him by the shoulders. “Holy fuck. Get dressed, Niko.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Hathaway said. “There’s no way he’s playing tonight. The second Coach comes in here and smells him, he’s done.”
Hath was right. After the stunt Niko pulled this morning? Showing up reeking of alcohol was guaranteed to put him on Coach Q’s permanent shit list. Unless …
I jumped into action and rooted through my locker.
“I’ve got a veteran’s trick I’m gonna let you guys in on,” I said, holding up the bottle of Vicks VapoRub. “Only use this when absolutely necessary.”
I hurried over to my roommate. I dug out a heaping glob of goo out of the jar and slopped it onto his neck.
“Do it like this,” I said, gesturing for him to rub it in, on his neck and all over the rest of his body, too.
The kid looked confused, but he sluggishly followed my lead anyway. Soon, he was enshrouded in an invigorating cloud of menthol vapors. Everyone nearby began to cough and quickly dispersed.
“There’s nowaythat’s gonna work,” Parisi said, filtering his every breath through his t-shirt.
“It’s all we’ve got,” I said. “It’s worth a shot.”
A minute later, Coach Q barged into the locker room to give his pregame speech. He immediately began choking and tearing up at the eyes. “Holyfuck,boys. Which one of you overdid it on the menthol? You know what—you already know the game plan—just go out there and win.”
