CHAPTER FIVE
J ean
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F or better or worse , Jean was not put against Derrick again that day. Instead he rotated through Ananya, Nabil, and Jeremy at scrimmages. That was satisfying enough to push Derrick from mind for now, as Ananya and Jeremy were the starting strikers for the Trojans second-half line-up and Nabil was their dedicated sub. This was the talent he deserved to square off against, even if Ananya was selling herself short by using a light racquet.
Mindful that one bad foul would have him sidelined, Jean wasted far too much energy keeping himself in check that afternoon. Ignoring the nonstop openings his opponents left him was insulting and did them no favors in the long run, but Jean settled for simply ripping their sticks out of their hands for now. As boring as it was, it bought him time to analyze them. He studied how they stood and tracked how they moved, how often they went left or right from a standstill and how many steps they took before passing the ball. These three had an obvious synchrony from playing together for years, and there was plenty of valuable insight to be gleaned from watching the way they worked together.
Toward the end of the day Jean had finally seen enough to start digging in. He waited until the teams were resetting before pointing an accusatory finger at Nabil. You take too long to set up your shots. As far as Jean could see, it was the only real reason Nabil was second-string to Ananya. He had exceptional awareness of what was happening on the court and could turn on a dime, but he was so conscious of potential interference down the line he didn t take enough risks. All players were slow compared to the Ravens style, but this was too extreme to tolerate. Stop overthinking it.
Thank you for the advice, Nabil said, but I d rather ensure a completed pass than risk interception.
It is not just your burden, Jean said, and hooked his stick behind Nabil s to hold him in place. Trade to the other team. When you want to score, simply call for the ball, and I will give it to you.
Nabil considered him a few moments, then nodded and tugged his racquet loose. He jogged to the half-court but flagged Derek down on the way. Jean watched the two exchange words before switching spots on the line. More than one Trojan half-turned to send a considering look Jean s way, but Jean turned his back on all of them as he went to his own designated spot.
He stretched as he walked, pushing until he felt a faint ache in his shoulders and elbows, and flexed his fingers as he slowed to a stop. It d been months since he was on a Raven court, but Jean had spent five-seven-years mastering Raven drills. Muscle memory wouldn t fail him now; it couldn t.
The whistle sounded to start them off, and the teams pushed forward as one. Jean s team had scored last, so Min got them started with a serve up-court. For a respectable amount of time, they managed to keep the ball on that end of the court, and then Cody stole it and shot it down-court to Ananya. Derek and Jean went down the court in time, Derek trying to open an angle for her and Jean dogging him every step of the way. Ananya had to fire off a pass their direction before Cat could take the ball away from her, but the crack of Cat s heavy against Ananya s light had it landing short of where it needed to.
Jean was nearly to it when he heard Nabil call, Jean!
He had only a half-second to find Nabil, but a half-second was all he needed. Jean was turning before he even snagged the ball, needing the momentum for such a long shot. The second it hit his net he whipped around and fired it off. It hit the wall with a satisfying thud: the perfect speed, the perfect angle. It went straight toward where Nabil and Pat were squaring off, and Nabil only had to get there first.
If Nabil was a Raven, that would have been enough. He would have trusted it to reach him and already calculated the force he needed on his own shot toward the goal. Nabil caught it, but he wasn t ready to throw it. He ran with it instead, and Jean swore viciously in French as Nabil wasted the flawless setup.
Good lord, Derek said, scratching the side of his helmet with his racquet. It always startles me when you guys do that.
It would startle me more if you could actually follow through, Jean said, annoyed.
He caught it, Derek protested, and then the flow of the game forced an abrupt end to the conversation.
It was another minute more before Nabil tried again. Derek heard the call as well, and this time he knew what was coming, but he still wasn t fast enough. Jean looked from himself to Nabil, and Nabil to the goal, and let the ball fly with everything he had. A second time in a row Nabil squandered it, and Jean had had enough of that. He cast his racquet aside and started that way, but Derek grabbed his elbow to haul him to a stop.
Easy now, he tried. Talk it through with me before you try and tear his head off. What s he doing wrong?
Tell me why he is refusing to take a shot, Jean demanded. He calls for a pass from me, so I give him exactly what he needs to score. He shouldn t call for it if he can t handle it.
He s being chased by Pat, Derek pointed out.
Irrelevant, Jean insisted. There shouldn t be a chase. All he needs to do is shoot.
Derek frowned, thinking that through. Across the court Cat hollered a warning when she realized too late the two were distracted from the scrimmage. Derek turned, but Jean was already reaching out to snatch the ball from midair. He felt the impact knife down his forearm; all of the protection on Exy gloves was along the backs of a player s fingers and hands to guard against overeager stick checks. Jean pushed the ball into the shallow net on Derek s racquet so he could give his hand a vicious shake.
Trade back with him, Jean said. Call for it when you are ready. I will give it to you exactly how you need it. Don t carry. Don t think. Just throw.
Just shout your name? Derek asked, skeptical.
I don t care what you say, Jean said.
A grievous mistake in hindsight, because a few minutes later Derek yelled Oui se or! at full volume.
Across the court Cat called a scandalized, Hello?!
Jean would unstring his racquet later, but for now all that mattered was the game. It took three steps to get past Nabil, two more to catch up to the ball, and Jean let it fly. Pat knew by now what it meant when his marked partner called out to Jean, but knowing would only save him if he was faster. This time he was. Derek caught the ball and immediately went to throw it, but Pat got his stick up under it to ruin the shot. Not an ideal outcome, but an acceptable one: at least Derek had tried to do as he was told.
In the last minute of scrimmage Derek tried again: Oui oui!
From here there was no good angle, but Jean had been called on and he had to make it work. He ricocheted it off the back wall, opening up the space he needed, and was ready on the rebound. He put everything he had into the pass. It hit the side wall, cracked against the far court wall over Shane s head, and went back to Derek. This time he was just fast enough to outrun Pat, but he hesitated for a critical second after he caught it. Fighting his instincts, perhaps, but all that mattered was that Derek snapped it at the goal before Pat reached him.
He didn t have the right motor control to pull it off; his entire career he d had to put too much thought into his passes and shots. He couldn t score here, especially not against a Trojan goalkeeper, but it was enough that he tried.
Jean looked at Nabil as the coaches called an end to practice. Do you understand?
No, Nabil admitted. I don t think I like that. It s impressive, sure, but it seems very... sterile, he said after a moment s thought. That s the kind of trick I can imagine falling back on in a panic, but I wouldn t want to play my entire game like that.
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.
Rude, Preston protested as Jean let the door slam behind him.
A half-dozen backliners were at the lockers when Jean arrived, in varying stages of undress. Cody s baggy t-shirt was sticking to them in places where they d been careless drying off, and they only added to the mess when they tugged the hem up to swipe along their hairline. They smiled at Jean as he started unloading his clothes from his locker and snatched up a piece of paper to show off.
Coach Rhemann was able to print off your schedule, they said. Just let us know when you re ready to head out.
Jean wasted no time getting scrubbed dry and dressed, but Tanner still managed to catch up with him before he could leave. The backliner had remembered a towel but hadn t slowed to dry, and he left puddles on the floor where he planted himself in Jean s path. He lifted his chin in defiance and insisted, I can learn. Just give me a chance.
His persistence was promising, but Jean motioned for him to step aside. It would require additional court time. I don t have the authority to grant that.
Tanner didn t budge. Coach Jimenez could. I ll ask him. That he thought it at all appropriate to bypass both his captain and vice-captain to directly ask a coach for a favor was borderline repulsive. Jean felt every muscle in his back tense at such a presumptuous statement. The look Cody sent him said his expression gave him away, but Tanner was too invested in his argument to notice how many lines he was crossing. If he says yes, then it s a yes from you, right? That s your only hangup?
Cody propped their elbow against Tanner s shoulder and asked, What are you trying to bully out of him this late in the day?
I want him to teach me drills.
Raven drills, Jean elaborated when Cody quirked a brow at him.
Yeah, Raven drills, Tanner enthused. I want to learn to pass like he does.
Well, maybe get dressed before you break down Coach s door, Cody suggested as they lifted their arm. But we ve got plans tonight, so I m stealing Jean. If you find time to ask before you leave today, just message me his response and I ll let Jean know. You do have my number, right?
Got it, Tanner promised, and bolted for his locker on the far end of the row.
Cody caught Jean s gaze, but Jean didn t need encouragement to follow. They reached the strikers bench about the same time Ananya did. A touch of her hand was enough to draw Pat from his conversation with Derek and Derrick, and the four headed for the door with a chorus of goodbyes following them out.
Pat held the gate open for them and slipped his hand into Ananya s as soon as they were free. The other hand was offered to Cody. Cody didn t see it, or was good at pretending they didn t, and busied themselves with inspecting Jean s schedule. Pat huffed, equal parts exasperation and fondness, and set forth toward campus. Cody hung back a step, but Jean didn t miss the way they glanced after Pat and Ananya as soon as they thought it was safe to do so.
Cody noticed that he noticed and cleared their throat. Okay, look, they said, turning Jean s sheet toward him as the pair followed Pat and Ananya. You ve got an easy schedule here: four of your classes are all in the same building, and the last isn t that far away. Good thing, since you ve only got this ten-minute gap on either side of it. Only one class on Fridays, too. That s nice, it ll make it easier with our away games.
They d just reached Lyon when Cody heard from Tanner. Rhemann and Jimenez want you at the stadium tomorrow morning, they told Jean. We ll be in the pool without you, so it s good timing. Sounds like they want to see these mysterious drills before they sign off on them.
Jean nodded understanding, so Cody tapped out a quick response and passed Jean s schedule over. Okay, every morning this fall we ll meet here from six to seven-thirty. Let s start with the odd days: Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Where are you heading from here?
And so they went: first from the fitness center to Hoffman Hall where he d be taking business writing with Shane, then over to Watt where he and Jeremy had wheel throwing. Afterward it was right back to the first building, and Cody smiled triumph as they came to a stop in front of it. Jean considered it and was satisfied: it was an austere building of pale stone, tall enough to stand out from the rest and be an easy landmark.
Tuesdays and Thursdays, you come here and stay here for your last two classes, Cody said. How boring.
Ananya lifted her free hand to point past Hoffman. That s the edge of campus, she said, glancing over at Jean to make sure he was paying attention. You ll have easy access to the park and stadium, but you ll have to go down a bit to find a crosswalk. Not like it should matter too much. I think I remember you having an open period after your last class.
Hour and ten across the board, Cody confirmed, leaning over to check Jean s schedule. Four days of the week Jean s classes would end at one-fifty, and the Trojans afternoon practice ran from three until eight. Cody pointed to the statistics class Jean had scheduled after ceramics on Mondays and Wednesdays and said, I m in this one with you, so I ll make sure we find something to eat afterward. Coaches will give us snacks at break but waiting until eight-thirty or nine for a real dinner is miserable.
I like late dinners, Pat said, almost apologetic.
Weirdo, Cody grumbled. But speaking of dinner, how about we eat before I die?
Do you like malai kofta? Ananya asked. Jean wasn t sure if that was a place or food, but Ananya only nodded when he frowned confusion at her. Then that s what we ll have. You ll like it, I m sure of it.
Maybe. Cody eyed Jean. Laila implied you were a picky eater.
Mindful, Jean corrected, a touch frostily.
If you say so, Cody said.
As if Laila can comment on anyone else s eating habits when she drinks that-what is that stuff called? Pat looked from Cody to Ananya for help. That weird tea with the chewy balls in it.
It s not that bad, Ananya protested, as Cody said, It s absolutely foul.
Horrendous, Jean agreed, and Ananya sighed defeat.
They set off for the north end of campus. There was a crosswalk nearby, but at this time of day the neighboring traffic lights created just enough gap they could safely jog across Jefferson without it. The restaurant Ananya was aiming for wasn t much further. Only two tables were taken, but Ananya appeared pleased to find the place so dead.
Summer really is better here, she said. Soon as the school year starts it s going to be a madhouse.
There were tables down the center and booths along the wall. Ananya requested the latter and put a gentle hand to Pat s back. Jean noted the look they exchanged and assumed it was the reason Cody reached the booth first. Pat slid in beside them, and Ananya offered Jean a beatific smile as she took the spot across from Cody. Jean didn t care who he sat next to, but he glanced toward Cody anyway. Cody appeared relaxed as they tugged napkins off the stand, so Jean sat without argument.
Our treat, for indulging our company, Ananya said. Any allergies? No? We ll get a bit of everything, then.
Jean assumed she was exaggerating, but when the server came by to hand out glasses of water Ananya had a list of dishes to rattle off from memory. Jean understood very little of it, as only one or two names were in English, but Cody s and Pat s happy reactions to a few of the options said they were able to follow along. Jean wasn t reassured, but it was too early to be concerned.
The three flitted from one topic to another in quick, light-hearted conversation. They left space for him to join in, slipping in a question here and there when he d been silent for too long, but Jean was content to stay out of it wherever possible.
Peace lasted until the first dishes arrived, and the sight of fried dough had Jean leaning back in his seat. The others were quick to snatch them up. Ananya broke hers open to show him the inside, as if somehow the peas and potato filling would make up for the disastrous outside.
It s fried, he said.
It s delicious, Cody said as they dug in. If you don t want yours, can I have it?
Throw it away.
Absolutely not.
They were interrupted by the arrival of more plates, and Jean watched with growing disapproval as unfamiliar dishes were laid out before him. There were chunks in bowls of sauce and cream, plates piled with rice and meat, and a small pile of bread slathered with an off-color spread. The smell of warm yeast and heavy spices settled over the table, and through it was the savory scents of meat and cheese.
Ananya rearranged the dishes with the ease of long practice, offering up names and spice levels as she put a new order to the madness. It wasn t until she was done that Jean realized she d separated the chicken and lamb dishes from the vegetarian ones. Even the latter were unsettling: what vegetables Jean could see were half-buried in gravies and dark broths. Jean didn t know what to do with any of this, and he wasn t sure he could trust her to walk him through it after she d started off with a fried pastry.
What do you want to start with? Ananya asked him.
Nothing, Jean said. None of this looks appropriate.
Appropriate, Ananya echoed, offended. In what way?
Jean considered the simplest way to break it down and settled on Cat s interpretation. Macronutrients, he said, and scowled as it came out more French than English. He tried again, sounding it out with painstaking care, and the blank look on Ananya s face faded into understanding. Raven meals are provided by the staff to ensure we-they-receive exactly what is needed to excel at practice. Cat is teaching me to make meals that match these numbers. I can t account for this if I don t know what it is.
You re thinking too much about it, Pat said. It s just one meal.
Your disrespect for nutrition is nothing to be proud of, Jean warned him.
Give us some examples, Cody suggested as they set their bread aside. Jean obediently counted off breakfast, lunch, and dinner on his fingers. A mistake, perhaps: his teammates were left staring at him like he d grown a second head. Cody was the first to find their voice. Not every single day. Jean, they pressed when Jean only frowned at them, tell me you had some variety.
Jean thought about it. Sometimes they brought us fruit.
Right, Ananya said, dragging it out. Ummm. Okay. Let me think. The pensive look on her face as she considered the spread before them did nothing to inspire confidence, but at length she said, The biryani? and Cody passed her a dish from the far corner. Ananya set it down near Jean s glass. I confess I don t normally think about food in such strict terms, but this should be a close enough match.
Should be wasn t good enough. Jean made no move to serve any. What is it?
Chicken biryani, she said.
He stared at her until she counted off ingredients on her fingertips. Everything she listed was known to him, save for the basmati rice, and Jean peered down at the dish. On a surface level, it sounded safe and acceptable, but without Cat s easy expertise to rely on Jean was floundering. There was the chance he was adding it up wrong, or that Ananya had carelessly left off an ingredient. Jean couldn t risk it. He moved the biryani out of reach.
No, Ananya guessed, with obvious disappointment.
It s just chicken and rice, Cody protested. I ve seen you eat that for lunch.
I will eat later, Jean said. When Cody looked ready to argue, he added, I am not hungry.
Not to be rude, but I don t believe you, Pat said.
What you believe is not my problem.
Jean, Pat said, and tried, Moreau, when Jean initially refused to look at him.
Jean turned a baleful stare on him, but Pat ignored the clear warning in it. His jaw had a stubborn set to it as he studied Jean s face. Jean wasn t sure what he was looking for, but he didn t have to wait long. Pat reached out and dumped a pile of deep-fried vegetables on Jean s plate. Jean shoved it away from him before anyone could think he intended to eat it, and Pat slammed the tongs down with a deafening clatter.
Ananya put out a hand toward Pat in warning. Darling, we re in public.
Pat didn t look at her, but he was at least smart enough to keep his voice down. That s not conscientiousness, Jean-that s fear. You re afraid to eat. There was more dismay than anger in his accusation, but Jean still felt his hackles rising. What the fuck was Edgar Allan thinking? That s not normal or okay.
You do not get to tell me what s normal, Jean shot back, savage enough that Ananya leaned away from him. You don t know anything about me.
No, but-
Jean didn t want to hear it. He got off the bench and yanked out of Ananya s grip when she caught hold of him. Phone, he said, and left without looking back.
He pushed the door open so hard its hinges made a threatening crack, and he retreated to the street corner to watch oncoming traffic. Home wasn t far from here, he knew: from this vantage point he could see the intersection at Jefferson and Vermont that he crossed everyday for practice. A short walk, a couple turns, and he d be safe in familiar territory. It was almost cruel how close it was.
He hoped the creaking door behind him was from a different shop, but Cody stepped up beside him only moments later. They followed Jean s gaze and asked, Heading home?
I can t, Jean said, and for once it galled him to admit it: Ravens can t travel alone.
I am not a Raven was a jagged echo in his temples. Jean wanted to claw it out.
I ll walk you home after dinner, Cody offered. Come back in?
I need to make a call first, Jean said. I promised Coach Rhemann
Cody nodded and stepped back. See you after, then.
Jean watched for the door to close behind them before looking down at the phone in his white-knuckled grip. The thought of dialing out set every nerve on edge, but Jean slowly scrolled to the number he d saved under the name IGNORE. He tapped on the call button too lightly to trigger it, wondering if it would be easier to get away with a text, and finally pressed down. Perhaps she would be asleep, and he could at least tell Rhemann he d tried.
Hello, Jean, Betsy Dobson s voice said at his ear only one ring later. I had hoped I would hear from you this week.
She d seen the news, then. My coach ordered me to call you, Jean said, and left the this is not my choice unspoken. I will tell him you are too busy to speak this week. All you need to do is confirm it if he asks.
Jean heard the smile in her voice as she ignored that to ask, Are you free now, or would sometime tomorrow be better?
No time will be better, Jean said. I have nothing to say to you.
I can do the talking until we are more comfortable with one another.
Jean hesitated as a stray memory nagged at him. You said Kevin gave you permission to tell me whatever it is he said to you. Yes?
Yes, that s right, Dobson agreed. If nothing else, I think he wants you to know how much I already know about where you ve come from. It potentially creates a safe space for you to work within until you are ready to branch out into new territory.
Jean pressed his fingernails into his lower lip as he thought. At length he grudgingly said, Later, then. I will listen only.
Would this time tomorrow work?
No, Jean thought, but only said Yes and hung up.
If she called back, he might chuck his phone into traffic, but she only texted him a confirmation a few moments later: Moreau - Dobson, July 3 rd 7PM PDT . Jean almost deleted it before deciding he d need it as evidence for Rhemann. He started to put his phone away, then muttered rudely in French and updated her contact information before Rhemann caught sight of it. With that odious task out of the way, he finally rejoined his teammates inside.
They made a few token attempts to include him in the conversation, but Jean stayed out of it whenever possible. Studying them was more interesting, as they were bound together by an obvious and easy affection. Cody and Pat packed leftovers into plastic containers while Ananya settled the bill, and the four of them filed out of the restaurant in a short line.
See you in a bit, Cody said.
Ananya wound her arm through Pat s. Good night, Jean.
She and Pat set off one way while Cody and Jean went the other. Every step Jean put between him and them made it a little easier to breathe. Maybe it was less their absence and more the destination, because when Laila s house finally came into view Jean felt settled. Cody stopped beside him at the base of the stairs and held up a takeout bag in offering.
The biryani, Cody said, calm in the face of Jean s disapproval. You said you trust Cat with your meals, so ask her to go over it with you. If you don t like what she has to say about it, feel free to toss it. Cody waited for Jean to take the bag before turning away, but they slowed to a stop and turned back only a few steps later. If no one s home, is that going to be a problem for you?
Jean glanced past them to where Jeremy s car was still gone. I was alone at Palmetto State, he said, and grudgingly added, Once.
Cody s expression turned serious. I ll stay, then. I heard how that ended.
I don t remember, was out before he knew it was coming, a quiet confession he d avoided when his friends carefully tried to address that disastrous day. Jean thought about frigid water and shattering glass. He dug the teeth of his key into his thumb and said, Most of it is a blur even now.
Maybe that s for the best.
Maybe, Jean allowed, and unlocked the front door to let them both in.
Cody waited just inside the door while Jean made a lap in search of Cat and Laila. Every room was dark and empty, so Cody toed out of their shoes and locked the door behind them. They ended up in the kitchen so Jean could put his takeout away. Jean was almost hungry to the point of irritation by now, but he settled for tugging the water pitcher off its shelf. Cody nodded when he held it up, so Jean went to collect two glasses next.
Thanks. Cody settled on a stool and pointed. What s behind your fridge?
Jean didn t have to look to know what Cody had spotted. Their ridiculous cardboard dog. Jeremy keeps moving it into our room.
Damn. Cody sounded admiring, but they weren t talking about the dog. Is that how you say it? Jeremy. They sounded it out, trying to match Jean s accent. Jean wondered if he ought to be offended, but Cody saw the look on his face and hurried to say, No, no, it s so good. Please don t ever change it. Jeremy, they tried again, slightly better this time. I bet he hit his knees the first time you said it. I would ve.
Jean refused to go down that road. Drink your water.
Cody filled their glass. Can I ask you something? You can lie if you want.
Jean took one look at their face and said, You cannot.
The smile that tugged at Cody s mouth said Jean s prompt refusal was answer enough, but Cody was good enough to let it go with the subtlest of barbs: Well, that still leaves us twenty-six other teammates to gossip about. Who should we start with?
They predictably began with the defense line. Cody named a player, and the two of them compared insights and potential areas for improvement. Cody refused to touch the goalkeepers, laughingly saying they were too afraid to offend any of them. They d just started on the dealers when Cat and Laila arrived home, and the girls followed the light to the kitchen. Cody skipped a greeting to throw Jean under the bus:
Finally! Jean was going to starve to death if you took any longer.
Cat rocked to a stop halfway to them. I thought you went out to eat. What happened?
Good luck, Cody offered Jean.
They had the gall to sound sympathetic. Jean glared at them, but Cody only hopped off their stool and gave Laila a quick hug goodbye. Unsurprisingly, Cat followed Cody to the front door to demand a better explanation. Laila remained behind, studying Jean with a serious look. If she wasn t going to say anything, neither was he. Jean focused on drinking his water until Cat came back. She went straight to the fridge, tugged his takeout off its shelf, and set the container in front of him.
Walk me through it, Cat said.
Jean broke it down for her: the ingredients first, the best guess at numbers after. Some he knew by heart by now: the rice and chicken were easy, if basmati rice was anywhere close to the brown rice Cat preferred. The spices were negligible, and while he couldn t remember how yogurt worked out, he knew she could correct him. He added it up when he was done and waited for her to confirm it.
You already know you re right, she said. Why couldn t you trust your work?
I could have been wrong.
Cat searched his face. By what? Five or six carbs? Two grams of fat? That s negligible in the grand scheme of things. When Jean didn t answer, she tore open his plastic sleeve of silverware and lightly bopped his nose with the fork. Say you forgot to carry a one somewhere and ate too much. Would Cody have dragged you into the street? Would I? It s not a rhetorical question, Jean, she pressed when he didn t answer. I need to know if you re scared of us.
Of a team that can t fight? he asked, offended.
Cat s smile was fleeting but satisfied. Jean knew he d been had even before she agreed, Of a team that won t fight. God, that s delicious, she added as she stole a bite of his dinner. She leaned across the table to plant a kiss to his forehead. You know what you re doing. Trust yourself, okay? Now eat up before you wither away. If you genuinely don t like it, we ll make you something else.
Laila motioned over her shoulder. Come find us if you need us. My show s about to start, so we ll be in the other room.
Jean pushed his food around its container for a few minutes after they d left, his thoughts a muddled mess, and finally took a bite. He almost wished he hated it after the stress it had caused them all tonight, but even cold it was good enough to dig into.
He was nearly done when Cody texted him a simple, Eat?
Ate, Jean confirmed. After a moment s debate he added, It was good.
:) was all Cody sent in answer, so Jean set his phone aside to finish eating.