CHAPTER SIXTEEN
J ean
--------
T he first week of September was short, as classes and practices were canceled for Labor Day. Despite that wasted day, Tuesday had a few unexpected bright points: Bryson moved back to Connecticut for school finally, buying Jeremy a bit of peace at home, and the press did a last-minute sweep of the western teams. A final check-in before the season got officially underway, supposedly, except every single team was asked about Jean.
If they were hoping for gossip, they were sorely disappointed, and Cat s glee over the banquet finally felt a bit justified. Every team save White Ridge had a positive response to offer. Quiet and serious, most said, and unfailingly polite. More than one spoke of the obvious respect Jean and the Trojans had for one another, and those who had gotten a bit more of his time-Ashton s sister, for one, but mostly the French speakers-had only good things to say. They would all reserve final judgment until they faced him on the court, but they were pleased.
Isn t it nice? Cat had asked Saturday, and Jean had only shrugged her off with exhausted impatience. But after five years of being stepped on and half a year of nastiness he couldn t defend himself against, it was... unsettling, to see complete strangers take his side so enthusiastically. He admitted as much to Cat when they went for their ride Wednesday night. In response she tugged him down by his shoulders so she could kiss him square in the middle of his forehead.
The peace couldn t last. Thursday evening Cat came to pick Jean up from Raven drills on her motorcycle, and even with her helmet on Jean could tell something was wrong. He was slow to take his helmet from her, studying her tense expression for any hints, but she shook her head at the question in his stare.
I ll tell you at home, she said.
A short while later she led him into their kitchen, and Jean found Laila sitting on a stool with a sour look on her face. There was a pile of envelopes in the center of the island that Cat motioned Jean toward, and Jean slowly spread a few out to look. They were all addressed to him, from names he didn t recognize and states that held no meaning. On and on they went, some so thick they required multiple stamps but most paper-thin. Jean frowned at Cat, then Laila, but they could only shrug at him.
Something tells me your address was officially leaked, Laila said. It could be the same source who tipped off the press, escalating because he didn t get what he wanted, or perhaps someone local was asked to follow the press to you. She gave a helpless shrug and scattered a few more envelopes. They could be fan letters, or they could be more drivel. Do you want us to help you go through them?
Perhaps, he said.
There were maybe sixteen to twenty of them, and it would take him forever to read them. Laila divvied them up into three smaller piles before passing them out, and for a few minutes the only sound in the kitchen was the rustling of paper. Laila was the fastest reader, and she d already slapped two letters off to one side by the time Jean was finished reading his first.
Any you don t want to keep, just stack here, she said.
Jean nodded understanding before adding his to the pile. It was a relatively tame letter, all things considered, but highly inappropriate: the sender wanted insider gossip on Riko s personal life. Jean was not going to indulge that.
One letter wanted to know if there were any differences in Exy between France and the United States, and another spoke of how disappointing it was to see the Ravens collapsing. The sender had watched Raven games for years, finding motivation in their flawless performances and unwavering dedication, and was horrified to see his idols falling apart. He didn t outright blame Jean for it, but he did reference spring as the beginning of the Ravens end. The remaining few letters were less discreet. The variations on He gave you everything and you betrayed him, he killed himself because of you, were to be expected, but every version Jean read left a sour tang eating away at his mouth and throat.
If this keeps up, we ll perhaps look at getting you a PO Box, Laila suggested as she set her approved letters within reach. We can set up mail forwarding for anything in your name.
What if Kevin sends more postcards? Cat asked, then passed Jean a letter from her pile with an, Oh, you should handle this one.
The return address was Marseille, but the sender s name was the greater blow. Jean wasn t sure what showed on his face, but Cat kept her hand extended in case he wanted to reject the letter. Jean shook his head and slowly set to work peeling the flap up.
A teammate from youth Exy, he explained, trying to picture her face. He d been forbidden to spend time with anyone outside of practices and games and ordered by his parents to keep all conversations only to the sport, but she d played alongside him for five years.
To the arrogant loner of Sainte-Anne, her letter began, before whiling its way toward a more thoughtful message. It seemed she d been keeping tabs on him since the master first revealed his imported Frenchman. She d heard the news about his parents arrest and was watching the ongoing manhunt for his missing sister. Either my memory has been kinder to you than you deserve, or a lot of your strangeness finally makes sense, she said at the end. I will keep you and Elodie in my thoughts.
Jean carefully folded the letter and set it aside. Cat studied his face for any sign of distress before tapping a finger to the envelope. Can I ask?
Jean looked where she was pointing. It is my name. Was, he corrected himself as he flipped the envelope over. I do not answer to it anymore.
Bad memories? Cat asked.
Letting her think that was easier than explaining the truth, so Jean only shrugged. Cat let it slide in favor of handing over two more envelopes she d already vetted. Jean set hers atop Laila s. The discard pile they d each come up with was significantly larger than the letters safe to peruse. The western teams might now be willing to give him a chance, but the Ravens fans would forever be the greater and louder majority.
Jean wondered if he would always be the villain, if this mockery and hatred would chase him for the rest of his life. It didn t matter. It didn t; it couldn t. All that mattered was that he played to the best of his abilities and kept the promise Neil made on his behalf. But such thoughts couldn t sustain him, and the weariness that ate at him suddenly was bone deep.
I am going to bed, he said.
You haven t eaten, Cat said.
The gnawing in his stomach was nothing next to the sick chill eating through his chest, so Jean waved her off and left. He put the approved letters on his desk to deal with another day and shut himself in a too-quiet room. Barkbark was propped up on the windowsill, smiling its inane canine grin at him. Jean went to it, sure today would be the day he tore it in two, but he caught himself even as he started to tug. With an irritated mutter he put the dog on Jeremy s empty bed instead. At least flat like this it couldn t watch him sleep.
It was hours before he could stop thinking long enough to drift away, and when he dreamed it was of the courts at Campagne Pastr .
-
B ecause the first game of the season was a home game, the Trojans were required to attend their Friday classes. Jean, who only had one morning class to sit through, tuned out the grumpy complaints of his less fortunate teammates. He expected today to follow the same pattern of handoffs as the first week, but Shane took him halfway across campus to rendezvous with Jeremy. Jean frowned at his captain but waited until Shane left to say, You have therapy on Fridays.
That was last week, Jeremy said, and didn t elaborate. Good to head home for a bit, or do you need to do anything on campus?
We could practice, Jean said, glancing in the direction of the stadium.
It d be better to rest, Jeremy countered. It s going to be a rough game.
Jean opened his mouth to argue, then took a closer look at Jeremy s face. When Jeremy was laughing and talking, it was harder to see, but in his quieter moments the shadows were more noticeable: he looked like he hadn t slept in two days. The strain of his commute, Jean supposed; he remembered their ceramics classmate making a crack about Jeremy s inevitable exhaustion. That someone outside the Exy team knew him well enough to know what was coming was annoying.
He gave in with a disgruntled, Fine, and it was enough to make Jeremy smile.
They were nearly to Vermont Avenue when Jeremy s phone beeped with a coach s alert. Jeremy glanced at the crosswalk signal before pulling his phone out and answering with a cheery, Good morning, Coach, did we forget something? Across the street, the light changed for them. Jeremy stepped off the curb, then seemingly forgot he was walking mid-step. He rocked to a stop so abruptly he almost fell over. Jean dragged him back to safety on the sidewalk, but Jeremy caught his wrist and hauled Jean after him across the street.
Yeah, Jeremy said as they reached the other side. Yeah, I ll tell him. Thank you.
He hung up but held tight to his phone, and although he let go of Jean, he said nothing to him to explain the call. Jean allowed him peace until Jeremy was turning the key in Laila s front door, and then he said, Jeremy.
Jeremy motioned for him to come inside and pushed the door closed behind him. Only then did he look up at Jean. One of the freshman Ravens is gone, Jeremy said. A backliner named Harry Rogeson? Sounds like the Ravens found his body on a campus shuttle bus.
Jean didn t know the name. Maybe Tetsuji signed him after Jean s departure from Evermore, but it was equally likely Riko was too distracted by his vendetta to track the incoming Ravens. The who was less important than the what ; every other Raven to die had been an upperclassman, robbed at the finish line of their hard-earned glory. A freshman who d narrowly avoided the Moriyamas violent control and the Nest s madness should not have shattered so quickly. Raven cruelty, perhaps: the old guard taking out their heartache and trauma on the new generation.
I m sorry, Jeremy said.
It has nothing to do with me, Jean said, and toed out of his shoes. Go sleep.
Jeremy lingered a moment longer, as if making sure Jean was honestly okay, and then headed down the hall to their room. Jean retreated to the living room to go over his morning notes, and he whiled away a few boring hours getting a head start on his homework. Cat showed up closer to noon with a handful of mail. She set his letters on the coffee table near where he was working, checked his expression with a pensive stare, and curled up in Laila s chair with her own work. Half an hour later she was quietly snoring.
Jean wondered if he should wake her, then dropped his gaze to his mail. The thought of having to sort through more vitriol was off-putting, but it had to be dealt with sooner or later. He moved the stack to where it was easier to reach and began going through them.
By the time Jeremy s alarm went off, Jean s mood was irrevocably ruined. Jean pushed the letters aside when he heard Jeremy s footsteps in the hall. Packing up his work was easy, and the noise was enough to rouse Cat. For a split-second she pretended to be engrossed in her studies, and then she woke up enough to remember where she was. She dropped her textbook off to one side to deal with this weekend and followed Jean to the kitchen.
They had time to eat lunch before heading back to campus, and Jean took those minutes to try and lock down every hateful accusation he d read. None of this could matter right now; he had to get his thoughts back on tonight s match.
They could have gone straight to the stadium, but Jeremy led Cat and Jean on a path that would rendezvous with Laila outside the architecture building. Laila had a printout of the Bobcats roster taped to the front of her three-ring binder, and she quizzed them on the walk to the Gold Court. Cat was more familiar with the upperclassmen than the younger players, but Jeremy was a lost cause. He knew names and positions, but nothing else, not even if they were right-handed or left.
Why don t you know this? Jean demanded.
Jeremy shrugged off his disapproval. Stats are for coaches to stress over. I trust my gut.
You re lying, Jean protested.
It s worked this far, hasn t it?
Jean couldn t deny that, but he didn t have to be happy about it. He subsided somewhat grumpily and followed his teammates across the street.
Exposition Park was unusually lively today, on account of the first home game. There were booths set up selling merch, and a few groups picnicking around blaring boomboxes. A couple people they passed were good enough fans to recognize the Trojans on sight; others were close enough to see the 3 on Jean s face and react to that. Cat and Jeremy accepted the fans well wishes with good cheer and warm smiles, and soon enough they were safe inside the locker room.
The Trojans had a one-hour afternoon practice, then two hours off to eat and review tapes. Here the Trojans finally sounded like a Class I team to Jean. They still slipped in unnecessary compliments and praise as they reviewed the night s opponents, but they discussed the Bobcats playstyle with unrelenting focus. There was a long history between the two teams, natural when both teams were so talented but further complicated by Jeremy muddying White Ridge s reputation a few years back. The Trojans knew these players backwards and forwards, and they knew it was going to be a fight all the way to the final bell.
Literally, Xavier added, with a glance toward Jean. They aren t quite as bad as the Ravens, but they re violent and they have the numbers to compensate for red cards. They ll likely try to injure Jeremy right out of the gate, but I wouldn t be surprised if they spent most of their energy on you.
The weakest link, Shane said, and hastened to add, As far as tempers go, I mean, when Jean flicked him a deadly look. They d love to see us get our comeuppance. If they goad you into a brawl in our season opener, they ll ride that high for years. You ve gotten a lot better at practice, but we re not actively bullying you to test your restraint. Can you handle them?
Yes, Jean said.
When he left it at that, Jeremy smiled and said, I have faith. Shawn looked like he might comment, but a crash down the hall and yodeling cry of despair distracted him. A helpless smile tugged at Jeremy s mouth as he called, All good, Bobby?
Roberta Blackwell appeared in the doorway. Good, she promised. Ignore that.
She was gone as quick as she d come, though her yipped Ow, ow, ow echoed back to them a minute later.
The Trojans only had three assistants, but Jean would have guessed the number higher tonight. They were in constant motion, flitting this way and that across the locker room as they prepared for the match. Antonio Jones was in charge of loading the stick racks, and he took his time with each racquet before locking it into place: checking tension in the strings, inspecting the heads for any troublesome wear and tear, and fixing tape for the players who preferred wrapped sticks. Bobby had started off by delivering freshly-cleaned padding to each locker, using nametags to find proper homes for each piece, and then set to work filling the players water bottles. Angie stuck by Lisinski s side, filling out forms with last-minute welfare checks.
A few months ago, Jean had found the concept of assistants ridiculous. The tasks they were assigned were ones the players or coaches could easily handle, and having extra faces in the locker room at practice was unnecessary. Tonight, he finally understood the appeal. Each nonsense task that Bobby or Tony took off his plate bought him a few extra minutes to focus on the lineup he d be facing and the bodies he d share the court with.
Traditionally the Trojans had rigid lineups for each half: designated starters with assigned subs that would trade in halfway through. Jean had been assigned to the second-half lineup, which suited him just fine: second was where Jeremy, Cat, and Laila played, and it bought him time to study his teammates during the first half. Although Jean was officially a sub for Cat and Shawn s line until he could prove himself reliable, Rhemann was allowing him to start alongside Cat tonight. Anticipating trouble, Jean assumed-it would be easier to pull Jean if he acted out if Rhemann didn t burn up a sub putting him on in the first place.
A warning bell echoed throughout the locker room: they were an hour out from serve. Rhemann was meeting with the night s officials, so White collected the team and sent them to the inner court. The stands were a third filled already, and Jeremy looked positively gleeful as he took his team on a few easy laps. All the Trojans looked excited to be here, Jean realized as he glanced from one laughing face to another, and he felt the chasm between his heart and theirs keenly.
He couldn t remember the last time he d looked at a court with any bright emotion. The Ravens had no time for joy. The game was all that mattered, the only place they had any real value, the stage upon which they would honor the master s investment in them. How could any of them truly love a cage? Not even Kevin was foolish enough to dabble in honest delight; his hunger for Exy was a greedy, all-consuming thing that dragged him ever onward.
Derrick s deafening My wife! jarred Jean out of his morose contemplation. A half-second later Derrick had him by the elbow and was dragging him out of the Trojans line. The lowest row of seats in the stadium were raised four feet off the ground, with a barred railing keeping the fans separated from the inner court. During the game security guards would be stationed at each section to ensure no one fell or jumped down in their excitement, but for now the arriving fans had the run of the place.
Three women were standing at the railing closest to the Trojans entrance, each wearing a cardinal red shirt emblazoned with a different letter from USC. The U was Cherise, easily recognizable now that Jean had seen her photograph. She leaned over the railing when Derrick reached for her, nearly falling out of her shirt as she did so. Derrick s fervent I love you, was probably more for that near-miss than the smile she favored him with. He pressed a too-loud kiss to her knuckles before motioning to Jean. Cherise, my buddy Jean Moreau! I ve told him all about you.
Only good things, I hope, she said.
Please be the mother of my children, Derrick said, holding both hands up toward her in supplication. We would make such beautiful babies.
Charming as always, she said dryly. Hey, Derek.
Cherise, Derek returned as he came up on Jean s other side. Hey, Tori, Denise.
Derek. Tori leaned over the railing to smile down at him. Looking good.
I could say the same for you, T.
You could say it, she said, with an expectant tip of her head.
Derek s smile was slow, but whatever he meant to say was interrupted by Bobby yelling down the inner court at them: I m telling Coach! A half-second later she edited her threat to, I m telling Angie! Let s go, let s go, let s go!
Oh God, Derrick said, clutching at his heart. Cherise, my love. Another day.
Derek used the railing to haul himself up, and Tori caught his face in her hands for a quick kiss. A group of fans six rows up erupted in hoots and cheers, and Derek was grinning like a fool when he dropped back down to flat ground.
Cherise caught Jean s eye as he started to step back and said, Look after our boys out there, will you?
Our boys! Derrick yelled before taking off at full speed. Our! Boys!
One of these days you ll figure out he s not joking about you, Derek warned Cherise. Sort yourself out before you string him along much longer, would you? He s my brother.
See you after, was all Cherise said.
Derek frowned at her but motioned to Jean and set off. They didn t try to match Derrick s speed but kept a slow pace, making it easier for the rest of the lineup to catch up with them. Jean settled in alongside Jeremy again. Somewhere behind him the Trojans were treating Derek like a returned hero, yelling and clapping and carrying on in the most embarrassing way. Jean idly wondered if they would ever shut up. The arrival of the Bobcats to the Away side finally earned a bit of peace, except now the Trojans shouted cheery greetings at them on their way by.
Jeremy and Xavier broke away from the line to pay respects to White Ridge s coaches and captains. Jean looked for Connors on his way by, but the Bobcats were still streaming out of the locker room. The Trojans made one last lap, collecting Jeremy and Xavier on their way by, and Jeremy took them to the locker room to change out. The teams were too big to share the court for warmups, but the Trojans would run drills first. It bought their visitors a little more time to shake out the stiffness of traveling.
Getting changed out was easy enough after nearly thirteen years dealing with so many layers. Jean was already wearing the gold shorts he needed for his Home uniform, so he sat on the bench to tug his shin guards into place. He yanked the straps tight, then kicked his legs out one at a time and rolled his ankles to test them. Satisfied they d hold in place without cutting off circulation, he pulled his socks on overtop. His shoes he left off to one side for now in favor of peeling his shirt off.
He tugged on his chest armor, strapping down his shoulders first before snapping the chest straps into place. His warmup jersey was tossed into his locker in favor of the gold-on-red one sized for sitting atop gear. It took a few quick tugs to settle it right over his padding, and he locked his neck guard into place before reaching for his gloves. There were two pairs: long cotton ones that would button up above his elbows and keep his arm guards from sliding or pinching his arms, and the bulkier set with armored fingers that would go on last. Jean tucked the latter into his helmet for the walk back to inner court and got his shoes on and laced up.
Ready we ready we ready! was the echoing war cry from the strikers row, and it was answered with a ferocious Fight on! from nearly every Trojan. Cat gave Jean s hair an enthusiastic ruffle, her smile wild with excitement, and dragged him to his feet.
First-half players would practice on the Home side of the court, and second-half would take Away. The line-up for warm-ups on game nights had them alternating so they could peel off in different directions as they stepped through the court door. Jeremy had the front of the line, with Xavier right behind him, and the rest of the Trojans were arranged by court position. Although the freshmen weren t allowed to play, they could participate in drills, so they wriggled into the spaces their upperclassmen assigned them. Jean closed his eyes, listening to the way their laughter and upbeat voices echoed off the walls.
Good? It was Angie, pausing at his side.
There was no reason to tell her how strange it was to exist in such a moment and place, so Jean only said, Good.
She continued on her way, counting players with her pen. Lisinski passed her going the other direction, and when Angie called, Twenty-nine! from the front of the line, Lisinski echoed it back. Tony and Bobby ran up and down the line, passing out racquets for warm-ups. Jean held his in the crook of his elbow as he pulled his helmet on and tugged his heavier gloves into place. Tony s All out! when they were done had Lisinski jogging toward the front of the line. Jeremy s whoop warned Jean the line was about to start moving, and even through Jean s helmet it was deafening when the Trojans joined in.
They jogged back to inner court in an unbroken, endless line. The stands had filled quite substantially since Jean last checked, and he felt the fans roar like a weight against his bones. It was a smaller stadium than Evermore, with a far less rabid fanbase, but over the quieter summer months Jean had forgotten how loud game nights could get.
Rhemann had the court door open for them, and they ran through without slowing. The half-court line had four buckets of balls out and waiting for them. Jeremy took his group on two quick laps of their half, giving Laila time to get settled at her goal, before collecting them at half-court. He listed off the five drills he wanted them to work through, then passed them each a ball and sent them on their way with a loud, Hey, hey!
Jean forgot about the tacky uniforms and the crowded stands and the Bobcats that were making laps around the inner court. Only this mattered: the ball in his racquet, the team he was representing, the goal at Laila s back. Jean spared half a mind for Jeremy s callouts; everything else was focused on the way his body felt as it eased into too-familiar movements. He was well-rested and pain-free, sated from dinner and comfortable in armor that hadn t yet been bent and dented by heavy blows. He would perform well tonight.
Soon enough it was time to cede the court to the Bobcats. The freshmen and sophomores were in charge of collecting the scattered balls and refilling the buckets, which they left behind for their opponents to use. Rhemann was talking to two reporters when Jean followed Cat off the court. One of the two was watching for his jersey number, but Jean feigned not to hear his name over the noise of the crowd. Maybe Cat heard the call, too, because she immediately tugged at his sleeve and pointed to the Trojans cheerleading squad. It was a well-timed distraction that would excuse him from having to speak to anyone, so Jean tried to care about what Cat was saying.
Not far from them was a young man in USC colors and a ridiculous plumed hat. He carried a broomstick that, in lieu of bristles, sported a plush white horse head. As Jean watched, he tucked it between his legs and went galloping wildly up and down the length of the court.
Cat, Jean said, in a tone he knew she d understand as What the fuck?
Our Exy mascot! Cat said as she hooked her stick onto the appropriate rack. Jean s racquet belonged only two spots down from hers, and he locked it into place before unstrapping his helmet. Cat pried her own off before asking, You didn t see him last ye-uhhh, year before?
I was only looking at the court.
Man, Cat said, almost pitying. You really missed out.
I don t think so, Jean said, and she only laughed.
The mascot-Diego, Jean thought-came galloping back their way to present Bobby with a carnation. It was missing half its petals, leaving Jean to wonder if he d sneaked it down here in his pocket, but Bobby accepted it with a delighted laugh. Diego got a hug for his efforts, and he swung her into a deep dip for a kiss while the cheerleaders bounced around them. Bobby was flushed and giggling as she found her feet again, and Cat watched the pair with obvious fondness.
Young love is the best, she declared, depositing their helmets on the nearest bench.
Jean couldn t make sense of it. From these outside distractions-Cherise, Tori, and Diego-to Cat and Laila, Xavier and Min, and whatever strangeness was going on with Cody, the Trojans seemed to fall in love so easily. He said as much to Cat as they collected their water bottles, and she peered up at him in renewed interest.
Don t tell me you ve never been in love, she said.
Ravens are not allowed to have relationships, Jean said. They can sleep around as they like to work out aggression and need, but allowing emotions into the mix could have catastrophic results on regulated partnerships and the overall hierarchy. The team s success must come before all else.
That s not what I asked, Cat said.
Diego was taking Bobby for a ride on his makeshift horse. Jean couldn t hear her laughter from here, but he saw it on her face as she clung to him. Jean tasted bile and blood. He sucked in a slow breath through the aching burn on his tongue and said, It doesn t matter.
When he dragged his stare back to Cat, the lighthearted teasing was gone from her expression. For a moment he thought she d give up and grant him peace, but then she cautiously asked, What happened?
A knife at his throat; cruel fingers in his hair. Queers do not belong on my perfect Court. I will bleed this out of him within a week.
Stupid, beautiful Kevin had tried his best to defend Jean. After all, he was blindingly obsessed with the Trojans; it was reasonable to assume Jean would also find a Big Three team captivating. He d only dug Jean s grave deeper with that argument. Riko hadn t even known Jeremy was a factor then-it wasn t the Trojans he d caught Jean staring at with such unsubtle and idiotic devotion. Riko hadn t wasted his breath correcting Kevin, not wanting to give him any more reasons to protect their worthless third wheel. Jean hadn t tried either; what good would it do to confess to such an oblivious fool?
Jean, Cat said, almost too soft to hear.
I got caught, Jean finally said. I do not want to talk about it tonight.
Okay, she said, and looped an arm around his waist. Okay. I m sorry.
Jean moved without thinking, pressing a close-mouthed kiss to her temple the way she did whenever she thought he was unraveling. Cat s arm went so tight around him he felt two vertebrae in his spine pop, but the smile she turned on him was bright. If she had anything else to say on the matter, she was interrupted by Laila s arrival. Jeremy had gotten flagged down to speak to the reporters so Rhemann could return to his duties.
The Trojans drifted on their side of the arena, alternating jogging in place with slow stretches and easy twists. At ten minutes to serve, White took the offense line off to one side and Jimenez rounded up his defense. The freshmen listened with utter seriousness, never mind that his words weren t for them. With five minutes left to go, Jeremy was sent on court for a coin toss against the Bobcats captain Thomas Ennis. He won serve, and Ennis chose the traditional Away court for his team s start.
Rhemann collected everyone as soon as Jeremy was back. You ve faced this team before. You know what they re capable of. They re fast, and they re good, and they re likely going to do their best to get under your skin. You know their game, and you know yours. One step, one push, one duck and weave at a time, he stressed. You can overcome everything they throw at you. Trust yourself and your teammates, and don t hesitate to call for help where and when you need it.
He glanced from Jeremy to Jean at that, and Jean remembered Xavier s warning that the Bobcats would try to hurt them both. Jean wasn t concerned for himself; he could play through whatever these useless children threw his way. Jean assumed Jeremy was less reckless after having to deal with this team for the last four years, but he fixed a cool stare on Jeremy s face until Jeremy returned it. Jeremy s smile was lightning-quick and full of teeth, and Jean decided to trust him for now.
Overhead the announcer was going on at full volume, welcoming the fans to the Gold Court and declaring the game a sold-out success. With two minutes left on the clock, he finally read off the starting lineups, calling the Bobcats to the court first. Jean watched as they entered one at a time and took their places along the far-fourth and half-court lines. Xavier collected his first-half teammates and led them to the door.
Starting line-up for your USC Trojans, the announcer said, and the crowd screamed so loud Jean could barely hear the roster. On offense, strikers Derek Thompson and Derrick Allen. Starting dealer is your vice-captain, Xavier Morgan. On defense, backliners Cody Winter and Patrick Toppings. In goal, Shane Reed. Here he paused, knowing the band would launch into the Trojans fight song.
One of the night s six officials was waiting at half-court, and he passed the ball to Xavier before exiting the court. Overhead the announcer was starting a twenty-second countdown. By seventeen, the entire crowd was counting along. The referee made it off the court at nine seconds to go, and he locked the door behind him. The Trojans subs stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a few steps back from the wall so the referees could move back and forth as needed. Jeremy was smiling ear-to-ear, positively giddy, and Cat screamed Let s go! as the roared countdown went Three, two, one.
As the bell sounded, Xavier tossed the ball so he could catch it and fire it up-court. The second it left his hand both teams were moving, Trojans and Bobcats flying in opposite directions to find their marks and open themselves for passes. For the first few minutes, the match was clean, and then Ennis threw Cody into the wall so hard Jean swore he felt it secondhand. Cody had to use the butt of their racquet as a prop to stay on their feet, and they took off after the Bobcats captain. The ease with which they stole the ball from his shallow net was brilliant enough to give Jean pause: even Ennis didn t realize he d been robbed, and he tried to pass a ball Cody had already heaved across the court to Pat.
Jean took his time studying each line: the way his strikers battled the Bobcats violent backliners, the dealers constant struggle in the middle, and the backliners solid defense against White Ridge s rowdy strikers. The Bobcats aggression was familiar; Jean watched his teammates stumble as they were tripped or grabbed. The Bobcats tried again and again to steal the Trojans racquets, sometimes with violent twists between plays and usually paired with more brutal checks. The Trojans knew better than to hold on and risk wrist injuries, but they only let go with one hand, executing easy twists to get their racquets safely out of reach.
Jean had written the Trojans off as lackadaisical pushovers for months. Seeing them in an actual match when he wasn t playing for the other team was enough to give him pause at last. This was what he d been looking for all summer, the truth he couldn t see when it was Trojans against Trojans in scrimmages. Derrick had tried explaining it a month ago: We re faster and slicker and we move better on the court. At the time Jean was too annoyed with him to take it to heart, but tonight he understood. The Trojans gave ground when needed, but they never ceded control. Every step relinquished simply put them in a better position to regroup. It was a one-sided match from the get-go, whether White Ridge could see it or not.
To either side of him, the Trojans were cheering on their teammates, never mind no one on the court could hear them. None of them commented on the nonstop fouls or expressed frustration over missed calls against the Bobcats. Not ignorance, Jean realized; they knew exactly how many times their friends were crushed and thrown. It simply couldn t matter. The Trojans couldn t change how their opponents played, only how they performed despite the unchecked violence. Their game was more important than whatever their opponents brought to the table.
You are very good, he said to Jeremy. I finally understand why Kevin admires this team.
Looking at Jeremy was a mistake; Jean forced his attention back to the court so he wouldn t have to face that pleased smile.
We, Jeremy said. We are very good, Jean.
Halftime came with the Trojans two points up. As soon as they were back in the locker room, Lisinski, Angie, and the nurses moved through the first-half players, testing new injuries and studying the aches they carried with them. Derek stepped aside as soon as he could to unleash a flurry of blows on the punching bag down the hall, and Jean tried to tune it out in favor of the Trojans easy chatter. Derek was back long before they were due back in inner court, and he smiled at Jean like he hadn t bloodied his knuckles.
You ve seen them in action now, he said, tugging his gloves on to hide his injuries from the press. Ready?
I know how to behave when I must, Jean said.
More than one Trojan exchanged a skeptical look, but no one argued with him. Jean didn t bother to explain himself but followed his team back to the court.
Let s hear it for the second-half lineups, starting with your USC Trojans, the announcer said. On offense, Ananya Deshmukh and your captain, Jeremy Knox! He had to pause there as the stadium erupted in cheers. Starting dealer: Min Cai! On defense, Catalina Alvarez and Jean Moreau! Jean followed Cat through the doorway as the crowd yelled loud enough to rattle his teeth. In here he could barely hear the announcement for Laila, but he trusted her to be close behind him. He crossed the court to far-fourth and took his starting spot.
Spotting his mark up the court was easy work. Easier still was hearing the countdown as the referee handed White Ridge s dealer the ball for serve. The official left the court at an unhurried pace, and Jean silently continued the countdown as the door was bolted shut: six, five, four.
At center court the Bobcat dealer shifted his stance and raised his arm. Most dealers served by tossing the ball and throwing it from a high arc, but this man preferred the quick and dirty style of dropping it to his racquet. It meant he didn t have enough momentum to reach his strikers; he would likely pass it back to his backliners for a more forceful opening push. Jean mentally reviewed everything he d read about the man in these past few weeks, calculating his chances of going left or right, and found them favoring Cat s side. Cat could hold off any transgressions into her territory, he was sure, so Jean turned his full attention back to his striker.
Three, two, one.
The bell sounded, the ball dropped, and Jean stopped existing for anything but the game at hand.