Chapter 5
Finn
“Boys, a moment with you both.”
At the end of the day, Eksteen corners Pi and me. Abs is lurking, but despite the dark circles under his eyes, he’s in a considerably better mood than yesterday when we found out about the captaincy.
Pi and I share a glance like we’ve just been summoned to the head teacher’s office.
“Wasson?” I say, as I rub self-heating pain relief cream onto my shoulder. I try to keep my tone breezy, as though whatever my coach says to me now can’t tear my world apart, but I’ve been thinking since yesterday. A lot, actually.
Thinking about how much I want to be captain, and how much I especially want it to happen with Pi at my side.
“What’s the deal with you boys?” Eksteen says, and my stomach flips inside out.
“Uh . . .” I won’t look at Pi again, and he won’t look at me. Behind us, I feel Abs shift his full attention to Eksteen.
“What d’you mean?” Pi asks.
“Listen, lads, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way or anything, but this co-captaincy deal was all Chelford’s brain baby. He vouched for you both, said you two are very close outside of the Cents.”
Pi flinches, but remains quiet.
Eksteen continues. “He says you’re always requesting hotel rooms together, going out for dinner, sitting beside each other on the coach, hanging out around Bath—”
“Abs is usually there too,” Pi says, his tone clearly showing he feels attacked.
“I’m not reprimanding you guys, okay? I’m just curious.
I told Chelford that I had my doubts. Don’t get me wrong, you’re both top tier players, but you’re chalk and cheese.
You’re . . . peaches and gravy, you’re pie and eggs, you’re .
. . just too different.” Eksteen puts his palm up, letting us know not to interrupt, though I was only about to ask which one of us was peaches and which was gravy.
I’m definitely peaches. “I’m only worried you’ll not be able to settle those differences on the pitch. ”
Neither of us says anything, but we both silently agree with him.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen.” Eksteen turns to Abs. “Ellis, you do not need to be in the room right now.” He makes a shooing gesture with his hand.
“Fine,” Abs says, collecting up his hoodie and bag. “They’re gonna tell me later anyways. You’re gonna tell me later, right, Pi?”
Pi’s shaking his head for Eksteen’s benefit, but I see the “absolutely” written all over his features.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” Eksteen says as soon as the slapping sound of Abs’s trainers on the tiled hallway disappears. “Prove to me and Chelford that you’re capable of working together as a single unit.”
“Or?” I say, because the “or” is just hanging right there between us.
“Or we’ll choose one of you to be captain by yourself.”
“So, it’s together or it’s a competition?” Pi asks. Whether he realises he’s doing it or not, he takes a step towards me. Our shoulders bump against each other.
“Precisely.” Eksteen doesn’t seem to notice Pi making his decision already. Whatever storm had started to rage against my heart calms a little at that thought. He wants to lead beside me. With me. “Like I said, it’s nothing against you as individual players. It’s merely a cohesion thing.”
“If only he knew how cohesive we can be,” I whisper to Pi as we leave the locker room. “Remember that time we busted at the exact same moment?”
Pi smirks. “Maybe we could figure out how to use that . . . cohesion to our advantage. Like if we f—”
Abs is in the car park, leaning against Pi’s Honda. He waves, cutting Pi off before he finishes his sentence. They often share lifts, especially if they have plans to hang out after training, so I’m not surprised to see him there.
“Alright, you chodes?” Abs yells as soon as we get within earshot. “Tell me everything.”
“Get in.” Pi unlocks the car with his fob.
“Bagsy the front,” I call out, running over.
Abs huffs and climbs into the back. “You’re coming too?” he asks once I’ve strapped myself into the passenger seat.
“Where we going?” I ask.
“We’ve got a table booked at Teach’s. Abs’s got something to tell me.” Pi glances in his mirror, checking his blind spot, but also possibly checking with his best friend that he’s alright to share his news with me.
Harry slides into the middle of the seat. “I know you’ve just broken up with George, so I don’t want this to sound as though I’m insensitive or that I don’t give a shit, but Lan and I are like official now.”
“Oh my god, for real?” Pi asks, checking his mirror once again and pulling out of the space.
“I went over his place last night and . . . yeah, we decided it was worth a try. Boyfriends. Actual, proper boyfriends,” he says.
I spare a glance over my shoulder, and Abs’s face is beetroot red. “Is this the rich kid from Gadget’s wedding on Saturday? The one with the see-through shirt?”
Abs gives a nervous laugh. “Yeah.” He puffs out a breath like he’s been running laps around the car park. “That’s him.”
“Sweet. Get in there, pard.” I high-five him. “That guy’s fucking loaded.”
“Well, his dad cut him off, but . . .” Abs doesn’t finish his sentence.
“I’m so happy for you, bro,” Pi says. I can’t be sure because he’s determinedly concentrating on the road, but his eyes—well, the one eye that I can see—looks a bit watery.
“You’re not pissed because of George?” Abs says.
“I mean, I’m a little jealous that you’ve found true love, not gonna lie there, but mostly I’m just glad you cunts have figured your shit out. I can’t believe it took you so long. An entire year with a broken heart. So, what happened last night, then?”
While Abs explains how he and this “Lan” fella went from friends to enemies to officially in love, I discreetly, or as discreetly as I can, watch Pi’s reactions and try to quash the weird ache rising in my chest.
I have a girlfriend, an official partner in crime, and yet, I love her like a friend. Which is not the same way that Abs loves Orlando.
Fuck, I want that. Pi was right when he said he was a little jealous. I’m a little jealous too.
Actually . . . a lot jealous.
When we arrive at Teach’s, a pirate-themed burger and seafood restaurant slash bar, there’s a lanky streak of piss dressed in all black waiting for us in a booth.
Orlando is one of those young gays who looks like he’s just fallen straight off a Parisian runway.
He’s not wearing shades indoors or smoking a cigarette, but it wouldn’t look out of place if he were.
“Congratulations on your official boyfriend status,” Pi says to Lando as we slide into the wooden panelled booth designed to feel like a ship’s galley.
Abs practically mounts his boyfriend. “Babygirl. God, I’ve missed you.”
“My king,” Orlando whispers back, kissing him wetly and noisily on the mouth.
“Sir, this is a Teach’s,” I say, and Abs’s cheeks flush bright pink, but he dismounts and sits on the leather seat.
I cosy up next to Pi, squashing him against the wall, and immediately place my hand over his knee.
It’s warm today. He’s wearing shorts, and his hairs stand to attention at my touch.
A different part of my body stands to attention, but I ignore it.
Though I am glad it’s unnaturally dark inside this restaurant.
“Thank you,” Orlando says to Pi. “Sorry to hear about Georgia.” Abs must have filled his boyfriend in on all the gossip.
I half expect Pi to flinch at the sound of her name or gasp or suck in a breath, but he remains still and calm. My fingers trace circles against his bare skin, and for an infinitesimal moment, his eyes flutter closed.
He realises he hasn’t responded to Orlando, so he nods. “Thanks.”
A waiter drops by with menus and takes our drink order.
“Okay, so what did Coach say?” Abs says.
Pi waits for the waiter to depart. “That we either need to get our shit together and work, like . . . together, or they’re going to select one of us . . .” He motions his hand between himself and me. “To be Han Solo.”
“Just one captain, then? Not co-captains?” Abs asks.
“Yup,” I say.
Pi sighs and murmurs his confirmation. “Mmhmm.”
“And you both want this? So that’s a definite yes for co-captains?”
Again, we nod.
“We need to prove that we have . . .” Wait, what was the word Eksteen used? “Cohesion,” I say.
“How are you going to do that?” Abs asks.
I shrug.
“Kind of thought it wouldn’t have been an issue, that it’s something we’d be able to show him on the pitch, but I guess there are a few things to iron out,” Pi says.
“How long have you got?”
“End of season, I think?” Pi looks at me, but I can only heave my shoulders again. This whole planning, puzzle-solving shit isn’t my forte.
“Mmm, idea.” Orlando pushes himself out of his slouched position. He’s like a spider unfurling its legs. “You know what would really show cohesion?”
“What?” Pi asks, pandering to Abs’s boyfriend’s obvious flair for dramatics.
Orlando leans against the back of the booth seat and places his fingers together in a steeple shape. “A dance routine.”
Everyone laughs but Pi.
“I love it,” I say.
“No.” Pi pivots his torso to me. His eyebrows have moulded themselves into one thick blonde bar, and he’s shaking his head like I’ve lost my mind. “What the fuck? No.”
I slide my hand up his leg and cup his inner thigh.
“It’s a great way to show that we can work together.
Also that you’re willing to step out of your comfort zone, and that I can organise and manage something.
” My fingertips dip under the hem of his shorts.
It’s a dangerous game, I’m already bricked, and Pi looks like he wants to slap me.
He closes his eyes and exhales slowly through his nose. “I’ll think about it.”
I punch the air. I grew up with siblings, so I know “I’ll think about it” is as good as a “yes.”
Orlando pops his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and pretends to tuck hair behind his ear.
“I can’t wait,” Abs says. “I’ve never been in a dance group thingy before.”
“No, no, no.” Pi holds up his hand. “If this happens, and that’s a big if, it’ll just be Eggs and me.”
“But—” Abs begins, but I give him a look and cut him off. It’s a “let me work on him” look, and he’s quiet in an instant. He turns to Orlando, his eyes wide with excitement.
All of this escapes Pi’s notice, thankfully.
The waiter is nearby with our drinks, and Pi’s having his “new restaurant menu panic,” or NRMP for short.
I ate here during the Easter hols when Mum and Stu brought Logan up, and I doubt the menu has changed much since then.
It’s not a long menu. There’s a starters bit, a burgers section, a seafood column, and a handful of desserts.
I pick out the double cheeseburger for myself and skim the rest of the items.
Pi is a very particular eater. For example, he will eat chicken, but only if he’s prepared the meat—or watched me prepare it—and has cut off all the “grotty” bits.
He also won’t eat it if he thinks it’s too spongy, looks wet, he imagines there’s pink on the inside, or if it’s too “chickeny.” He’s less fussy about beef, but I have seen him gag in public on gristle, so burgers are definitely out.
He loves fish, though, but not tinned fish, and not seafood.
And he likes brassicas but will recoil at the sight of broccoli.
He has an aversion to all beans except edamame and jelly, which . . . fair.
He hates eggs. Loves cheese. Likes tofu. Loathes sausages.
He won’t eat strawberries or blueberries, and is touch and go about bananas, but he’ll inhale grapefruit, oranges, kumquats, anything citrus.
One time he bought five of these softball-sized fruits called pomelos from Lidl.
I’d never even heard of them before, and they tasted okay, I guess, but Pi smashed the lot in three days.
He likes mushrooms, and coriander, and olives, Marmite and Vegemite, things that a lot of people are in universal agreement suck, and yet I have witnessed him physically retching at the thought of bacon.
Bacon!
It’s possible that his taste buds were fried when he was in utero.
He’s worse than Logan.
“Halloumi fries to start, fish tacos for main, probably with this pomegranate side salad jollop, and Jolly Roger bread and butter pudding with coconut ice cream for dessert,” I say to him, pointing to each menu item so he has time to read all the ingredients and descriptions.
“Ooh,” he says, eyes lighting up. “That sounds good. That’s what you’re having?”
“No. I’m having chicken wings, double cheeseburger, and two chocolate brownies. You’re having the fish tacos.”
Pi’s mouth falls open. He stares at me and then back at his menu, then he closes it. “Thank you.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, but I don’t look at anyone. Not Abs, not his mannequin-like boyfriend, not Pi. I simply nod like it was nothing, and I don’t in fact spend every second of every day thinking about the intricacies of my one particular teammate.