Chapter 10 #3
TwinkleTop: Okay. I’ll send them in the morning when I’m half hard. So you can think about sucking my cock all day.
3dge-m3: How do you know I’m not doing that already?
TwinkleTop: Because you would have lost the game if all you were thinking about is my cock
3dge-m3: You’re right.
Someone spent their whole Saturday plastering the campus with hockey posters. Everyone’s team photos from the school website superimposed onto historic figures, bodybuilders, even a large Dingbat swooping down to snatch up the rival team.
Marcus is waiting for me outside the dining hall.
He offers me a curled piece of paper. I recognize the rookie, number twenty-four, photoshopped on top of a chariot being pulled by hockey players in opposing team’s colors.
There’s a cartoon drawing of two guys making out in the corner, wearing Dingbats purple and silver.
The page has clearly been crumpled up, but like a dedicated archivist, Marcus has restored it.
“Every good artist has their critics,” Marcus says, holding the door open for me as I continue to examine the poster.
“You know who did all this?”
“Based on the composition, someone with a whole lot of time and not a lot of skill.”
“I dunno…” I pluck another poster off the wall as we pass by. This one has Leroy’s head atop some bodybuilder, the kind of bulk that’s more veins than muscle. “This looks pretty realistic.”
“Yoooo!” Terrence has somehow snuck up behind me. “Leroy is fuckin’ shredded. Can I keep this? I’m starting a collection.”
I hand him both papers, figuring it’s good that Terrence has a hobby outside of hockey.
“Sick!” He slips it into a folder under his arm.
“You know how to use one of those?”
Terrence snorts. “Fuck you, man.”
“I’m just saying, I’ve seen the inside of your backpack. Abandon all hope, documents who enter here.”
Marcus gives a little wave to get Terrence’s attention. “Good game on Saturday.”
Terrence grins and reaches over me to pat Marcus on the back. “Appreciate it. Hey, you know about tech right? Some of the guys are talking about starting a podcast—”
“Oh god,” I reflexively announce.
Marcus should know better than to entertain this idea, but Terrence leads him to the hockey table, pulling up an extra chair. Once we’re all seated, there are so many guys all together it’s hard to have a full conversation. Nevermind a conversation about recording interfaces and microphones.
“I think we offer an interesting perspective—”
“You talk to that wannabe puck bunny Saturday?”
“I was so wasted—”
“I’m so cooked on this lab report.”
This is my white noise, the perfect background filler while I count calories and double-check my schedule on my phone.
I’ve got an essay due at midnight and only an outline to show for it.
Tomorrow is a light class day, so I’ll be driving to Maude to get an extra coaching session in.
Then this weekend more coaching sessions and a trip to Philly for another Mims fitting session. I feel like I’m forgetting something.
The table falls to a hush, and when I glance up from my screen, it’s obvious why.
“Don’t stop on account of me, boys,” Christos announces. He eyes up the table, stopping when he notices Marcus, like he’s somehow missed the six-foot green Dragonfolk on his team before now.
Leroy catches onto Christos’ confusion. “Marcus is a fan.”
“Uh…” If Marcus has cheeks, I’m sure they’d be bright red by now. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“He does AV stuff,” I add.
Christos gives me a nod, “Roderick.”
I swear he drops the coach-authority when he says my name. Now I’m worried about my cheeks.
“I want to remind you all to not let this win go to your heads. Upperclassmen, make sure you’re talking to your juniors, and rookies, ask questions.” His nostrils flair with a huff.
Terrence’s shoulders slump. At the other end of the table I see the chariot driving rookie with an outright grimace. If I can catch the tension, then so will any opposing team.
“See you all at practice, remember, we’re starting in weights before moving on to conditioning.” Several guys groan. A player lays his head on the table. “Hope you all used Sunday as a rest day.”
I get up to grab some more food, tailing Christos to the salad bar. It’s not till we’re shoulder to shoulder that he notices me. “Got any matches coming up?”
I shake my head. “One in November, but I’m working on a new program I’m hoping to debut soon.”
“So, you’ll be plenty busy regardless.” He shovels some lettuce onto his plate.
“Not too busy for you.”
The tongs clatter onto his plate. He clears his throat before returning the tongs and walking off with a plate of plain lettuce.
I stare at the tray of croutons, the carbs an apt metaphor for this whole ordeal. Who would know if I ate just one? My macros haven’t completely melted my brain to the point where I think five extra carbs is going to ruin my athleticism. But it’s never just one snack, is it?
I catch him at the soda fountains.
“Sorry…” I whisper.
He licks his lips. “Don’t mention it” His voice drops. “Seriously.”
The icy tone is enough to freeze me in place while he walks away. It’s hard to lose sight of him even if it’s peak dining hours. He’s sitting with some other faculty, where he belongs. I sulk back to the hockey players, my plate as empty as it was when I got up.
Marcus is the only one who notices. “You feeling okay, Roderick?”
“Rod has to eat rabbit food to keep his figure,” Terrence explains. He shoots me a salute. “I’ll eat in your honor, for the both of us.”
I toss a cherry tomato into my mouth, finding an odd satisfaction crushing it between my teeth and filling my mouth with tomato guts. I need to go for a run. Or punch a wall. Or jerk off—I don’t know which will make me forget my exchange with Christos.