“You just stood there, Cannon. Seems you decided to take it easy. I don’t make it anything,” I say.
He rolls his neck before balling the towel up and throwing it on top of his gym bag in the corner. I recognize his stuff from last time, bag unzipped with his clothes and phone inside. My eyes dart to the place where the towel now rests on top of his slides and sweat pants.
“Your cousin doesn’t like me, because . . .” I shrug, not having to say it; we both know. I’m a threat. Short and sweet, very simple. “And he chose to deal with his dislike by demeaning me in front of others, by sexualizing me to point out that I am different from the rest of you. That he has a power I could never have, and that makes me weak and him strong.”
“Hollis.” The way he says my name and lets his head tilt makes my stomach churn, and not because of the belittling tone underneath, but because for a little while there, I had fantasies of him tilting his head and saying my name for wholly different reasons.
My eyes flutter closed as he speaks the rest, the words I saw coming.
“You’re overreacting. It was hardly a statement. He just slapped your . . .”
The fact he can’t finish tells me he knows he’s wrong, that his line is bullshit. I open my eyes and point at him, wishing I could handle getting close enough to push into the center of his chest. My legs are lead, though. Most of me doesn’t want to be near him.
“And you stood there and let him get away with it.” I hold his gaze for several long, uncomfortable seconds, long enough for my legs to regain their feeling. I stay locked on his face while I move back toward the benches, to my abandoned long-sleeved tee that I want to crawl inside of and disappear into. Too mad to stick around to put it back on, I instead grab it, glaring at Cannon until I have to crane my neck to do so. I let my anger spill out onto Pete as I pass, knocking on his counter while I walk by and check the score as I utter, “Suck it, Green Bay.” That wasn’t fair, but I don’t like being prodded into uncomfortable conversations. I knew I wasn’t ready to talk about Friday, and especially not with Cannon.
His cousin may have felt threatened before, but he has no idea what’s gunning for him now. I’m not going to make this look close anymore, and I won’t offer advice. I’m going to humiliate him out there at workouts, and when tryouts come in two weeks, I’ll make it hard for my dad to justify keeping him on the roster at all. And if Cannon can’t throw what I need him to, then he’s next. It won’t be me calling in a favor from Daddy, either. It will be me showing everyone the difference between serious talent and a bunch of boys playing a game.
9
Cannon
She was right, righter than she even realizes.
It’s Monday morning and I have yet to call my cousin out on acting like a douchebag. Not only did I stand there and watch him belittle her, but I’m still standing by and doing nothing. I thought about it all night, and it’s still heavy on my mind now that I’m sitting across the table from him, watching him slurp up oatmeal like a kid still learning how to use utensils.
“Tryouts in two weeks. Who’s ready?” Uncle Joel lands his heavy palms on Zack’s shoulders and my cousin abruptly drops his spoon. The weight is both literal and psychological.
“We should have a pretty good team,” I say, not wanting to give away too many details. I’m not sure what Uncle Joel knows beyond Coach Taylor has a daughter playing. My uncle joined the board recently, probably to have leverage. I don’t think my cousin has been totally forthcoming about his insecurities, though, and I sure as shit ain’t going to expose them over breakfast.
“They got you throwing to Zack?” He squeezes my cousin’s shoulders when he asks that question, and his eyes grill mine from across the table.
“Got me throwing to everybody,” I say. It’s not a lie, and it’s enough to pull a chuckle from my uncle’s mouth while I leave the table with my bowl and empty glass to find solace at the sink with my back turned to them.
“Rumor is coach’s daughter isn’t awful. How ’bout that?” He’s baiting Zack. I can tell. He knows more than he’s admitting.
“She’s all right,” my cousin says. His chair screeches along the floor behind me, so I move out of his way at the sink, anticipating him. Our eyes meet briefly at the dishwasher, and a silent agreement passes between us.
Mouths. Shut.
“You throw to her at all yet, Cannon?” Now he’s baiting me. I don’t like it. This isn’t how things work between my dad and me. We say what we mean and don’t equivocate. It’s a blunt and honest relationship that has never led to fights or distrust, and I’m sad that my cousin doesn’t get to have the same thing.
“Eh, a little,” I say with a shrug. I don’t make eye contact with him on purpose, and his enduring silence gives me the sense that he knows why I’m not looking at him.
My backpack is near the stairs, so I move over to it and unzip and rezip the top for no reason other than to bide time while Zack catches up to me.
“Well, maybe I’ll stop in and check out the lay of the land today. I’ve got
