“Points for using delectable,” Megan crows from across the table, and Elena shoots her a triumphant grin.
I can’t help laughing, and Layla giggles beside me. I’ve missed hanging with Daniel and Elena.
“We need to make a point to get back here more often,” Layla whispers, reading my mind.
Turning, I smile at her. “We do. Maybe spring break? Or over the summer at least. You should have some vacation time by then, right?”
She nods, and Elena claps. “Yay! If you can’t make it here for spring break, maybe we can come see you.”
“That would be awesome,” I tell her. “We’ll have to get you guys an air mattress or something, but we’d love to have you.”
“That’s settled, then,” Elena declares. “We’ll figure out the details closer to then, though.”
Megan pokes out her lower lip in an elaborate pout. “Hey. If you guys are planning get-togethers on the west side of the state, I want an invite.”
“Aww, Megan. We’re not trying to leave you out,” Elena says, her voice laced with faux sympathy. “We’ll meet up somewhere while we’re over there, okay?”
With a big grin, Megan nods, her dark curls bouncing. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Guess we’ll just have to plan something while they’re all out of town,” Hannah stage-whispers to Abby.
But before Abby can respond, the head of the athletic department taps the microphone at the podium on the stage a few feet away. “Thank you all so much for coming,” he booms in a self-important voice, droning on about the importance of athletics to the university and the development of students and Coach Hanson’s dedication and service. Considering this isn’t actually the main speaking portion of the evening, this guy won’t shut up.
Finally, he gets to the point. “The buffet is open. Help yourselves, there’s plenty to go around. We’ll start our presentation in about thirty minutes. Let’s let our guest of honor and the presenters go first.”
A groan goes up from the back corner of the room, and I turn to see a large group of younger guys in suits. Considering that this crowd is mostly made up of university administration and alumni, it’s an easy guess that this group is Coach Hanson’s current team. They all look disgruntled, but true to form, Coach silences them with a glare from his place holding up the wall.
The head of the athletics department—whose name I should probably know considering he just said it, but I never bothered learning his name during my time here, so why change that now?—heads toward Coach Hanson and ushers him toward the buffet line.
Chris stands and holds out a hand to Megan. “Better get food, since I have to get up there and talk,” he grumbles.
“Don’t sound too excited about it,” Megan tells him, standing. “People might think you want to be here.”
He lets out a half-sigh, half-chuckle. “I do and I don’t, and you know all the reasons why.”
I shoot him a curious look, but he either ignores it or doesn’t notice, because he and Megan head for the food, leaving the rest of us exchanging glances.
“Anyone know what that was about?” Elena asks.
With a frown on his face, Lance shakes his head as he watches Chris and Megan walk away. “No idea.”
Abby fiddles with the napkin wrapped around her silverware and avoids everyone’s eyes. Does she know something? And why would she know, but not Lance?
I look between her and Lance and Chris and Megan.
“Well,” Lance says as he stands, “I say we get in line. The important people are all piling food on their plates. That means it’s time for the rest of us peons to get behind them.”
With murmurs of agreement, we all stand and follow him. I end up bringing up the rear of the group, and the current football players are right behind me.
“This is such bullshit,” the one right behind me says as we inch closer to the table laden with food.
“Calm down, man,” says the taller, broader guy behind him. He’s got the build of a lineman, and apparently the easy disposition that so often comes along with knowing you can squash anyone around you if needed. “And if you’re going to bitch, at least do it quietly. Coach doesn’t need us causing trouble.”
“Like it matters,” the first guy spits back. “He’s already out the door. What are they gonna do, force him to retire again?”
My ears perk up at that last bit, and I swivel around. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
They both look me up and down, the smaller—though he’s my size, so he’s not exactly small—more aggressive one looking like he might want to fight me, but the lineman gives me a more placid sizing up. “What was what?” he asks calmly.
“Did I just hear you say they’re forcing Coach Hanson into retirement?”
Lineman lifts his chin, gesturing behind me. “Line’s moving.”
“Sorry. Right.” I move forward, catching up to Layla, but turn to face them again, waiting for one of them to answer my question.
“Who are you?” spits Mr. Aggressive.
I hold up my hands. “Former MU football. Evan Coopman.”
Something like grudging respect dawns in Mr. Aggressive’s eyes, and Mr. Placid just nods again. “Nice to meet you,” Placid says, holding out a hand. “I’m Simon.”
I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you too. You guys are on the team now? Or was this your last season?”
“We’re both juniors,” he says. “Now we get the pleasure of breaking in a new coach for our senior year.”
Mr. Aggressive snorts, but doesn’t introduce himself.
“This is Cal,” Simon says. “He’s the quarterback and one of the team captains, so he’s especially irritated about the change.”
I nod. “Understandable.” We all move forward again, almost to the front of the line now. “Any idea why they’re forcing him out?”
Cal snorts. “We’re Division I next season for the first time, and the powers that be don’t think Coach can hack it, apparently. Even though he’s the one who
