Aeron still could not understand how the Jackdaw Crows, the team he currently played for and helped captain, ever made it to championships the year prior. Contrary, rumor had it they never did make it to championships. Instead, the Jackdaw Crows had been qualified as one of the lowest-ranking teams in the opening round, willing to compete in a preliminary round game to determine the final automatic qualifying spot for the first round.
Aeron still could not understand how the Jackdaw Crows, the team he currently played for and helped captain, could have ever been rumored to make it to championships the year prior. They'd been one of two lowest-ranked automatic qualifiers determined by the committee, regardless of the conference RPI.
That evening, Athene College's Owls won. Rumor had it the previous Jackdaw Exy coach bribed his players to allow Athene to win.
It was guessed that there was a gambling element to the whole ordeal, one with international Exy games witnessing vast sums wagering repeatedly to fix matches.
Rumor had it.
Since then, the previous coach had resigned. When he did step down, Raven alumni Anna Howe took over. She was the kind of coach who transferred over her own training from Castle Evermore, which meant the Jackdaw Crows were now Raven chicks. Her cold personality was a turn-off but her skill and commitment meant the team was willing to work with and listen to her.
Coach Howe never interfered in any fights between players. She allowed them to brawl whatever they had against each other out and then punished them for disturbing the peace, and her coaching. The punishments were never rigorous, but they were always a team-effort. The collective punishment hadn't gone unnoticed, and a segment in the campus newspaper nearly outed the consequences. It was madness at first, but as the season progressed, all accusations had been swept under the rug.
Aeron spent the majority of the morning jogging the perimeter of the running track south of the fitness building. He had an hour to spare before morning practice started, so he ran and then ate lunch at the on-campus Subway, and then headed over to the stadium. He made sure he showed up early enough so he could change into his uniform in private before the rest of the team arrived.
The locker smelled of sweat and mildew. Someone had forgotten to replace the towels by the showers or someone had forgotten to wash their own gear and things had begun to grow on them.
When it was time to go out on the court, Aeron was pulled aside by Coach Howe's assistant coach Jeremy Harris. "I don't think I need to remind you," he told him, "of off-campus brawling. How're things at home, kid?"
"It's nothing," Aeron said. He twisted the straps of his shoulder padding, making sure it was snug enough and not too tight. "Everything's fine."
Harris looked skeptical, because his file deemed Aeron a skeptical creature. But he patted him on the back and told him to join the others at half-court.
Aeron hooked his helmet beneath his arm as he tried inching his hands into his outer gloves. Anthony Higgins brought out a bucket of balls while Cynthia Lewis rolled out the stick rack. The racquets weren't arranged in any particular order, only that each player had chosen their own way to mark one as theirs, which granted Aeron picking up a deep-net racquet with a blue hairband double-knotted around its upper shaft.
Kit played as a goalkeeper, and so he required one of the two flat racquets there was available. He switched hands with it and twirled it around. Aeron knocked sticks with him out of good nature.
The team stretched and then jogged for the first ten minutes of practice, running laps alongside the inner court walls. Every step taken caused the beaten half of Aeron's face to ache. He clenched his jaw and regretted signing his pharmaceutical rights away.
The rest of practice sorted itself out into some kind of high-tension exploitation. Rayko Celestine, the team's starring striker and Raven extraordinaire, knew more about the sport than most of the sophomores he accompanied ever would. But his stint when his brother and he trained with the Ravens the season prior gave the two of them a sense of authority among the team. And it was no secret that Rayko and Aeron hated each other.
It only got worse half an hour into practice when Coach Howe had Harris leave and Aeron was slammed into the court wall, Rayko's racquet pressed against his chest, during a mock gameplay. Aeron shoved him back hard enough to knock him back a couple steps. The handful of words they exchanged singed what little self-restraint either of them had for each other because when Rayko ignored Rumen to say something to Aeron, Aeron responded by throwing a closed fist at his face.
Practice wasn't even half-over before Aeron and Rayko were brawling.
Rayko Celestine was a foul contributor to the Jackdaw Crows. He had a refugee's face, hollow-eyed and innocent. His smile was lazy and lewd when he said in Aeron's ear, "You're dead, lady. Dead."
Aeron was tempted to kick Rayko's knee in, but Kit swung his racquet up and pushed Rayko back.
"Back off, maddog," Kit said.
He wasn't sure why, perse, but every inch of Aeron's skin itched with useless anticipation. He jabbed the toe of his shoe into the astroturf, digging up faux layover. Rayko's brother Rumen Celestine, stood off to the side between half-court and the third quarter line. Aeron avoided Rayko's eyes for his.
"Rayko," Rumen said. "Come on."
"Whatever."
Sometimes, depending on his state of mind, Aeron would forget why he enjoyed Exy as much as he put up with it. And then he would remember restless and bloody nights. He would remember crooked skin and empty eyes. He would remember bare hopes and empty mouths.
He would remember how Exy came to be such a distraction in his life, and how it was such an exhilarating release. It was the anger and the emotion that he could put behind a swing and the protection his armor gave him when he was on the court.
The remainder of practice consisted of rebound shots before Coach Howe decided enough was enough and had them collecting cones and stray balls.
The showers were communal, so Aeron kept to the sidelines until everyone had finished. Kit didn't wait for him, and was already done by the time Aeron took his turn. He dried off and dressed in a pair of ripped bluejeans and a pink Pinky's T-shirt. When Aeron dropped his uniform off in the hamper by the lobby doors, Coach Howe stopped him.
Aeron did not have a first period to attend, and so he didn't have to leave anywhere in particular for another hour and a half.
"Aeron," she said, "how come I didn't see you at practice yesterday? Or the day before?"
He said, "I had a family emergency. I couldn't make it."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thanks," Aeron responded, doubting the sincerity of the comment.
Coach Howe reached a hand into the right pocket of her sweat pants and took out a fresh Camel pack. She stripped back the lining, crumpled up the plastic, and took out a cigarette. She didn't have a lighter on him, so Aeron lit the end of it for her.
"Am I gonna expect you this Friday, then?" she asked. "Or are you gonna have another family emergency?"
"It's hard to tell," Aeron said, looking back at the double doors that led to the court. "But I'll try to make it. For the team."
Jackdaw was not known for their Exy team. Rather, most of the board's funding went toward the performing arts and its academics. The rest was juiced out to all the other clubs and sports teams, which granted the Exy team a sliver of profit. Most of the time, when they weren't losing, the ticket costs were bumped up twice as high to cover equipment maintenance.
This Friday would be Jackdaw's last chance for state championships, but it was evidential that they wouldn't be able to make it. They had lost the previous game, which was enough to put them back a considerable amount. This Friday wouldn't be enough, and Coach Howe knew that. She'd already called a crew to dismantle the court after next week's game.
"For the team, yeah." Coach Howe drew in a breath and blew it out away from Aeron, which he appreciated. "Also, there's someone here who would like to speak with you. It's about your recruitment."
"My—what?"
"I wanted to catch you before you went to class," Coach Howe said. "Well, he wanted to catch you before you went to class. And you have an hour."
Yes, Aeron had an hour. An hour and—he checked the clock that hung on the opposite wall—seven minutes. But he didn't want to spend that time talking with some guy from some college with some intention to recruit him. Aeron didn't need recruiting; he'd been doing fine without getting noticed.
Coach Howe added, "They'll be staying until Friday to see you play."
The word they indicated that there was more than one, but Aeron only saw a single stranger. He stood in the threshold of the doors that led to the court, his arms folded over his chest, covered in tribal flame tattoos. Tucked under one of his arms was a file. Aeron's heartbeat surged.
Coach Howe saw him and went to smudge out her cigarette. She shook hands with him. "It's good to see you," she told him. "Glad you could make it."
"Hell of a flight," the stranger said. His brown eyes found Aeron's icy blue ones. "I'll keep this short. My name's David Wymack, the coach for Pal—"
"Palmetto State Foxes," Aeron interrupted him. "I know. You guys're famous. Why're you here?" It didn't make sense why a Class I team wanted anything to do with him; he'd made damn sure not to attract so much as a look from others, and lo and behold—a recruitment.
Coach Howe sent Aeron a look of wary concern. "Aeron," she said carefully, "he's here because I sent him your file. Didn't you get my email?"
No, Aeron did, in fact, not get an email.
Aeron was vocal about it, emphasizing on its uncouth timing. Wymack agreed.
"This isn't the best of times," he agreed, "but I'm short on strikers and you had the better stats. I wanted to do a face-to-face. Something profession. But I can't really wait." Wymack unfolded his arms and handed Aeron's own file over to him. "You're approved for a transfer program, but Coach Howe here says you haven't chosen a transfer school yet, which makes my job that much easier. Joining a team wasn't necessarily your plan, from what I read, but I can make an exception. I just need your signature."
Aeron's heart vacated his chest cavity. It wasn't necessarily being recruited that bothered Aeron, but rather the choice in the matter. Obviously Wymack wanted him, but Aeron had the option of declining or accepting his offer. He wanted this, however; something he'd hoped would happen since he started playing freshmen year five years ago. The only thing that worried a hole in his conscious was the fact that he would be abandoning Oliver, someone he'd been dependent on for the majority of his young adult life. Leaving Oliver would mean leaving everything. I would be stepping out of this bubble he'd made for himself, a safe-haven of sorts.
It would mean Oliver wouldn't be able to protect Aeron anymore.
Aeron took the folder from Wymack and opened it. The first thing there was, was the contract that he needed to sign if he wanted to hand himself over to Wymack's team. He was curious to see who Wymack had been researching prior to visiting, because chances were, it wouldn't be the same Aeron Molloy. It would be an Edmeé R. Mauvezin if he delved deep enough, supposing a university coach had the time and the means of digging up dead names. But when Aeron flipped to the last few pages, he found the name Margaret R. Jones instead.
He tossed the file onto the bench. "Can I think about it? This is kind of pressing."
"There's nothing pressing about it. Doesn't seem you have anything else to worry about."
If only he knew.
Aeron needed to hear Oliver say no.
"I need to talk with my parents, first."
Wymack raised an eyebrow. It was in such a way that Aeron knew that Wymack knew that he was lying. He had no doubt he'd read Aeron's file, and any mention of his parents stopped at around the end of middle school. The only parental figure he had was Oliver.
"What for?" Wymack asked. "You're nineteen, aren't you? You're legal."
Aeron was legal, but he needed as much time between now and Friday's game if he wanted a clear decision on what he was going to do.
He said, "Yeah, but I still need to ask."
"I'm sure they'll be happy for you."
"Okay."
Wymack looked over at Coach Howe. "Could you give us a couple minutes? I promise I'll be quick."
Coach Howe looked between Wymack and Aeron. She made her back a little straighter before tucking her hands into the pockets of her sweat pants. "I'll be outside. Holler if you need me." She said the last part to Aeron before she left. Aeron waited for the double doors to click behind her.
When it was just Wymack and Aeron in the locker room, Aeron's initial fight and flight instincts tightened their grip around his chest, squeezing until his anxiety became a physical manifestation of pressing his fingernails into the palms of his hands. He gave himself a mental check.
Wymack turned a solemn look onto him. His voice was even when he asked, "Do you need your coach or me to talk with your parents for you?"
A crease formed between Aeron's brows? "Why?"
"Look, I'm not gonna sugar-coat it for you, all right?" His voice rose in the slightest. "You have a history with violence, which isn't surprising for someone with your background. You've got a face full of cuts and bruises and a busted nose. Frankly, I'm surprised your coach hasn't already sent you to the counselor's office. So, again: are your parents going to be a problem for you?"
The answer came out fast than Aeron meant it to. "No," he said.
"Uh-huh."
"They didn't—they won't," Aeron told him. "I got into a fight with some kid. We fought. He broke my nose. That's it."
"Your parents know?"
"Yeah." And, then, "I get that I might fit whatever your criteria is, but why me? I'm sure there's plenty of fucked up players out there who'd love to play on your line."
Wymack nodded. "And there were. We chose a few, and you're one of 'em. Is that such a problem?" Aeron didn't think so. "Besides, your file was sent to me anonymously. That, in itself, is worth the visit. You still got a ways to go before meeting Court, but this isn't some publicity stunt, kid. I'm tryin' to give you a second chance."
Aeron had never been one to take compliments well, and so he stared at Wymack with a blank look on his face.
"Are your parents going to be a problem?" he repeated.
"No," Aeron said.
"Okay." Wymack gave Aeron's file a begrudged look. "Your classes end in May, so make sure you have your coach fax the signed papers to me. I hope this can be a yes for you, kid."
Aeron instinctively glanced at the clock on the other side of the wall. His class started in less than ten minutes. He picked up his file and handed it to Wymack, keeping the contract.
"Thanks," he said. Aeron unzipped his backpack and put Wymack's paperwork in it, stuffing it between two inverted binders for his remaining classes today.
He exited through the front foyer, not bothering to tell Coach Howe that their conversation had come to an end, for now. He followed the concrete path around the outer edge of the field and toward the language arts building.
Aeron thought, This is it.