by Joe Satoria
“Alright,” I let out, dropping to the bed as my head pounded against the pillow.
New sheets? I lifted my head and looked across at him. Smelled clean too, like detergent.
“Did someone—” my brows were already creased on my head.
“Yeah, there was a cleaner in here,” he said, “she made your bed and cleaned your things up a little too.”
I looked around, and that’s when I saw it. My phone. I pulled it into my hands. “Is this—” I pressed the home button—it was mine. I could’ve sworn I’d had it in my pocket.
“Oh, yeah,” Jordan grumbled, “it was on the floor in some old shorts.”
“Fuck—” I groaned out, relief sweeping through as my eyes glared at the messages flickering on the screen. It must’ve been blowing up all this time.
“Your aunt called.”
“You answered my phone?”
“No—yes, I mean, it kept ringing. I thought it was urgent.”
I jumped up, the phone to my chest. “Don’t touch my things,” I said, looking around at everything clean on my side of the room—that wasn’t how I’d left anything—someone had been through it all.
“I—I—” he pulled himself from the bed.
I left the room into the corridor of the dormitories and walked to the exit. A thumping echo in my veins, stabbing at my heart. I looked through the messages My fingers trembled over the call button.
“Harv,” my aunt answered in a soft voice.
“Everything ok?” I tried to read the messages, but they were in blurred blocks as I couldn’t focus.
“Yes, sweets,” she said, “I was only texting to keep you in the loop, it’s nothing, really.”
“I—I didn’t read it all, it looked important.”
She chuckled back softly—I knew that sound, it was the type of gesture they used when they didn’t want to break sad news to me, but they also didn’t want to tell me the whole truth. “He’s on some antibiotics.”
“No,” I answered, “he’s already taking a lot as it is, did you tell them he’s having trouble swallowing?”
“Yes, they know.”
I hoped they did—I’d had to crush every tablet he took, at least for the last year. He took it in a glass of orange juice—he said it disguised the taste, but his face always pulled taut blaming it on the tartness—I knew no matter what, the pills never tasted nice.
“Ok,” I let out, looking to my surrounding. I was standing in the doorway, my legs jellied, ready to collapse at any moment. “I told you, he was phlegmy, I told you, if you’d taken him in earlier, you might’ve been able to catch it sooner.”
“Sweetheart, it’s all ok, your dad is sleeping, he’s just eaten. We were watching some of those CDs your dad taped of you playing—aw, you must’ve been what, about 8.”
“Eleven,” I said through a more rested tone, leaning against the wall at the side of the door. “I was eleven, probably.”
“You get on and enjoy yourself,” she said. “I knew me texting you up a storm would send you into a tizzy.”
“No,” I said. “Please, tell me anything that happens. There’s one week left. I’m ready to come home at the drop of a hat.”
“Stop that nonsense,” she said, “your friend told me you were at the beach today. Sounds lovely. How was it?”
“Friend?”
“Yes, the boy who answered.”
She was talking about Jordan, the same guy who probably read through all the messages too—the same guy who had rubbed against me in the sea, then left like some wounded puppy.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding in thought, “it was nice, it was hot, I think I’m going to be tanned. You might not recognise me when I’m back.”
She snickered. “As long as you haven’t got rid of that hair, I’ll know you from a mile away.”
Unhunching my shoulders, I pulled my arm away from hugging at my body. I’d gone from fearing the worst and mentally getting on the next flight home to actually staying around for dinner.
The door opened at my side. I flinched, my hand clenching harder at my phone.
A voice cursed out in a foreign language. Mladen turned to me. “Ay, Harvey.”
“I’ll call you later,” I whispered back, pressing my phone closer to my mouth. “Take care of dad.”
“You coming?” he asked.
“Of course, sweetheart,” my aunt replied.
Hanging up, I nodded to Mladen. “Where to?” I slipped the phone in my pocket, feeling at the damp wetness of my underwear stick to my skin.
“The fire pit?”
“Fire pit?”
I recalled seeing it—but I thought it was a fancy ornamental thing. “Yeah, I—still need to get changed.”
“Cool! Sasha is getting someone to light it, so look for the fire,” he chuckled, wiggling his fingers.
We’d been back ten minutes. I wasn’t ready to go back out and socialise; I’d been doing that all day. It had taught me a lot about the others, like how some were incredibly bad at volleyball, and I was surprisingly the worst.
When I went back to change, Jordan wasn’t in the room. I considered it a blessing. I quickly changed and grabbed at all dirty clothes from my backpack. There were the shorts I’d borrowed, and I wondered if I could throw them over his things and let him deal with them.
Wait—
I looked back at his things again, the thought drowned out as I noticed a small familiar blue fabric scrunched into a ball. I leaned across his suitcase and pulled them from the corner.
My briefs.
My blue briefs.
What where they doing there?
Whoever was cleaning must’ve thrown them there, I put them into the academy branded laundry bag, along with my wet clothes. It was strange to see something of mine on his side of the room, especially considering how angry he was about keeping his space his and mine—well, he wanted mine clean and now it was.
Pulling open the door, Jordan nearly fell face first into me.
“Whoa,” I grumbled, stepping back.
He carried a bag in hand filled with what appeared to be takeaway boxes. “Hungry?”
“I’m fine, we’re going to sit around the fire pit.”
“Ugh.” He shuddered. At least he was partially dressed, wearing a zip up hoodie. “You won’t catch me out there, not with all these flies and mosquitos.”
I was only asking; I didn’t want a ten-page essay. “Fine.”
“Don’t be out too late though,” he raised his brows and nodded.
“Early training tomorrow,” I said, stubbing a finger on the wall planner.
He loved his schedule, probably why he found it hard to relax and pull away or pull together in a group and do nothing but have fun—everything was a competition with him, even who woke up first.
There were six people at the fire pit. Sasha, Mladen, Sandro, Cesar, Jana, and Nils. They each cuddled a wine glass at the stem. While the glasses were empty, they raised them at my arrival.
“Celebrating?” I asked.
“It’s our day to relax,” Sasha said, patting at a spot around the pit beside her. “We know a little glass of wine won’t hurt.”
“Pedro said—” I began, paused as she placed a finger to her lips.
She nodded around at everyone. “We’ve all worked hard, right,” she said, “there’s two bottles of red, taken from the kitchen—you can thank moi.”
Taking my seat, I whispered. “You stole them?”
“So, we’re lucky we’re not too many people,” she said, “and now you’re here, I think we should start.”
I wasn’t a big wine drinker—I wasn’t a big drinker at all, water, mostly, in fact, water was free, so water was my drink of choice—except the occasional tea or coffee. I looked to the glass Sasha handed me, she followed it up with a pour of red wine—the smell which followed was acidic to the nose.
Sandro was the first to neck his small glass, letting out a guttural gasp as he face turned to a demoni
c pinch in the light from the fire pit. “Good, but, not best.”
It didn’t bode well that he downed the drink instead of sipping—that’s how I assumed wine was to be drunk, in sips with your lip to the glass as you let it cover your tongue in small amounts.
I was wrong.
Don’t let it coat the tongue.
My face churned as the wine turned warm like a speciality salad vinaigrette.
“Ahh,” Sasha let out, sighing to herself. “Help yourselves, but there’s only one and a—” she lifted the open bottle up into the light of the fire, “—little bit.”
I pulled the glass to my lips and swallowed the rest of the liquid. It was sharp, landing in the back of my throat and coating my oesophagus.
“Truth or dare,” Jana spoke up, flicking her long black hair behind a shoulder. “I go first, Nils, truth or dare?”
Nils sat with his mouth agape, chewing on his decision. “Truth,” he said, nodding around at everything in the circle.
“Why does Jordan beat you all the time in matches?”
“No dare!” he coughed back.
“No, no,” Sasha said, wagging a finger in front of his face, “answer Jana’s question.”
“He has a fierce backhand,” he answered, “and he sometimes I can’t match the power—plus, I haven’t played him once this time.”
She clicked her tongue. “Boring, your turn.”
Nils turned, immediately looking at me. “Harvey,” he said.
Great, I didn’t know, my throat said, close, and my stomach said we can vomit on command.
“Yes,” I answered as he kept an eerie long length of silence.
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” I snapped back, “yeah, truth.”
His lip picked at a smile in the corner of his cheek. “What’s it like living in the same room as Jordan?”
“Honestly?” I asked back.
“You said truth,” Sasha snapped, grabbing at my arm. “C’mon.”
I looked around at their faces—they were all paying attention, quiet as the sound of the fire pit crackled in the centre.
“He’s weird,” I said, “he’s got this ego complex where he thinks he’s better than everyone, and he’s actual just got anger issues and probably daddy’s money issues too. I mean he’s so anal and OCD about everything, like my shoes on the floor.” I let it all out; purged as I ended with a scoff.
They came to a roar of laughter.
“Go on,” Nils said, clapping, “what else?”
“No, I can’t,” I chuckled back.
“Go on,” another voice, appearing through the darkening space. Jordan stood with his hood covering his head to reveal only his face in the crackling light of fire. “What else?”
No—
—fuck.
Silence stunned us all.
How could I have known he was there? He’d been in the room; he wasn’t going to come out and join us. He’d told me so himself.
“Daddy issues,” he shook his head, scoffing. “you’d know.”
I’d know? He walked off.
Out of sight, they laughed again.
I couldn’t join them. I was still thinking of his words.
What did I know?
Oh—
—he’d read the messages.
14. JORDAN
How could I sleep in the same room as him? I thought we were friends—turns out I was just being fucking used. I couldn’t say I was surprised—but I couldn’t sleep in the same room as him now.
At least I knew what he thought of me, but to fill everyone else with lies and get laughs like he wasn’t a charity case—that was laughable.
I thought we had a connection, or perhaps I wanted us to have one. Either way, it hurt me.
Waking to a strained kink in my neck, I was wrapped in a thin blanket on the sofa in the common room. It was early. I first woke to the sound of someone walking through—immediately apologising and walking off, but once I was awake, it was difficult to get sleep again since my thoughts were swimming with sharks and I was being eaten alive at every opportunity.
For him to call me a daddy’s boy felt like a punch in the face, we didn’t share much about each other; he didn’t know my life, but maybe I’d told him more than I remembered—when I became comfortable with people, sure, my secrets spilled out, and maybe that’s why I had such a guard.
I knew as much. My therapist, Mona had told me. Three years of it. Trying to get my anger under control. I’m sure she would be happy with my progress.
I hadn’t spiralled—yet. I hadn’t smashed anything—yet. I hadn’t shouted or threatened to hurt anyone—yet. In fact, I did what might be the most insane thing and left the situation entirely.
It didn’t mean it hurt any less.
I had to stop my thoughts from ringing out so strongly.
And the only way I knew how to do that was to push myself.
With the rising sun, I made an exit from the common room. On the way down to the gym, I stretched out my back, pushing on my tiptoes, a pop sounded. I extended my body across my legs and pressed my arms to my chest—releasing the breath I’d held.
5:17 A.M. according to my watch.
In the gym, I grabbed a cup and filled it with water from the tank.
Best way to start the day, a belly full of water and a run.
The running machine whirred as I flipped the switch. It looped around a couple times, warming up. The best way to push myself, the fastest, and the strongest. Exorcising my demons through exercise.
I didn’t stop until the door opened and Pedro’s shiny golden face appeared. “Thought I saw you this morning.”
I jumped from the machine, giving my throbbing calves a respite. “This morning?” I asked, wiping my forehead sweat with the back of my hand.
“In the common room, sleeping,” he said.
“Right.” Obviously, someone had seen me, of course it had to be Pedro. That, or someone told him. I wasn’t good at coming up with lies on the fly.
“Do I have to ask why?” his brow raised, thinking this was something I’d done, maybe I’d got angry, aggressive, pushed someone—perhaps murder.
“He snores,” I said, “and I can’t have a single room.”
He nodded. “I’ll have to double check.”
“You don’t believe me?” He had no reason to believe me. I was surprised I even had to ask. I knew he didn’t.
“I know you better than that,” he chuckled, pulling his wrist to his face. “I did look for you in the dining hall first, you should eat, remember what we talked about.”
I continued to wipe the sweat coming in rivulets from my forehead. “Yeah,” I said. “Don’t push myself.”
“Well, push yourself, but don’t do it for anyone else,” he continued. “Oh, and make sure you come to the meeting on the court right after lunch.”
“Why?”
“We’re doing the draw to see who will be against who.”
“Wait, what? Today?” I slapped a hand against a number of different buttons and functions as the machine came to a dull whir so I could better hear him. “When are the matches?”
He held his hands high. “Cálmate—take it easy,” he said, smiling.
“Round-robin?”
“No, no, I will explain. No round-robin.”
A round-robin event meant each player face each other player, the player with the most wins or points was declared the winner. That’s how the FFT event was going to be played—and how I assumed the winner would be chosen for the invitational.
This camp was truly in shambles.
“But I want to play everyone,” I said.
He shrugged. “We can’t do that.”
“Wait—wait—” I closed the space between us. “Why not?”
“The scout is only here for one day.”
The warm air meeting the air-conditioned room stuck to my skin—uncomfortably. “When?” I continued beating away the sweat with a hand. “We have anoth
er week, right?”
“Friday,” he said. “I’ll tell the others, it’s the first time we’ve done this course, so, we didn’t know it wouldn’t be as long.”
“Friday.” I scoffed back.
Friday was the end of this week. We only had a couple days left of training, but at least I’d get to know who I was up against today—it would help, but I wanted to play everyone to know I was the best.
“Keep it to yourself until later.” He nodded before leaving.
Not like I could tell anyone—Charity Case was clearly not a friend I could trust, and everyone else would probably be too busy laughing about what he’d said last night.
After a quick shower, I stopped by the room—it was empty. My bed still made; Harvey’s bed untouched. He probably hadn’t slept in his either. The thought annoyed me; I’d wasted a night on the couch in the common room.
Easily winding myself up as thoughts spiralled—it was time to eat
All eyes on me as I entered the dining hall. By now every one of the players knew about what had happened last night. Harvey was sat by Sasha, he looked to me for a split second, I didn’t look back, I kept my eyes forward on the buffet bar at the back of the room.
Stuffing scrambled egg whites into wholegrain bread rolls, a tall figure approached—Mladen, I could tell by the way his heavy feet shuffled, but mostly by the shadow.
“How’re you?” he asked.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I grumbled, stuffing my face to act as a pacifier.
“You hear they’re scrapping the plans for the rest of the week,” he continued speaking at me as I tried to focus on getting as much food in through my mouth as I could without having to interact. “Yeah, Pedro is going to tell us all about it later.”
Clearing my throat in one large gulp, I immediately took another bite, nodding to myself—he took that as his cue to continue.
“Everyone is thinking,” he sighed, “what if they don’t bring anyone and the training was a waste, we’re all here to try and win that invite, right?”
“That’s not it,” I told him through a mouthful of food, I couldn’t let him think there wasn’t going to be a scout. I swallowed. “They’re switching it up, we won’t be going head-to-head against each other, they’ll draw our names. We play who we get—winners, keep playing, losing—don’t.”