Page 33 of Vicious Desire (Fallen Royals 4)
“Here.” Coach slaps a booklet on the table. “Employee handbook. Tax forms. Everything you need.”
Up until this moment, I wasn’t sure I’d got the job.
“Sit. Read. And for God’s sake, don’t fuck up on day one.”
I can follow instructions. He leaves me alone, and I get busy, and the hours blend together. Soon enough, the last bell of the day rings, and the echo of cheerful students drifts down to the athletic department.
The door swings open, and Coach Lennon frowns. “You’re here.”
“Never left,” I admit.
She grunts, then points behind her. “Follow me.”
I grab my water bottle and jog after her. There are only a few students in this hall—some who must’ve had gym as their last period of the day. The art wing connects here, too. If I linger, I might see Margo’s foster dad leaving for the day.
“We’re doing a mock trial today,” Lennon says to me in her office. She points to the aerial map of the school grounds, dragging her finger along the cross-country route used for meets, almost like she’s stuck on it. She drops her hand and turns back toward me. “You know the way?”
“I do.” And it sounds miserable. This particular course was made to weed out the weak. There’s a giant hill right in the middle of the three miles, almost straight up and straight down. There are a surprising amount of lacrosse players who use cross-country to stay in shape.
I ask, “How fast?”
“Racing pace,” she says. “The team has been working on stamina, but now’s the day to prove it. You’ll be setting the pace, hopefully.”
Testing me, too.
I nod sharply. Theo’s a runaholic, and freaking fast. I’m used to the sprinting drills Coach Marzden made us do, and the longer runs… This should be fun.
“Who are your best?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “There’s a group who might give you a run for your money. Don’t let them pull you into a match race. Got it?”
I scoff. I can handle a few girls. And besides, I could run this trail in my sleep.
“Okay.” She leads us to the small field beside the softball diamond, which stands deserted. There are already a few girls stretching, and Coach waves me off to warm up.
Right. I suppose I should’ve known I’d be the pacer—what else would I be good for? Catching stragglers? I’m going to assume that’s her job.
I take a lap around the softball field, and when I return… well, the team is bigger than I expected.
At least twenty girls and ten boys stare at me as I take my place next to Coach.
“Sorry I’m late!”
My heart hammers, and my stomach twists. What an odd reaction to one voice.
One girl.
She pushes to the front, next to her ex-friend, Skylar, and freezes.
Coach Lennon frowns but says nothing to Riley.
And she doesn’t seem to notice Riley’s stricken expression.
“For those of you who don’t know, this is Eli. He’s our new coaching assistant. If I call your name, you’re running with him today. Anyone else is running with me—which is not where you want to be.” She flips the page of her clipboard and reads off names.
I can’t take my eyes off Riley, whose gaze is glued to her shoes.
“And Riley,” Coach Lennon finishes. “This is a real race, ladies. Eli is setting the pace most of you should be at, but I’ll be keeping time here. This will determine how our meet is going to go next weekend. We have our eyes on the state title, don’t we?”