Page 180

He didn’t just pause—he locked up, his shoulders tensing, jaw tightening, hands gripping the edge of the snack table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
I followed his gaze, frowning.
A kid—probably seventeen, maybe even eighteen—hovered at the door, looking like he was about to bolt. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and very athletic—the kind of kid who moved like he was used to a court beneath his feet, like his body knew how to take up space but was suddenly trying to make itself small.
I watched his eyes flicker across the room, scanning the banners, the faces, the context—and then, finally, they landed on Mateo.
And shit.
I had never seen a look like that before.
Like someone had been caught somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. Like they had tripped over a truth they hadn’t meant to admit.
And Mateo?
He looked theexactsame way.
For a second, it was silent. No one—not even Jason and his posse—said a word.
Then the kid’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
Mateo’s jaw flexed.
It felt like I was watching the most tension-filled, painful tennis match in all of history.
The air felt too tight, like something was about to snap.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the kid cleared his throat.
“Coach?”
Mateo’s lips parted slightly, his throat working around the words he couldn’t seem to find.
“Uh,” was all he managed.
Oh, shit.
I glanced at Mike, who looked equally stunned.
This was new.
According to Mike, Mateoneverlost his cool.
Not on the court, not in the classroom, not ever.
But here he was, standing completely blindsided by a kid who had probably spent the last four years running drills under his watch.
“Gabe?” Mateo finally breathed, like he had to confirm what he was seeing.
The kid—Gabe—shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He still stood in the doorway, miles from the front of the room where Mateo stood immobile. The rest of us stood or sat in utter silence between them.
“I, uh . . . I didn’t know you were . . . I mean . . . well . . . that you’d be here . . . tonight . . . at school,” Gabe muttered.
“Me either.” Mateo huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “I mean, I knew I’d be here, but, I didn’t . . . shit—”
“Coach cursed!” one of the other kids whispered, igniting snickers that rippled like waves on a pond.
Then more silence.