Page 146 of Finding Him
I frown. “The principal? Why?”
Niall shrugs. “Don’t know. Probably something to do with the cup coming up, the school’s all about image and the prestige of the Saints. All that press can either be really good or really bad, so we all have to be on our best behavior every year.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” I say, my nerves easing up.
The rest of the team starts filtering onto the pitch, tossing jokes back and forth, tossing balls to one another as they wait for training to start.
When Coach O’Shea finally marches onto the pitch, that nervous feeling returns, tenfold. He’s not carrying his usual dog-eared, messy clipboard, and he isn’t carrying his usual, easy “let’s-get-to-work” attitude either. He looks grave, almost like a man who’d been told he was losing his job.
Oh god was he losing his job? Or worse? What could be worse?
“Settle down! Everyone, take a couple of laps! Lockhart, Blue! My office!”
A few heads turn, curious glances thrown our way. But the boys do as they’re told and start running.
Niall’s fingers twitch toward mine as we follow O’Shea across the field, toward the small office attached to the equipment shed. He doesn’t say anything but I can tell by the way his shoulders are stiff that he’s bracing for something too.
O’Shea shuts the door behind us as we come in, leaning on the edge of his desk and avoiding our eyes.
“I don’t like doing this,” he starts off with, exhaling like he’s just run a marathon.
Niall’s voice is hard. “Doing what, Coach?”
“There were ‘concerns’ brought to the attention of the school board,” O’Shea says slowly. “And my hands are tied.”
“Concerns?” I question, looking between him and Niall, whose face has gone pale.
“Regarding the Saints’ having a female player,” O’Shea clarifies. “And, more specifically, the relationship between you and one of the players.”
He looks right at Niall at the last part. Niall lets out an angry scoff. “Who the hell is complaining? What’s it their business?”
O’Shea pinches the bridge of his nose together, his shoulders slumping. “With the Clover cup coming up, having a lass on the team is already going to stir up enough drama already. The school isn’t willing to take their chances with the press or getting us banned from the competition. I’ve been in meetings all dayand my only options are to kick you—Molly—off the team or to make a rule.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped. “What do you mean a rule? What kind of rule?”
“No fraternization among team members,” O’Shea says flatly. “Starting now. The school already has records of you two shifting in a hallway back in November—"
Niall barks out a laugh, but it's completely humorless. “We were kissing, Coach, not robbing a bank.”
O’Shea doesn’t smile, his face a stony mask. “Any more stuff like that, even one little thing that would imply you’re together that could be reported back to the school and...” He hesitates, like the words taste sour in his mouth. “Well, you’d be done.”
I feel my stomach drop. I think I’m going to be sick. “Done?”
O’Shea looks right at me, his eyes holding mine. “I’d have to kick youbothoff the team. Permanently.”
THE END
[ E?? ?? B??? O?? ]
