“I don’t want to hear it! Both teams are suspended.”
The short ride home in Coach Keller’s SUV was awfully quiet. Mathias and I had literally been pulled away from one another, like forbidden lovers in some sort of Victorian romance novel or two high school boys juiced up on hormones and cutthroat competition. I’d yelled, “I’m sorry,” after him, apologizing once again for an array of things, not just my knuckles grazing his perfect face.
Coach Keller was pissed. He’d insisted on bringing us home, and had also been the one who’d done the actual dragging. I tried to forge a treaty with him too.
“I’m sorry, Coach.”
“Save it, Watson.”
“It wasn’t totally our fault. Those other—”
“I wouldn’t, Calloway.”
“I—”
“Shut it!” Coach snapped.
Not a word was spoken in the remaining nineteen minutes on the road. When Coach was mad, he screeched. When he was livid, he bellowed. When he was outraged, he was stone-cold quiet.