Bo
“Fenton, drop and give me twenty!” Coach Jamison yells at me during practice when the ball hits me in the head. “Get your head out of your a*s and show me and your teammates some respect!”
“Yes, sir!” I yell, but it’s just mechanical. I’m answering by rote. I hardly register what he said or what he wants from me. I’m fifty fathoms under water right now, and I don’t know which way to swim for air.
I don’t even know what I’m feeling, other than that everything is wrong.
I’m pissed at Sloane. Pissed at myself. Pissed at the world. And deep down is the gnawing sensation that I need to find my way out of this coffin I’m stuck in, but I don’t have a clue how to do it.
Somehow, I make it through practice.
“What’s going on with you, Bo? Any word from Winslow?” Wilde asks in a low voice in
