From where I stand it looks like Max is spoiling for a fight. The four of them are all holding cans and there’s something about the sweaty leering stare in Gerry’s eyes that makes my stomach churn. I can see half the water polo team as they push their way through the crowd and roll their shoulders in anticipation. What am I supposed to do? Support Wong? Turn a blind eye? My heart feels like a car-accident locked in repeat. It clunks around inside my chest as though there’s nothing to regulate it or give it directions to medical attention.
“What the f**k’s your problem, Wong?”
The way Flinders enunciates Wong’s nickname makes my skin crawl. It’s like he’s trying to imbue the word with every ounce of racial slur he can muster. Thankfully, Wong merely glares at the muscular swimmer.
I take
