The locker room explodes ten minutes before the last period.
I’m not even supposed to be near the athletic wing, but Sophie forgot her lunchbox in Tyler’s car this morning, and I volunteered to grab it before heading home.
My heart pounds as I edge closer to the open double doors where shouts are spilling from. I know I shouldn’t be snooping, but after what I overheard in the bathroom yesterday, I can’t help myself.
Inside, players crowd around the equipment manager’s desk. Helmets are scattered, shoulder pads overturned, and Coach Harris stands in the middle, boiling with contained anger.
“What do you mean it’s missing?” someone demands.
“His backup jersey and custom gloves are all gone,” the equipment manager says. “They were here this morning.”
Tyler stands near his locker, and hi
