Team Spirit

26. Lars Jacuzzis

26. Lars Jacuzzis

The elevator door swooshes open on the third floor of our hotel. The hostile takeover by the Murphy Comp Mountaineers is well underway, neat groups of four file into three and a half star hotel rooms for the night.

The four of us: me, Casey, Amy, and Wren, step out into the hall, all in bits and pieces of uniform. Casey dons her hoodie and shorts. Amy kept her numbered uniform top, but put on jeans before dinner earlier. 

Orange does not suit me. Tear-away pants do not suit me. I am some kind of imposter of myself, a version of Lars Williams capable of blending into the masses I have spent so much effort separating myself from.

But it puts Wren in the same position. Wren is stripped down without her mall grunge ensemble. Wren, armed only with eyeliner and lipstick like a red wine.

Casey lets us into our room for the night, waving her keycard around triumphantly before handing us each one of our own.

The place is unremarkable. TV that's played too much porn in its lifetime. Desk with the Bible and a takeout menu in the drawer. Two double beds on platforms so you can't hide dead bodies under them.

Oh.

Wren slips ahead of me, dropping her bag by the further bed. Just as casually, Casey and Amy drop theirs onto the remaining double.

This wasn't a surprise. Every tournament that has ever come before came to the exact same arrangement. Four girls, two beds. Like sleepovers with everyone crowded onto one bed, it didn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

Except, it did now. I always knew volunteering Wren for our room would lead to this. It was just less real before, tucked somewhere in the back of my mind.

Wren strips off her green and orange, revealing the bikini of skulls and roses beneath. No wonder she didn't appear shaken by the anonymity of wearing the same goddamn thing as everyone else. Wren came prepared, dressed stealthily in the image that made her Wren.

If only I'd thought of that.

"I'm heading down to the hot tub if anyone cares to join me," she announces. Her gaze hangs on me just a moment too long, denim blue eyes attempting to penetrate my soul. At least, trying to penetrate the aggressively nonchalant expression I really, really hope I'm pulling off.

I am nails and claws and bitter teenage resentment. My face can't betray that carefully cultivated image. Not in front of Casey and Amy.

"I have to try and study," Amy shrugs sadly. At least she acknowledges this might be an effort in futility to get anything done on a school trip.

Casey's eyes linger on me for a knowing second. "Maybe later. I want to take a shower first."

As strong as Casey's wingwoman game is, I can't feel appreciative. I can't feel anything distinct at all, just a whirling, uncertain mess of not knowing what the hell to do with myself because I'm still not past the concept of falling asleep next to Wren later. There's something about it that reeks of intimacy and vulnerability and it's supposed to happen just a few feet to Casey's left?

"Lars?" Casey asks, her voice edged in maternal-type concern.

"Sure, I'll come," I shrug. Think nonchalant thoughts. "Just let me change."

My hair fell around my face while I dug my bathing suit out of my bag. No one could make meaningful eye contact with me. No one could try to attempt to read my face while I rooted around a little too long.

I very intentionally made no eye contact on the way to the bathroom, crochet-trimmed bikini in hand. Just me and a mirror, shedding layers of Mountaineer pride in exchange for something me, something made. The girl in the mirror is almost someone I recognize. My tongue traces the space between my teeth. I pull my hair off my neck and into a sloppy bun.