Bright kicked the air, knowing his room was enough of a mess he’d connect with something. And he did. Laundry and something else, more solid . . . but not solid like a book or. . .
probably a shoe. . . ?
He kicked again. Softer this time, dammit. He thought he’d feel better if he
kick a book. A Math book. Full of equations and . . . whatever.
He plowed through the mess, knocking socks and empty soda cans to the side until he found his school bag and pulled back for a nice, strong kick. Maybe he’d break something.
Didn’t matter if he was injured, he was already off the team. And he knew how to deal with that kind of pain. An injury and pain everyone could see might make the rest of this bearable.
He hated every single person who’d awkwardly expressed sympathy about Colin and he hated that they’d now stopped even more.
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