Assholes. When I make query eyebrows at Troy about it, he just shrugs with this pissed-off and slightly hung-over look on his face. After Van’s pep talk I pat Troy on the shoulder, almost telling him how much better he is, being able to party and show up for practice, but I don’t really feel like comforting anyone. Too many complicated feelings from last night are still hovering, and I have to shake them all off. Now. So it’s just as well Gavin’s not here, or Grier, either. Since this is my last practice before taper, Van pours it on. I can tell he’s thought about how to really push me in this last hard practice, and as I go in to my third fifty, I feel a wash of gratitude. More than that, though, it makes me want to show him that even when he pushes me, I can push harder. Fuck you, Grier, for not caring anymore. Fuck you, Gavin, for trying to play with me, and her. Fuck you, Charlie, for wanting me only in the ways I won’t give. Fuck whatever. I know what I’m capable of: this.
