GREY

Mr. Milhouse gave a single nod and slinked away, tucking a wooden clipboard underneath his shoulder as he headed for the exit.

Brayden, Cody, and I turned at once and circled Jacquarious.

"Internship?" I stepped closer to him. "Since when are you interning at the newspaper?"

"Look, I just—"

"Are there other talent scouts there?" Brayden chirped. "Never thought the paper would be a pipeline—"

"Guys," Dash ordered. "Stop crowding him." He sauntered between us and rested an arm on Jacquarious's shoulder. "Either way, that's pretty sick, bro—already rubbing elbows with talent scouts this early in the game, huh?"

"Thanks, guys," Jacquarious muttered.

"So...what do you do there?" Cody asked, hesitation rippling through his voice. "Is it like...you bring them coffee and check their stories for grammar?"

Jacquarious hunched his shoulders. "Something like that."

"Well, good for you, dude," Cody nodded, a faint ray of warmth flickering across his face. "The guys say your essays are off the charts, but...if you ever need a second pair of eyes, just let me know." He fidgeted with the hem of his jersey, twisting at its ends.

"For sure," Jacquarious said, giving a slight gulp. "But uh...we should probably get upstairs too—don't you think, guys?"

"Totally," I chimed in. What're you hiding this time, Jac? I chuckled and shot a swift glance at him before running a hand through my hair, combing it out with my fingers despite the futility. Whatever it is, practice is gonna be a blast.

The five of us skulked up the steps leading to the main gymnasium, hugging the outer edges that flanked the wall as we beelined for the basketball racks next to Coach Rangford's office.

"We really ought to get medals for how early we show up," Brayden said, smirking. "The rest of the team isn't even—"

"Just today?" came a raspy and exasperated voice. "He hasn't been himself for weeks. We can't afford to sugarcoat this."

I turned to the other guys, my words immediately dropping to a whisper. "...Is that Mr. Milhouse?"

Jacquarious was the first to nod.

Hunching my back, I rose to tiptoes and slid along the wall, stopping at the blunted edge where the interior bricking melded over the corner.

"I'm not asking you to lie," Coach Rangford's voice was deep and grave.

"Then what are you asking, Hanson? We were supposed to go out for drinks last night, and he canceled—again. He won't talk to anyone. Not Warren, not Regina, not August, and not me."

Coach Rangford sighed. "It's not my fault that US & The World is still champing at the bit over a month's-old case."

"Hanson, you know that's not fair. We did our best to protect him...and the kid. Neither of their names was ever released."

"Yeah, and how long's that gonna last? A few weeks ago, my players were pulling a dead body outta the gym shower! They know something's up, and they're gonna figure out he's tied up in all this."

It was Mr. Milhouse's turn to sigh. "Don't you think I already know that? It's why I came to you. I'm trying to keep your players safe. If we get Parker to come clean, we could put a stop to all this."

"And what about the psycho out there chopping up bodies and writing poems in their blood? You really think he'll just twiddle his thumbs and let the head sports analyst at the nation's biggest newspaper pop an exposé?" Heaviness lingered in his voice, threatening to choke out his words. "We are all connected to that night, Daniel. Parker coming clean isn't about to change that. At best, we keep flying under the radar; at worst, we tick off some bloodthirsty lunatic with a fetish for arthouse poetry."

The thrumming of Mr. Milhouse's fingers at the edge of Coach Rangford's desk rapped out in a softening beat. "Well, I can't sit by and do nothing. And if you really care about your players, then that means you have a duty to protect them...all of them." The clopping of his shoes rumbled through the air, on beat with the snapping of his clipboard as I assumed he was turning to go.

"Daniel," Coach Rangford groused. "I do care about my players, but...you're going to get yourself killed if you keep this up. Please—you need to move on. As long as Jacquarious is on my team, I'll keep him safe."

I gasped. What did he just—?

"It's not just about Jacquarious, Hanson. Not anymore. And just because he's not still at Browning Heights doesn't mean we get to run from the truth." Mr. Milhouse stomped for the exit, each footstep louder than the last.

I whirled to the guys, all of us ready to amble away from the corner; but rather than turning and spotting us where we stood, Mr. Milhouse carried on with angry strides until he made it to the double doors and slammed them open, never once hazarding even a single backward glance.

"Guys," Dash whispered, "I think we should—"

"I told you!"

I jumped at Coach Rangford's angry shout. Crap! Icy terror frosting the faces of Dash, Cody, Brayden, and Jacquarious, I swiveled around, a creeping spin on the balls of my feet as I turned to face...no one.

"You brought this on yourself!"

He's still in his office. I sighed with relief, the rest of the guys still frozen in place behind me.

"Who's he talking to?" Brayden whispered.

"PARKER!" Coach Rangford screamed. "Daniel Milhouse was here, and guess who he was looking for?"

This is insane.

"I can't keep covering for you like this. And Daniel is going to get himself killed if he keeps poking around looking for answers." A heavy breath escaped his lips. "That last couplet...it wasn't a coincidence. Jump with Jim, then drag his crow—and lie 'bout what you saw."

Jacquarious gasped behind me.

"The walls are closing in, Parker," Coach Rangford finally said. "I can pull a few strings if you still want to get out of town, but you have to stop dragging your feet. Tyler Berkin is dead, and we've got weeks at most if we want to stay ahead of this."

I hazarded a glance over my shoulder, spotted Jacquarious shaking where he stood. "Water runs," he breathed. "And bloody stings."

"Jacquarious?" Cody whispered, the clamor of Coach Rangford somehow feeling suddenly like mere background noise. "Dude, are you okay?"

"I'll make these streets so wet with red," Jacquarious shivered, turning on his heel and sprinting away, his eyes wide and waggling as if gripped by the strings of a writhing puppeteer.

"Take care of it, Parker," Coach Rangford's voice sounded once more from the other side of the wall. "Or the streets of Goldengate really will run red."