The Romeo Club

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Sweat beaded my forehead as I slid out of my soccer uniform. Coach Meckler was in one of his moods today, which meant I smelled worse than baboon farts. I so needed a shower. But, more than that, I wanted to collapse on the floor and pretend to be dead for, like, twenty hours.

My brother Drake barged into my room. “Okay, I’m desperate. I need your help here.”

“Gah! What are you doing?” I covered myself with my jersey to hide my bra and underwear from view. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“Sorry.” He spun around, facing the door while I tugged a T-shirt over my head then threw on a pair of basketball shorts.

“You can look now,” I said, plopping down on my bed. “So what do you want?”

“I need help.” He ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, making it stick up worse than it already was.

“Yeah, well, tell me something I don’t know.” My fingers trailed along the edge of my blue comforter as I followed the stitching.

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