The Foxhole Court

He set his standards impossibly high and tried for them with everything he had, and he didn't understand why others wouldn't do the same

"Morning, sunshine," Matt said with exaggerated cheer.
"Fuck you," Kevin said.
Dan yawned into her hand. "Glad to see you're still a morning person."
"Fuck you too."

He was something solid to lean against, something violent and fierce and unmoving. Neil couldn't remember what it felt like to have someone hold him up. It was terrifying and liberating all at once.

Neil Josten let his cigarette burn to the filter without taking a drag. He didn't want the nicotine; he wanted the acrid smoke that reminded him of his mother. If he inhaled slowly enough, he could almost taste the ghost of gasoline and fire. It was at once revolting and comforting, and it sent a sick shudder down his spine. The jolt went all the way to his fingertips, dislodging a clump of ash. It fell to the bleachers between his shoes and was whisked away by the wind.

Andrew didn't answer, but Wymack didn't push it.

Andrew leaned to one side to rest against his window

Andrew didn't seem impressed. He stood his racquet in front of him, folded his arms across the net, and perched his chin on his arms.

Kevin doesn't dance anymore

It's not the world that's cruel," Neil said. "It's the people in it."

It's about second chances, Neil. Second, third, fourth, whatever, as long as you get at least one more than what anyone else wanted to give you."