Rubber Band

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Oliver: Storm

"Soccer, huh?" The coach boomed, eyes skeptical, posture hunched and curiosity rising the longer he stared at Oliver's confident smirk.

"Yes sir," Oliver nodded firmly, adjusting his position in the chair across from Laketown High's physical education teacher and soccer coach, "Been playing since I was four."

"Experience," Coach Barnes bobbed his head, clearly impressed, "Very good."

Oliver smiled further and cleared his throat, watching as the man dug through his office drawers, yanking out several files, and grabbing a pencil from a pot on his cluttered desk. Without even the slightest word, he tossed the stack of stapled papers before Oliver, grunting in acknowledgement.

Frowning, Oliver glanced at the sheets and then back at his soon-to-be soccer coach, "What are these?"

Coach Barnes slipped from his desk chair, snatching his whistle from its surface, tugging it onto and around his neck, and gazed directly at Oliver's polite, questioning expression.

"Forms. Fill them out. Be sure to get your physical," He tilted his head to the side, debating against his own thoughts, "I'll let you come out today for conditioning, to see what you're made of. You can use an extra uniform. But don't tell anyone."

With a wink, the tall, lean man slipped from the room, keys rattling, metallic whistle bouncing against his chest, bald head shimmering in the artificial light, clad in his gym shorts and an athletic polo.

Blinking, slightly dazed, Oliver grabbed his packet of papers, rose from the chair, and silently left the room. He'd make the team. He was unbeatable as a solitary player. He was the storm prepared to destroy the soccer team's average calm.



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