Betting Game by Heather M. O'Connor

wheels around and comes back. Before I know it, he’s grabbed my jersey and hauled me to my feet. His hands are shaking, like he’s holding a grenade and he’s already pulled the pin. Any second he’s going to blow.
    Alex doesn’t say a word. He just stands up so we’re shoulder to shoulder. Gil’s eyes flick from Alex to me. We’re frozen like that. Then he lets me go and wipes his hand off, like he’s handled something filthy.
    “Told you it made sense, Alex,” he growls. Then he kicks open the door and storms out.
    It doesn’t take Alex long to put together the pieces. His eyes open wide, and the tips of his ears get all red.
    “Gil was right! About Luka. About everything. You’ve been gambling.”
    I sit down with a thump. “Since April. On the first team.” I look up to meet his eyes. I swallow hard. “I lost a few bets. Not a lot. But it adds up.”
    “So you owe him money.” Now it’s Alex who looks like he smells something rotten. “How much?”
    I mumble, but he hears the number clear enough.
    His mouth drops open. “Ten grand? How can you lose ten grand in three months?”
    I give a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I can’t believe it either.”
    “I still don’t get it.” Alex puts his hands on his head. He paces away and back. “What does that have to do with our game?”
    “Luka said—he made me promise—to—”
    “To what? Lose? You tried to make us lose?”
    “No! Not lose. Just…not win by as much.” I can’t look at him. I bury my head in my hands.
    “You let me get kicked in the head for a bet?” He cranks up the volume. “You risked the championship? Gambled with the future of every guy on that team? For a fricking bet?”
    “Look, I know, okay?” I stand up, and now it’s me yelling. “I know! But what was I supposed to do? He put a gun to my head. He told me what to do. Or else he’d—well, or else. He’s probably waiting outside to jump me right now.”
    “A gun?” He sits, hard. The bench shudders under his weight. He looks at me. “A real gun?”
    I remember how cold the gun felt. “Pretty real.”
    Alex’s breath goes out in a huff. “What have you gotten us into?”
    He looks at the door, then back at me. It’s like we’re seven years old again, figuring out how to tell our parents we busted the kitchen window with the soccer ball. Again. He’s just as lost for answers today.
    He sighs. “We’ll work something out. Okay, bro?”
    Protecting me from Luka? Covering a gambling debt big enough to buy a car? We aren’t seven years old anymore.
    “You think he was at the game?” Alex asks.
    I nod.
    “Then he saw what happened. It wasn’t your fault, right? You tried.”
    I just stare at him.
    He blinks. “Okay. So, he’s pissed. As long as we can get to Mom and Dad, we can get to the car. He can’t cover all the exits. And he has to get us alone.”
    Us . Somehow, knowing Alex is on my team makes me feel a little better. Then I squirm. I bet Alex doesn’t feel any better.

Chapter Twenty-Eight
    “How are we going to get out of here? He could be waiting anywhere.”
    “I guess we— shh! ” Alex puts a finger to his lips.
    Steps. Coming down the hall.
    No time to hide. Nothing to defend ourselves with.
    We close ranks, with our backs to the wall and our eyes on the door.
    I hold my breath. My heart’s banging like I just finished suicide sprints.
    Go past. Just keep walking.
    The footsteps stop right outside the door. I look at Alex and make like I’m ready to run. He nods.
    The door swings open.
    We jump a mile high.
    It’s just the security guard. He stares at us and chuckles.
    “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He looks around and checks the showers. “Anyone else here?”
    We shake our heads.
    “I’m locking up. I’ll walk you out. Your folks are waiting down the hall.”
    He’ll walk us out! We relax a notch.
    “Congratulations. I hear you fellas won.”
    He keeps up a steady stream of conversation while we pack our stuff. I feel like