“How long has that board been loose?”
“How should I know? You’re the super-genius who notices everything. You tell me, hotshot,” she retorted as she continued whacking the heck out of the board above her head. The chair she stood on wobbled as she hammered.
“Hey!” I argued, “Since when do you hate my guts and call me names?”
She stopped and looked at me.
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. Deal?”
I said nothing.
“My answer to your previous question, about why I woke you up, is only half true. I woke you because you were yelling, yes, but also because I received a message that all sled riders were to report to the training room at four. So,” she paused to check her watch as I grabbed my jacket and shoes, “you have approximately fifteen minutes to get there. I suggest you hurry.”
“Gee, thanks,” I grumbled. “I sure couldn’t have figured that out.” I grabbed my harness and goggles.
I got to the training room five minutes after four, which everyone knew was ten minutes too late. Coach Wachler was very strict about tardiness, so I was astounded to find that the rest of my fellow sledders were waiting outside the door with great annoyance on their faces. “Why the heck won’t he let us in? Geez,” someone asked. Others seemed quite unconcerned about their fate at the hands of the coach and broke regulation by sitting on the floor, attempting to go to sleep. Wished I could’ve done the same, but I could never let myself fall asleep anywhere outside the house. Not me. It was too dangerous.
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