High Hopes Chapter 7
Monday morning dawned all too early, all too brightly and all too cold.
Sam was roused roughly by his bunkmate, Ritchie, who informed him rather too enthusiastically that it was time for breakfast, and that Hank was expecting them to be ready for practice in an hour.
Sam rose reluctantly. He hadn?t slept well, and the morning had rolled round all too soon. He stretched, trying to ease the kinks in his back.
?How?s the wrist?? Ritchie nodded toward Sam?s still bandaged hand, making him remember the previous day?s ruse, and his reason for perpetrating it. Practice in an hour was an alarming prospect.
?Uh, a bit sore.? Sam replied, shrugging with mock stoicism.
Having skipped dinner the previous night, it was the rumbling in his stomach that finally provided the impetus to get him going, dragging himself to the bathroom for his morning ablutions.
While the rest of the group chatted excitedly about the possibility of a full day on the slopes, and bustled around getting themselves ready, and made comments on the relative merits of the pretty girls they had met from other teams, Sam concentrated on making hard work of getting dressed, exaggerating his ?disability? whilst trying to look like he was putting a brave face on a painful injury.
His act was very convincing. As with Hank, he had to decline the offer of assistance in changing, assuring his friends that though it may take him a little longer than usual, he hadn?t needed help dressing himself since he was two years old, and wasn?t about to start being babied again now.
?You sure, pal?? a boy whom Sam had learned was called Tommy asked him jovially, clapping him heartily on the back, ?I can go and get Becky-Lou for you if you?d like. Maybe she?d have fun dressing up her ?dreamboat?!?
This comment, made in a suitably mocking tone - with exaggerated fluttering of eyelids - elicited hoots of laughter from B-J?s buddies. Sam colored, then threw his pillow one handed at his tormentor, and exhorted the group to ?get outa here and give a guy some room to move!? laughing with them in the spirit in which the tease had been intended.
Thankfully, they obliged, leaving Sam to finish dressing, and to confer with a recently arrived Observer, to whit one Admiral Albert Calavicci.
?How?s Becky?? demanded the Leaper curtly, as soon as he was free to speak openly.
Chapter Seven
Monday morning dawned all too early, all too brightly and all too cold.
Sam was roused roughly by his bunkmate, Ritchie, who informed him rather too enthusiastically that it was time for breakfast, and that Hank was expecting them to be ready for practice in an hour.
Sam rose reluctantly. He hadn?t slept well, and the morning had rolled round all too soon. He stretched, trying to ease the kinks in his back.
?How?s the wrist?? Ritchie nodded toward Sam?s still bandaged hand, making him remember the previous day?s ruse, and his reason for perpetrating it. Practice in an hour was an alarming prospect.
?Uh, a bit sore.? Sam replied, shrugging with mock stoicism.
Having skipped dinner the previous night, it was the rumbling in his stomach that finally provided the impetus to get him going, dragging himself to the bathroom for his morning ablutions.
While the rest of the group chatted excitedly about the possibility of a full day on the slopes, and bustled around getting themselves ready, and made comments on the relative merits of the pretty girls they had met from other teams, Sam concentrated on making hard work of getting dressed, exaggerating his ?disability? whilst trying to look like he was putting a brave face on a painful injury.
His act was very convincing. As with Hank, he had to decline the offer of assistance in changing, assuring his friends that though it may take him a little longer than usual, he hadn?t needed help dressing himself since he was two years old, and wasn?t about to start being babied again now.
?You sure, pal?? a boy whom Sam had learned was called Tommy asked him jovially, clapping him heartily on the back, ?I can go and get Becky-Lou for you if you?d like. Maybe she?d have fun dressing up her ?dreamboat?!?
This comment, made in a suitably mocking tone - with exaggerated fluttering of eyelids - elicited hoots of laughter from B-J?s buddies. Sam colored, then threw his pillow one handed at his tormentor, and exhorted the group to ?get outa here and give a guy some room to move!? laughing with them in the spirit in which the tease had been intended.
Thankfully, they obliged, leaving Sam to finish dressing, and to confer with a recently arrived Observer, to whit one Admiral Albert Calavicci.
?How?s Becky?? demanded the Leaper curtly, as soon as he was free to speak openly.