Coach Dan nods at Coach Sarah, walks over to where Double-J is resting — and kicks him in the feet.
“Showtime,” Coach Dan says, looking down. “Don’t mean to interrupt your nap, but I’ve got a couple Academy fencers who say they want a piece of you in sabre.”
Double-J has lifted his head, eyes half-closed and unfocused. He coughs roughly, like it should hurt, but he quickly wipes the thin dark curls of his long wiry hair from his face, and looks up at Coach Dan with this calm look.
“Done with foil?” Coach Dan nods. “Good. I don’t do foil. Hat even looking at it. That’s why I don’t show up at your goddam practices anymore, all you guys do on Tuesday is fucking foil.”
“Hey,” Coach Dan says sharply. Double-J stares at him, eyes filled with disdainful questioning. Coach Dan continues in a whisper, “We’re guests. Keep it clean.”
Double-J laughs, lifts his large body from its sitting position. “Sorry. Thought the Academy was a school, not a f — church.”