Plié and Clout

Chapter 49: Rocket and Gabby

Double update, don't get too used to it. I've got a lotta chapters to get through and I want to get this series out before I'm ancient. 

-rabid

also, comment and vote and do all that jazz, quarantine is getting long. 

also x2, I'm working on the college search rn, do any of you know anything about Marquette in Milwaukee? 

alright, that's it .

-rabid (fr this time)

***

GABBY:

The coffee shop is bustling like normal, and I'm looking for the guy I've never really met, but stalked on the internet, and talked to once. He's apparently tall, and really skinny. He's, according to August, the definition of lanky.

I spot him right off the bat in the coffee shop. He's sitting at a table by the window, messing around on his phone. His hair is hockey long, and I honestly kind of don't hate it on him.

"Rocket?" I'm standing by the side of the table. He looks up and smiles.

"Gabby, hi," I stick my hand out to shake because if I don't, we'll get to that awkward hug-or-shake-or? situation. He shakes on it. He's got a heavy accent from somewhere, but I assume most of Steph's co-workers do too. Teammates? God, this keeps getting more surreal. 

"Alright, so this is awkward, but," I sit down opposite him and unzip my jacket. It's hot in the coffee shop.

"No shit," He laughs. "I've been on Steph babysitting duty for weeks or so now, I've been fighting him around every corner, like, yeah, I know you don't feel great, but don't eat that, it'll mess up your game, no drinking, stop, put that down."

"I've mostly just been forcing August to get out of bed in the morning," I shrug. "She's functional, ish."

"Steph is not," Rocket sighs. "But the point is, you're here to ask me stuff about hockey, and why he lied, shit like that."

"Yeah, first off, where's that accent from?" I can't really understand some of the stuff he says, but other stuff is in perfect english.

"I'm Czech," he shrugs. "But that's not important." 

"Right, right," I take a deep breath and then whip out a piece of paper.

Rocket laughs. "That's overwhelming."

"Yeah, sorry, I've just collected all the questions she's asked me in the last week." I shrug. "It's basically the same few over and over."

"Awesome, because I've got about an hour before we scrimmage," He raises his dinner-plate hands. "Backup goalie, they're going to need me."

"Makes sense," I sigh. "Alright, just, why did he do it?"

"That's on the easy side," Rocket leans back in his seat. "Uh," He pauses and rolls it over in his head. "Clout."

"What?" I laugh at his response.

"You know, clout," He raises his eyebrows. "Fake friends, trophy wives. It started off as a small thing with August, being honest, the kid thought he'd never get her, so he didn't think hard about it. But yeah, trophy wives, here." Rocket leans forward again and grabs his phone out of his pocket. It takes him a minute or two, but then he slides a picture across the table. "This is the second plane we take everywhere, the wives. See all of them? No offense to the guys, but they're all the same girl."

"Holy shit," I mumble.

"Again, not to ham on my guys, but they're all fake. They suck up to the boys because the boys don't know any better, and as long as they're pretty, the guys just don't care."