Oliver checked his watch. It was already quarter to five- the other rugby captain was late to their meeting.
He paced the empty classroom, his red school jumper tied around his waist nicely, and he huffed. Was Flint even planning to turn up? How the hell were they supposed to organise the pitch timetable if he wasn't even going to-?
Marcus always came in with an entrance, shoving the door open and walking in holding a bottle of water. "Right, let's get started."
Oliver looked up, and shook his head. "Made me wait, didn't you Flint?"
"You know what they say, always make em wait for it." Marcus winked and grinned. "Plus I'm here now , aren't I?"
"You are. Didn't bring Pucey and them, I see."
"You didn't bring Weasley or Bell, did you?"
Oliver shook his head, leaning against a desk. "Let's talk then."
"So, I want the field from two to four tomorrow."
"Er, well I need it from one till five."
"Well that's fuckin greedy. Just go twelve to two, asshole."
"One to three."
"I'm busy after four, I need it until then."
"I'm busy before one."
"I'm getting the field from two to four, prick."
Oliver reached for a nearby clipboard. "Mate, don't be so stubborn. We're not allowed out the whole rest of the week, man."
"Don't be so annoying." Marcus snatched it from his hands. "I know that you guys need the extra practice, but-"
"Mate, take any other day!"
"I want tomorrow."
"How will we decide who gets tomorrow?"
Marcus made a snarky noise. "Simple, Wood. I'm getting it."
Oliver groaned. "Man. Seriously."
"What'll you give me?"
"Excuse me ?"
"For the practice slot tomorrow, what'll you give me?"
Oliver scoffed. "I'm not giving you shit."
"Then I'm using it from two to four."
"What the bloody hell do you even want?"
"Hmm... alright, your history notes."
"My history notes? That's it?"
"And you've gotta help me with my English essay."
Marcus crossed his arms. "Well, good."
Oliver sighed. If reasoning with Marcus Flint was as easy and non-violent as this all the time, he might even get on with him. Though, it did irk him that the man was going to get all the credit for his essays and notes.
"I just need to go to my locker. We're practicing from one to five tomorrow, and you can take some other slot this week. Kay?"
"Kay. Shake on it?"
"As if I'd touch off you." Oliver proffered his hand anyway, though.
"Wow, that's fuckin rude."
"Shake on it, and shut it."
Marcus grabbed his hand, and shook it. His grip was tight and his hand was warm. "It's a deal, Wood."
Oliver's hand was surprisingly soft, and he squeezed. "Alrigh'. Kay, going to get my shit from my locker, so."
"Cool. I'll come with, I have to get my maths book anyway."
Oliver let go first, then led the way, heading down to the first locker area. The place was empty, save for the Patil sisters, sitting cross legged and looking through their chemistry textbooks.
The boys approached the lockers, Oliver bending over to get to his. Marcus coughed and then crossed his arms. "Bottom locker? That sucks, man."
"Yeah? And you've got a what?"
"Top locker." Marcus smirked. "Kind of fitting, no?"
"Excuse me?" Oliver grabbed his history folder, as well as his english copy. He slipped up and leaned back against the locker and raised an eyebrow. "What's that mean?"
"I mean, we're top of the league, and where's your team again?"
"Only the beginning, man. Nothing's set in stone, ay?" Oliver pressed the copy against Marcus' chest. "Especially if it's something like your temporary lead."
Marcus rolled his eyes. "You really are an asshole , Wood."
"Says you . Here's all the shit you need. We can look at the English essay another time."
"Thanks." Marcus took the book and flipped it open. "See you around, Ollie."
Oliver rolled his eyes. "See you."