“But what’s it doing in our locker room?” Drake demands. “Are we being evicted?”

“No, fool,” Castro says. “Maybe they hung it in here by mistake. Calm down, man. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Drake crosses his arms, still looking unsettled. “But there are other changes, too. There are cotton balls and Q-tips by the sinks.”

“Huh.” I strip off my sweaty practice shirt and toss it into a laundry hamper. “That’s good. We need clean ears so we can hear Coach yelling at us.” I strip off the rest of my clothes and grab a shower stall. The water is the perfect temperature, proving that everything that really matters is still the same.

There’s a new shampoo dispenser in here, though, so Drake will probably make a big deal out of that, too. Before, there was just one product in here—a three-in-one soap that was supposed to clean every single part of my tired body. And that was fine.

Now there are choices. The first dispenser contains a lemon-verbena body wash. The second is a shampoo for dry hair—with avocados and coconut. There’s also one for volume, with bamboo extract.

I like both avocados and coconut, so I push the button for that one. Easy choice. My shower takes three minutes, because I’m quick like that.

When I step out to grab a towel, Drake is stepping out of the stall next to mine. “Holy hell. Will I smell like a woman now?”

“Nah,” I say. “There’s nothing feminine about coconuts. Big, hairy nuts? Come on, man.” I grab a towel and toss him one.

“Where will it end, though?” He shakes like a wet dog. “Look, there are new products on the sinks. What is that?”

I walk over and pick up one of the bottles. “This one says Daily Perfecting Cream. It claims to polish and brighten.”

“You could stand to be brighter,” Leo cracks. “Try that one.”

I give him the finger.

“Careful!” Drake barks. “We can’t just spread any random thing on our bodies.”

“Then why do you pick up jersey-chasers in bars?” Castro cracks from inside a shower stall.

“I’m serious. You don’t know what’s in here.” He picks up the bottle and squirts a glossy white blob onto his palm. Then he lifts it cautiously to his nose, like it might be radioactive. “Whoa. What is that? Here—smell this.”

Trevi emerges from the shower stall. “I have a great nose. I bet I can guess it in two sniffs.”

“Wait.” Castro steps out, too. “I’m married to a girl who loves her products. I can guess it in one sniff.”

“Can not,” I argue. That’s why I love these guys. We can turn anything into a competition.

We all crowd around Drake, leaning in to get the first sniff.

“I’m getting…berries,” Castro whispers.

“And flowers,” Trevi says. “Gardenia?”

“Oh God. Flowers? It’s worse than I thought,” Drake complains. “Who’s doing this to us?”

“Not gardenia,” I argue, taking a deep sniff. “Lilac?”

“Nah.” Trevi smells it again.