Coaches Hernandez and Wymack had spent the last few weeks of Neil's senior year arguing details on what sort of equipment Neil needed. Knowing that everything was going to be here for him wasn't half as good as seeing it. There were five outfits for workouts and a set of both home and away uniforms. Mounds of padding and armor took up most of the space in his giant locker, and his helmet was on the top shelf. Underneath the helmet was something neon orange and shrink-wrapped, and Neil carefully pulled it out to examine it. It opened to reveal a windbreaker that was almost brighter than the stadium paint. "Foxes" and "Josten" were printed on the back in reflective material.

"Satellites can pick these up in outer space," he said.

Nicky laughed at that. "Dan commissioned them her first year here. She said she was tired of everyone trying to look past us. People want to pretend people like us don't exist, you know? Everyone hopes we're someone else's problem to solve." He reached out and fingered the material. "They don't understand, so they don't know where to start. They feel overwhelmed and give up before they've taken the first step."

Nicky gave himself a small shake and smiled, melancholy instantly replaced by cheer. "You know we donate a portion of ticket sales to charity? Our tickets cost a little more than anyone else's because of it. Renee's idea. Told you she's pure gold. Now come on, let's get you looking foxy."

He turned away to find his own gear, so Neil pulled out what he needed and brought it to the bathroom. Changing out in a stall was awkward and uncomfortable, but he'd done it so many times he had it down to an art form. He traded out a t-shirt for shoulder and chest padding. He did a couple twists to make sure the straps were snug enough without being too tight, then tugged his jersey on overtop. He could put on shorts around the others, so he returned to the main room to finish dressing.

He traded jeans for shorts first, then sat on one of the benches to hook his shin guards into place. He covered those with long socks and put on scuff-free court shoes. He pulled thin cotton gloves on, snapping them closed just above his elbows, and strapped arm guards onto his forearms. He left his outer gloves by his helmet where he could carry them down to the court and pulled his bangs up under an orange bandanna. The last thing to put on was his neck guard, a thin band with a tricky clasp. It was a pain to deal with and occasionally made him feel like he was choking, but it was worth putting up with if it'd protect his throat from a stray ball.

They went back to the foyer, and Nicky had Neil unlock the gear door Kevin indicated earlier. Aaron got a bucket of balls while Nicky rolled out the stick rack. The racquets were arranged by numbers, a pair for each player with Neil's at the end. Neil unhooked one and gave it a slow spin, testing the weight and feel of it in his hand. It was dark orange with a single white stripe at the base of the head and white rope netting. It smelled brand new and felt like a dream, and it was all he could do to keep from smashing the taut net against his face. At Millport he'd used one of the older team racquets. This one had been ordered specifically for him, and the thought alone was enough to set his heart racing.