They passed the goalkeepers' section first. Andrew kept his eyes forward but he reached out as they went and dragged his fingers over the racquets. Neil didn't miss it, but he didn't think Andrew would acknowledge it if he commented. He bit back every question he wanted to ask Andrew about his apathy and his upcoming sobriety. Curiosity helped shake him a little out of his daze, though, and he paid more attention to the signs. The racquets were arranged from heaviest to lightest, with the heavy racquets right after the goalkeepers' section.

There were fifteen choices hanging from hooks. Most of them were plain, though placards showed what designs and colors were available for each model. They were arranged by manufacturer, then by weight, length, and available net depths. Racquets had a few inches of leeway to account for players' different heights. Neil was stuck with the shortest racquets available. He had his mother to blame for that: the Hatfords had never been a tall bunch. He supposed he should be grateful he was at least taller than Andrew and Aaron were.

Still, knowing he needed a short racquet didn't help him narrow his choices much. Every racquet he picked up was an uncomfortable weight in his hands, and Neil hadn't been playing long enough to really understand the benefits of different net depths. He knew strikers tended to have deeper nets so they could carry the ball further, whereas dealers and defense had shallower nets for stealing and passing, but the incremental differences were a gray area of confusion. Neil picked up and put down every short racquet he could, stalling until Kevin showed up to tell him what to do.

"They don't feel right," he said.

"A tear for your discomfort," Andrew said, completely unsympathetic.

"And you said I have no team spirit," Neil muttered.

"Never claimed I did either." Andrew grinned and shrugged. "You're the fool who gave him your game. Reap what you sow or burn the field down, the choice is yours. Be smarter next time, would you?"

"I'm not the only one," Neil said, putting the last racquet back and looking over at Andrew. "He told me why he stayed. He told me what he promised you. So how are you any different from me if you're in it for Exy, too?"
"Oh, Neil, it's like this." Andrew leaned forward as if about to convey a secret and gestured between them. "He asks and you give—okay, okay, okay. He asks and I refuse, absolutely not. I'm waiting for him to give up. He has to walk away eventually."

"Do you really want him to? Haven't enough people walked away from you already because of your condition? He can't wait for you to be sober again. How many people can you say that about?"

"It is very self-serving excitement," Andrew said. "He wants something. He stands to gain, or so he thinks."