“Did one of you motherfuckers take my bologna? Because if you did, it’s not funny. So just bring me my bologna, and no one will get hurt.” I hold out my hand, but Taters and OC don’t move. Finally, OC says, “Dude, although it’s slightly entertaining watching you spiral over processed meat, I know better than to fuck with your bologna.” “Same,” Taters says, holding his hands up in defense. “The whole team knows better.” I slam my fist on the table. “Then who the fuck did it?” “Posey!” I nearly fly out of my chair at the sound of my coach’s voice. I turn to see him standing in the doorway of the
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