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“ Hermanos , irmaos, freres and brothers! Plus whatever brother is in all those other languages!” Elliott stood at the front of the bus with a microphone in hand. “I am proud to announce that our Lucho is back in business! With him, we are sure to get at least some form of Europe.”
“ If we keep winning,” Milner pointed out, standing next to Elliott. “Our problem’s been inconsistency rather than lacking the brilliance in the team. Because we do have it. We just ain’t showing it every week. So let’s not see a disappointing result for the rest of the season, lads. And for the sake of the diminishing hair on my head, let’s not get to the point where Ali has to score a last-minute winner for us!”
Alisson nodded firmly, ruffling Firmino’s hair. “I’m with you guys, though I wouldn't mind Bobby scoring last-minute winners.”
The others cheered at the prospect of that idea.
Milner groaned—everybody had totally missed the point. “Please, let’s just win games in the ninety minutes we have.”
“Anyhow.” Elliott hip-checked Milner away from the front of the bus, sending him crashing into a very confused Diaz. “Considering it took half a year for Lucho to make his recovery from that onager’s tackle, we have to celebrate this somehow. And I’m thinking we should do something unique and special. Any ideas?”
“Just Dance?” Firmino suggested almost immediately. “I’ve got a new tooth brushing dance to go with the flossing dance.”
Elliott hesitated at the thought of Firmino choreographing a dance. “Um…no Bobby. But thanks for the suggestion.”
Gakpo raised his hand next. “Fashion show?”
“Hell no.” Elliott cringed at the idea of a fashion show. “We don’t need Vic modeling the whole show.”
“Hey!”
“Weight-lifting?” Milner suggested, to the result of many glares from his teammates. “What?! It’s constructive.”
“Constructively bo-ring!” Elliott released an exaggerated yawn, glancing around the bus. “Any other ideas?”
“We should have a contest of some sort!” Kelleher suggested. “I don’t know what, but the gaffer can be the judge.”
Henderson rolled his eyes. “Okay, maybe a contest. But forget the boss being a judge on anything, he can’t even pick and choose between us.”
Unexpectedly and suddenly, Milner jumped from his seat, sporting a mischievous grin. “I’ve got the perfect way to do this.”
Elliott raised an eyebrow at Milner’s enthusiasm. Milner’s idea of a perfect plan often consisted of him being the fall guy. “What is it?”
Milner didn’t say anything, but he gathered the others minus Diaz and Elliott together. They huddled up in a circle, whispering excitedly and inaudibly.
“What are they saying, Harvey?” Diaz wondered aloud.
Elliott gave up trying to read everybody’s covered lips, sighing loudly. “This is not going to be pretty.”
*
Milner’s idea was perfect. For Milner, at least. And just as Elliott had expected, he— and Diaz—were the butts of the joke.
To make a long story short, all their teammates had locked Elliott and Diaz in a standard shower stall in Kirkby. They weren’t allowed any equipment except themselves and whatever they happened to have on their bodies, and nobody was allowed to help them. They couldn’t use technology or reference materials to research escape methods, instead relying on their own wits. And to make matters worse, they would be videoed.
“Ugh, I should’ve never let James come up with this!” Elliott groaned after hollering and banging on the stall door for five minutes straight. “That lizard, that big fat—”
“Harvey, cursing the atoms out of Milly isn’t going to help us,” said Diaz, ever the more logical one between the two. “We need to find a way to get out of here. No offense, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life literally one foot away from you.”
“It wouldn’t be a very long life anyway, we have no food or water.” Elliott gasped, glancing at the showerhead. “I’ve got it!”
Diaz regarded Elliott with surprise. “Already?”
Elliott nodded, pulling down the showerhead. “If we flood the whole place, we can just float out of here along with the water.”
Elliott swore that the slap he received from Diaz for that idea would rival any injury he’d ever get.
“Estas loco? There’s a giant gap under the door, all the water would get out. Plus, the top is open,” Diaz noticed. “If we can reach the top, then we’ll climb out.”
“Then what?”
“Then I’ll go through the other stall door, and then I’ll open this one from the outside.” Diaz stood at the side of the wall, squaring his shoulders. “Sit on my shoulders Harv, I’ll get you up.”
Elliott did so, hopping onto Diaz’s shoulders. Sure enough, their height was enough to reach the top of the showers. But then Elliott stopped moving.
“Harv, you good up there?” Diaz tried to look upwards, but he could only do so much when his best friend was sitting on his shoulders. “Why’d you stop?”
“Surface too smooth to climb,” Elliott reported. He looked over the other side of the stall, wincing at what he saw. “And there’s an eight-foot drop to the other side that is really going to hurt.”
“ Maldita sea.” Diaz helped Elliott off his shoulders, sighing in relief. “Any other ideas? If we had a rope we could climb out, but we don’t have a rope.”
Elliott smirked, fingering his shirt. “But we do have something else…”
*
“What are they doing now?” Robertson asked, munching on a giant bowl of popcorn. “They seem to be busy.”
Nunez had glued himself to the screen, watching every move with a bated breath. “They’re getting closer together now. Harvey’s taking off Lucho’s jacket…now Lucho’s taking off Harvey’s pants?!”
Confused and suffering the effects of intense second-hand embarrassment, the whole Liverpool team watched Elliott and Diaz strip down to their underclothes.
Milner shook his head, pulling his own jacket over his head. “Maybe we should’ve stuck with the fashion show.”
*
“Alright, that should be long enough!” Elliott stood back, surveilling his handiwork. “How are the knots, Lucho?”
Diaz stretched the knots of the makeshift clothes-rope, nodding in satisfaction. “Tight as ever. This wasn’t such a bad idea.”
Holding the rope, Elliott climbed on Diaz’s shoulders again and threw the rope over the top. Sure enough, it reached almost the whole length over the partition and down to the other, open stall.
“We’re about to make our major jailbreak!” Diaz announced like a TV reporter. He held up an imaginary microphone to Elliott. “What are your thoughts right now, Mr. Elliott?”
Elliott was already climbing down the rope, grunting in discomfort. “I’m thinking that this would be easier if I wasn’t only in my underwear.”
*
Meanwhile, the Liverpudlians chatted among each other, trying to process what just happened. While they’d been shielding their eyes and trying to preserve some dignity, Diaz and Elliott had escaped. All that remained of their teammates were four socks, two pairs of sneakers, and an iPhone blasting “Uptown Funk”. They’d expected weirder or wackier ideas, but not that.
So they certainly did not expect Elliott and Diaz to walk into the auditorium at that moment, wearing tightly-tied bathrobes.
“You guys got out?!” Carvalho exclaimed, running to his friends. “How did you do it?”
“Oh, just a simple clothes-rope.” Elliott turned to Milner with a self-satisfied smirk. “Next time, try giving us something harder before making me the butt of your jokes. The clothes rope was, like, the easiest idea ever.”
“Maybe not.” Milner leant against the wall, drinking from a shot glass of Ribena. “After all, you could’ve just walked through the unlocked shower door.”
Everybody stared at Milner in utter confoundment.
“Dammit.”