"Yeah," Liam adds, grabbing his Ridgewater tee from his locker. "Some of us were just born for the cover of GQ. Others were born to chirp from the bench."
I roll my eyes.
Classic Archer trash talk. They've been at it since they were in freshman year, and honestly, I'd miss it if they stopped.
Elijah just shakes his head, chuckling as he laces up his shoes. "God help this team if the three of you ever decided to use your energy for something productive."
"Where's the fun in that?" I grin, tugging my navy Ridgewater Warriors sweatshirt down over my head, the big gator-warrior logo stretching across my chest.
Elijah glances around like he's suddenly realized someone's missing. "Where's Ken? Haven't heard him grumble at us in the last ten minutes."
Kentaro Azuma is our team's goalie—and not just any goalie. The best in D1, hands down. Guy's got reflexes like he's part cyborg. He's tall, ripped, has that whole broody, mysterious vibe going. Girls eat it up. Doesn't matter that he barely talks—he scowls, they swoon.
The guy's got sex appeal without even trying. Total package. If you can ignore the fact he'd rather spend Saturday night with a textbook than at a party.
"Left already," I say, tugging my sweatshirt straight. "Said he had a study group."
That earns me a chorus of groans.
"Wait—study group?" Liam snorts, half in disbelief. "Bro, school hasn't even started yet."
Luke cracks up. "What's he studying—how to scowl harder?"
"Yeah," I smirk. "Apparently goalies don't just block pucks, they block free time too. Guy's already cracking open textbooks like finals are tomorrow."
Elijah shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about overachievers.
Honestly? None of us are surprised anymore. It's Kentaro. Academic excellence is just... his default setting.
The four of us start heading out, duffels slung over shoulders, still laughing about Kentaro being the human GPA curve.
I clap a hand on Elijah's back as we hit the hall. "Oh—heads up. I'm picking up my sister tomorrow, helping her move into the dorms. You should come. Sam would be thrilled to see you."
Elijah freezes like I just told him finals got moved to tomorrow.
He winces, groans, and drags a hand down his face. "Dude. Don't do this to me."
I almost lose it laughing, because yeah—I know exactly why my best friend reacts this way. It's not just dislike. It's full-blown PTSD.
Long story short? Elijah and I have known each other since we were twelve, back when we played in peewee together. And my sister—who was ten at the time—took one look at him and boom. Lovestruck. Cupid arrow straight to the heart.
Since then? The girl made it her full-time job to chase him. Followed him around middle school, tried to sit at his lunch table, all of it. She would've done the same thing in high school too, but Elijah moved to Virginia with his mom after his parents split.
Did that stop Sam? Nope.
She stalked his socials like a detective on salary.
And three years ago, when she heard he wasdating some girl from his school?
Yeah, I still don't know who fed her that lie — because my best friend doesnotdo relationships.
But my sister? She got in her car, drove from Florida to Virginia, marched straight into his high school, and publicly declared him herfiancé.
With printed proof.
Theproofbeing a picture of Elijah in a suit and Sam in a white dress with a little flower wreath on her head.
Why? Because before my dad passed away when I was sixteen, his wish was to walk her down the aisle. We knew it wouldn't happen for real, so I asked Elijah for a huge favor—to stage a fake little wedding in our backyard so Dad could have that moment.
