Boys like Leo Holt were dangerous. Not because of what they did. But because of what they didn’t have to do to make you come undone.
And I was starting to come undone.
I needed a distraction. Something that wasn’t firelit glances and cocky smiles and the way he smelled like expensive pressed shirts and mint and ruin.
It happened overnight, the shift in the air. Summer in New England hit the brakes. The warmth hung on in the afternoons, but the mornings were crisp, tinged with woodsmoke and the promise of sweaters. The hydrangeas in my aunt’s garden were starting to go dull, and the cats took longer naps in sunny corners of the living room.
Back home, the school year had already started. I knew because my mom said the local station ran a back-to-school segment, which somehow spiraled into theotherthing. Someone had tipped off a news crew. A rumor, a leak, something. Now they were sniffing around, asking questions, trying to get a quote.
“Do they know where I am?” I asked her on the phone, curled up by the window, mug of tea in hand.
“No. No one’s told them anything. It’s just noise, baby. I promise.”
But the tightness in her voice said otherwise.
“Focus on your new life,” she added, softer now. “Don’t let the past keep dragging you back. It doesn’t deserve you.”
I stared out at the fog rolling across the lawn, curling like ghosts over the grass. She was right. I had to move forward. Not just survive.Reclaim.
And that’s when I saw it.
A poster on the cork-board outside the library.ROYAL OAKS GIRLS’ SOCCER: TRYOUTS THIS WEEK
Just seeing the word made my blood thrum.
I hadn’t played since last year. Since before… everything. My cleats and shin guards had been stuffed in a duffel under my bed for months. Shani had warned me off—told me the team was a fortress of Lulu-clad, private-coach-trained princesses who didn’t like competition. Especially not from girls like me.
But I wasn’t doing this for them.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled out my phone, opened the link, and filled out the Google form.
Name: Jade Bryan.
Grade:12.
Position:Midfield.
Experience:5 years competitive.
I hit submit.
Somehow survived two school days, then slinked to my bike still stashed on that dirt path where in the wicker basket was my bag. I rode into town to the local Starbucks, locked up my bike and changed in the bathroom. Started taping my cleats like it was game day. Hair went up in a killer high pony. Face clean. Eyes sharp. I biked over to a lot behind the fields, brought my school bag and laptop to the bench ignoring the side eye and hushed whispers.
The second I stepped onto the field, I felt it.
Eyes.
Word had spread. Of course it had. Apparently the scholarship girl signing up for tryouts was the most exciting thing to happen all week.
Half the student body showed up like it was a tailgate party. Phones out. Stories already uploading. TikToks half-drafted in their heads.
I heard the whispers. “She’s gonna get smoked.”
“Do you think she even owns real cleats?”
“The audacity.”
But I didn’t flinch.
