Me: I always brush my teeth.
Willow: BECAUSE I’ve purchased us tickets!!!!!
She’s sweet. She’s excited. I love her. But I won’t be going anywhere.
Me: Nah.
Willow: SHUT UP, Stella Everly. You don’t even know what the tickets are for. You’re going to want them.
Will I?Doubtful.
Me: Nah.
Willow: SHOWER. NOW. And do NOT respond with ‘Nah’ again, or I will hire a bouncer and you’ll be out on the street before you know it.
Me: But I don’t wanna.
Willow: That’s it. I’m evicting you. You officially cannot live on my couch anymore.
Me: Rude.
Willow: It’s called an intervention.
Willow: I have purchased two tickets to watch the Reno-Tesoro Red Tails play tomorrow night. And you will be attending with me, or you will be sleeping on the park bench outside that sketchy McDonald’s you’re too chicken to go into tomorrow night.
I jolt to a sitting position. My head spins, aching with the quick action. “Reno-Tesoro. That’s Roman’s team.” I stare down at Willow’s message, rereading her last text when another pops up.
Willow: Roman Graves, #21, will be very disappointed if you don’t show up.
Me: I’m afraid of that McDonald’s. I never eat there.
Willow: I know.
Me: I can’t sleep there.
It’s an excuse. Willow wouldn’t make me sleep on a park bench. She would never make me go near that McDonald’s.At least, I don’t think she would. No—Willow is the kind of friend that buys you tickets to a soccer game, then drives you to said soccer game to watch the high school hottie you crushed on, who also happens to be the only person who ever believed in your work. Just to try and kickstart belief in yourself again. That’s the kind of friend that Willow is.
Willow: So, I guess you’ll be attending the game with me then.
I kick at the blanket around my toes and hurry off to the bathroom. It may take a couple showers to remove the grime that has accumulated over the last eight days.
I’m going to see Roman. Brice’s best friend. My high school crush. The one person in my life who looked at my pottery like it might be something special. Like I might be something special.
And sure, he won’t see me. He’ll be on the field while I’m in the stands. We won’t speak to one another. But that’s okay. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. I don’t even know him anymore. But I do know that for the first time in days, I want to shower, I want to get dressed, I want to eat more than popcorn. And I want to leave the safety of Willow’s apartment.
Five
Three games downand one to go.
I throw on my warmup kit, feeling free for the first time in years, when Lucca Cruz plants himself in front of me. “You showing up today, Graveyard?”
“Excuse me?” My brow knits, and I glower at the six-foot-two Brazilian. It’s so easy to conjure a grimace.
“Where’s your aggression, man? We haven’t seen it in two weeks.”
The muscles in my chest and arms tense. “I’m doing my job. Like always.”
He tilts his head, wrinkling his nose as if my answer is questionable. “Not like always. I’ve barely noticed you on the field.”
