I cough out a laugh. Suddenly I’m the priority, about five years too late. ‘The whole school won’t shut up about it. It’s spreading like wildfire. If your PR team can fix that, I’ll take it.’
I’m not sure if I hallucinate the tiny flash of disappointment in Colt’s eyes, but he gives me a curt nod. ‘They’ll be on it within the day. I’m sure of it.’
I walk the rest of the way to the locker room in silence, Colt striding off in the opposite direction with his cones. As I pull on my jersey and kilt, slap some kinesiology tape on my calves, and lace up my cleats, I ready my explanation to the team once the questions hit – ‘Someone took a video that got blownwayout of context,’ I mentally repeat. I’m not ready to address it yet, and maybe that’s why I decide, in a move out of the normal, to haul my ass to the field a full half-hour before the team’s usual call time.
I grab my goggles and mouthguard and leave my hair in its loose ponytail for now; Brianna is the member of our team thatdoes everyone’s matchday hairstyles. I shut the door to the lockers behind me and start the walk from the tunnels out to Chester Johnson Memorial Field.
I had prepared my speech to the team, but by the time I’ve reached the tunnel, I start to realize I won’t need it.
The bleachers, normally empty save for our bags during practices and small crowds during home games, are filling up fast. I’ve never seen the front rows as full as they are, and from the glimpse I get, plenty of phone cameras are out and at the ready, prepared to capture the source of all the lore that’s infected Okie campus.
‘Spreading like wildfire.’
Colt leans against the left wall of the tunnel, eyebrows raised, and brushes a stray lock of hair back with a dismissive hand. ‘That’s what you said, right? You weren’t kidding.’
I guess he also found time to change out of his usual shorts and sweatshirt. He wears the Riders coaching staff half-zip with a pair of well-ironed khaki pants. It’s a weird contrast to his usual frat-boy demeanour.
‘Guess I wasn’t.’ I tip my head towards the tunnel exit. ‘Better stay in here. They’re waiting for you outside. Might jump you if you’re not careful.’
‘Aww.’ The corner of his mouth tips up, etching a dimple in his cheek that stabs at a button in my chest I thought I’d long since destroyed. ‘You’d care if they jumped me.’
‘Yo!’ I’ve never been more grateful for Jordan when she barrels into the tunnel. I wish I was exaggerating, but the girl is quite literally bent over, out of breath, still in her street clothes.
‘Iknowyou’re not playing in those jeans!’ I start to scold her,but she holds up a hand, the olive complexion of her face starting to go red.
‘Tell mewhoseparents are at this women’s lacrosse match?’ Jordan scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as she drops her duffel beside her sneakered feet, pointing a stubborn arm at the exit. ‘Look at that. That has to be the Harrisons. Serial lacrosse fans. You think they called all their friends or something? Never gave a shit about women’s, but here we are.’
‘I think it has an awful lot to do with the conversation we had earlier,’ I mutter, and widen my eyes at Jordan by way of a cue. She mouths anohas her gaze shifts towards Colt, and another silentohcomes out.
My best friend tugs me aside, voice lowered to a whisper. ‘So. I take it we aren’t coming clean to the entire team right now, American Treasuress? You know we’ve never had a crowd like this in ourlives.This is crazy, May. We couldn’t even dream of this.’
I glare at the stands, and when I peer at Colt, who’s now migrated towards the tunnel exit and is waving at the audience with his dumb, glowing smile, I make sure to add a little extra sting. ‘Peanut gallery’s full. That’s all we could ask for right now.’
‘Did you talk to him?’
‘Hmm.’ I clench my jaw. ‘It may not be happening this instant, but we’re shutting this down. He knows it.’
Chapter Nine
The Deal
Colt
The looks of wonder on the team’s faces are all I need to know that they’ve never played in front of this kind of crowd.
Coach Dillon and I make our way over to the sidelines as they jog out onto the field with their sticks and goggles. The shouts of the audience we’ve drawn is unmistakable – it’s obvious what they’re here for, but a crowd is a crowd. May gazes up at the bleachers, at the nearly full student section, already getting rowdy in their game overalls, orange towels in hand, and then turns to shoot daggers from her eyes at me, framed by the hot pink of her goggles. The Dutch braid done for her by Brianna whips around over her shoulder, and if I were someone less acquainted with May Velasco, I’d probably be scared for my life. Instead, I manage a cheeky grin and a shrug. As much as May sees the video as a PR nightmare, one I’ll have to tell my teamto erase sooner rather than later, it’s certainly secured the Riders a hell of an opening game, and it’s given Captain May a very, very amped-up team. We’d better enjoy it while it lasts.
‘You come with quite some sway,’ remarks Coach Dillon, scratching at her clipboard with her plastic stick pen. She looks up at a poster with squinted eyes. ‘God, these kids work fast. What’s that even say? “Bradlasco Lives On”,’ she reads. ‘Have the both of you got some sort of history I’m not aware of?’
‘Uhhh …’ Coach watches my face phase through about five different versions of confusion, and knowledge dawns on her slowly.
‘I’ve heard some insane stories in my time on the lacrosse circuit,’ she quips. ‘I have time for one more.’
‘Um, the thing is – you gotta understand this much first. We aren’t together,’ I start, adding a couple extra-dramatic waving motions with my hands to really sell it. ‘But someone took a video of us a few days back – and there’s been some speculation.’
Coach Dillon just raises an eyebrow at me for a minute. Then, she jabs an insistent thumb at the quickly growing crowd filling the stands. ‘Clearly! That’s the whole damn town out there!’
‘And so – they think we’re …’
