‘Hmm.’ The coach hums in thought. ‘I just love the rumour mill among young people nowadays. The things it churns out. Priceless.’
‘It’s not real. I swear …’
‘Ah-ah-ah.’ She holds up a hand to stop me. I blink, taken aback.What is going on?‘That’s thewhole damn townout there,’ she repeats slowly. Her gaze falls on me, and then back to the bleachers. ‘Maybe they came for you. OrBradlasco. Or whatever it is. But maybe … they’ll stay for these girls playing lacrosse.’
We watch as the team jogs onto the field to hearty cheering and chanting. They’re definitely not familiar with the atmosphere they’re experiencing. I can see it in the tension in their shoulders, the way their heads swivel, fully alert. I remember going through the same thing when I started playing in Boston, and years later, last October. I still feel it now – the same tension they do. Crowds are, at their core, terrifying. I think of every single person who watched me go down on the field. Eyes everywhere.
In the girls’ case, though, this crowd is a good thing. People stay for lacrosse. And that means lacrosse stays for the people. Budget improvements, bigger and bigger crowds, and the best bonus – an edge when it comes to Major League Lacrosse visibility.
‘If May and Jordan finish the senior season out with all eyes on them?’ Coach reads my mind, shaking her head. ‘By the time they declare for the draft, it’s open season.’
Ideas, all kinds of them, kick up a dust storm in my brain. When the first whistle blows, and the draw is on, the ideas are swirling. But it’s the moment that May captures the ball, passes straight down the middle to Maddie, and then to Jordan, and at last, when the ball smashes its way into the net, that it all comes together.
‘HOLY SHIT!’ someone yells excitedly from behind me. The field vibrates with the thrum of the chant – ‘RIDE ON, COWGIRL!’ Coach was right. Maybe this started out about me, but it’ll have brought this town together for something much greater.
‘May will never buy it, you know,’ I shout over the cheers to Coach Dillon as the girls set up for their next formation.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ the coach shouts back.
The Riders coast through the first game of their season against Arizona at Sedona, sitting pretty at a cool 12–7. It’s no secret they’re going to take this one home by the third quarter, but the audience hangs in there until the final buzzer sounds, and then orange and white towels go flying as the Oklahoma City Victory March plays, and the girls embrace on field. May, whose expression had been stony as a wall at the beginning of these four quarters, grins broadly along with her team. Coach’s hypothesis is great, of course, but May’s smile is the added perk I really, really wouldn’t mind.
It fades when she meets my eyes as the team separates and they head back towards the tunnel to the lockers once all the festivities slow down and fans start to trickle out. May’s one of the last to head back in. Coach Dillon stops her for just a moment before she hits the entrance to the tunnel. I can’t hear what they’re saying, as I’m somewhat occupied congratulating the girls as they file inside, but I have a little bit of an idea.
Then she comes my way, May, her braid only slightly matted, her pink goggles in hand, jersey and kilt dotted with grass stains, but attitude perfectly intact.
Said attitude is the reason I don’t expect anything at all when she jogs right up to me where I’m standing to the side of the tunnel about halfway inside. She gets close enough that I can make out barely discernible freckles across her nose, can count the empty piercing holes on her ears. Her dark eyebrows knit, and through gritted teeth, she chokes out the magic words.
‘Tell your PR team to back down. I’m in.’
Chapter Ten
The Game Plan
May
Iwish I could blame the adrenaline, but it’s clear I made the shitty decision myself. For the team, I remind myself. For the women’s lacrosse programme Okie needs, according to our coach. For my career after college, I try to ignore the uncertainty surrounding that last part. Either way, it sounds dumb when I realize that this shitty decision has brought me to an overly expensive pasta restaurant in downtown Prosperity, where I sit across from the menace himself.
I don’t even like pasta. There. I said it.
‘We need to lay down a game plan,’ says Colt, swallowing a bite of ziti. ‘We need to set a couple of guidelines, for how this is gonna go.’
‘A game plan,’ I echo in disbelief. This can’t be real. I spear a piece of lasagne, attempting to silence my particularly judgementalthoughts that might accidentally manifest themselves aloud. He’s such aman.
‘What? It’s true,’ he points out. ‘If we’re going to do this, we need a strategy.’
‘Colt …’ I’m not sure how to react, so in the end, I scoff. ‘Dude. It’s a relationship, not a lax play.’
Both his eyebrows rise at that. He tilts his head in inquisition, all curious golden retriever-esque, and a lock of light brown hair falls from the rest of his ’do, which is effortlessly swept back from his forehead. ‘What’s the difference?’
And that’s why no ‘spark’ between us would’ve ever stood a chance.‘So much. There’s so much difference. Didn’t you have a girlfriend at some point in Boston?’
‘Uh, yeah. I did …’ The confusion on his face quickly turns to a teasing, overly satisfied smirk. ‘Why, were you keeping tabs on me?’
‘No.’ Ugh. I bite down on my tongue. ‘People date. They learn from their relationships. I just thought you’d finally have figured out that feelings aren’t as premeditated as playbooks.’
The silence that comes after that is deafening.
Colt, always the kind of person who couldn’t stand a moment’s lull in conversation, clears his throat. ‘Anyway. This is technically premeditated. So, we could use a playbook.’
