‘Ooooh,’ the team croons shamelessly. God. Can’t these girls let a breakup be a breakup?
‘Do any of y’all who went to Prosperityremember,’ yapper Jordan starts as she leans forward dramatically, ‘when May had herquinceañera, and she chose that Dylan Wright to be her mainchambelan?’
I feel my cheeks heat up at the mere mention of the event. Okay, so I’d chosen Dylan. But I’d only chosen him because Colt, the dumbass, had his head so far up his butt he couldn’t tell he was giving me the most mixed signals inhistoryaround the time of my quince, and so all I could think about was how embarrassing it’d be if I asked him and he said no. Or worse – that he’d do itas a friend.
‘How could we forget?’ croons Maddie. ‘He wasn’t hotheaded, Colt, but when it came to May … he pulled out every stop.’
‘He looked like a cat straight out of the bathtub during May’s dance with Dylan.’ Jordan cackles, smacking my back so hard my soul almost jumps out of my body. ‘Sittin’ there all grouchy with his feathers ruffled while y’allpromenaded.’
‘Put a lid on it, Jordan,’ I grumble and smack her right back. She just giggles uncontrollably. This girl hasn’t had a drop of alcohol all night, and she’s giggling. But this entire Colt/Dylan thing is news to me. Maybe it’s that the night of my quince was a whirlwind, and I probably blacked out on account of stress through most of it. Maybe I just didn’t pay attention. Either way, I’m rifling through my vague memories of the party all of a sudden, desperate for evidence. It takes too long for me to catch myself and realize that if I were truly over CJ Bradley, Iwouldn’t be doing these mental gymnastics in search of signs frommiddle school.
I’m trulynotover him.
‘I had y’all’s first-dance song picked out,’ Lexi raises her hand.
Lexi? LEXI?My jaw is literally slack. ‘Girl – you hadwhatpicked out, now?’
‘Oh,Lexi!’ Maddie claps her hands gleefully. ‘This is gonna be good.’
‘“Lady May”,’ says Lexi proudly. ‘Tyler Childers.’
Awwwsring out around the entire table, all corny smiles and goo-goo eyes and clasped hands.
‘But seriously, May.’ Jordan holds a hand out, and the girls gradually quiet down. ‘Are you … okay?’ The knowing in her eyes is a different kind from what the rest of the team has shown me over the past week, and they are truly sweet, each and every one of them, but only Jordan is aware what really went down between us. And only Jordan watched me go through what I did when he left the first time. ‘Not gonna run away to New Haven in the middle of the night?’ she teases gently. ‘Leave us high and dry for the natty?’
‘Nah.’ I manage to push a smile across my face. ‘I won’t.’
‘Butareyoudoing alright?’
The smile wavers. Am I doing alright? I’m a little bit angry at everyone, including myself. I’m a little confused, and I’m alotconflicted.
‘I’ll be okay,’ I tell her.
I need to be okay. I have a team to lead into battle in less than twenty-four hours.
Chapter Forty-Five
Natty Day
May
Hours after the sun rises in Boston, Massachusetts, the entire team, all thirty-six of us, and Coach, are awake, although we also already know that not one of the thirty-seven of us slept peacefully, and that we have all been up since before sunrise. This has only been years in the making. A couple of hours of sleep are nothing to lose.
We warm up in a separate area of the athletic complex designated for our team, spending the morning in rich silence, until it’s time for us to make our way to the lockers. The away locker room is set up for us in a nicer way than any of us have ever seen anywhere. Every locker is labelled with a name and number for the day, the corresponding uniform ironed and hung up inside, along with our national logo-embroidered duffel bags,which, depending on the outcome of this game, could become either a happy souvenir or buckshot to the chest.
We listen to Maddie do her pre-game affirmations, the same ones she does before every match, as we get into our kilts and jerseys. They’re brand-new, with the same logo on the left shoulder.WCL Championship 2025. The material is white, with printed orange letters and numbers crisper than our own university-made uniforms.
‘I am resilient. I am strong. I am passionate,’ chants Maddie, like she’s trying to summon the ghost of self-esteem. At the other end of the locker room, Brianna is lining the girls up so she can get going on hair. I pull my kinesiology tape from my bag and start taping up my shins, then switch to medical tape for my bad wrist.
As I press the pink tape to my skin to make sure it sticks, Colt’s voice whispers in my ear.
That good?
Sure, I reply.
Get out there. Get a red card or two, while you’re at it.
‘Not today,’ I mouth with a little laugh. As much as both of us know the rules of the sport well, that idiot always wants me to get a penalty. Some guys like getting heartfelt handwritten cards from their girlfriends. My dumb fake boyfriend would probably ask for a red card.
