‘With the first pick in the 2025 Women’s MLL Draft, the Philadelphia Liberty select McKayla Evers, Northern Virginia University.’
‘That’s okay. No worries,’ Coach chants from above us, as our parents pat our shoulders assuredly. There will be six rounds of picks. No worries. We’ll be okay.
The second pick, and then the third, fly past. Jordan and I clutch each other’s hands so tightly I’m pretty sure we’re cutting off one another’s circulation.
‘With the fourth pick, the Rhode Island Reapers select Jordan Gutierrez-Hawkins, the University of Oklahoma City.’
Jordan is on her feet in a split second, shrieking the loudest I’ve ever heard her and bringing me along. We’re jumping up and down so hard I think I’m going to break an ankle.
‘YOU DID IT!’
It’s so surreal to watch your best friend, the person who’s had your back since the day you picked up sticks, to move up like that. The video call pops up onscreen, and Jordan speaks on receiving the opportunity to do right by the sport of lacrosse, and finding the passion to proceed forward. If anyone deserves it, it’s definitely her.
The first round flies by, and before we know it, we’re on the eighth pick, last of the round. Every limb in my body feels like it’s full of lead.
‘On the clock now are the New Haven Woodchucks.’
‘Holy shit.’ Colt’s flipping out next to me, basically hyperventilating. ‘The Chucks are picking. Okay, May. No pressure. No pressure.’
‘You look likeyou’rethe one waiting on the draft, not me.’ I slug him in the arm, but he’s the outward manifestation of allthe anxiety zooming around inside my body right now. The next four minutes are agony as we wait for the announcer to declare the Woodchucks’ pick.
My eyes are squeezed shut. I decide I’m going to rely on my sense of sound. I can’t look. Mumma’s hands knead the tension in my shoulders as the announcer clears his throat.
‘With the eighth and final first-round pick in the 2025 Women’s MLL Draft, the New Haven Woodchucks select Manmayi Velasco, the University of Oklahoma City—’
‘OH MY GOD!’
I don’t register that the scream bouncing off the walls of the boardroom is mine at first, at least until people are jumping up out of their seats all around us, my parents and Coach in hysterics behind me, Jordan shaking me by the shoulder from the right. The presiding members of the Woodchucks are absolutely ecstatic; Rod is holding Talise and dancing her around the room. Colt practically keels over dramatically before standing again, looking at the ceiling in disbelief, hands on his head like someone’s shocked uncle.
‘MAY!’ he howls, cupping my face in his hands. ‘MAY, YOU’RE A WOODCHUCK!’
I don’t even care how weird that sentence sounds. I leap right out of my chair and into Colt’s arms, hanging onto him for dear life as he spins me around, and I plant an adrenaline-fuelled kiss smack on his lips, one that he returns readily.
‘Start picking colours for our picket fence,’ he teases as the announcers, in the background, crack a joke about how our boardroom looks like it’s about to lose its roof.
‘Our picket fence?’ I grin, my fingers tickling the back of his neck, finding the cold metal of his necklace among the stupidlittle waves of hair that peek out past his ears. ‘Are you sure about that? Are you ready for my mess, CJ Bradley?’
‘I’m so ready for the mess. As long as it’s yours.’ His hands on my waist, his thumbs rest on top of the thick leather of my belt. ‘Love you, Red Card.’
‘Love you, New Haven.’ I scrunch my nose. He mimics me before brushing his lips across my forehead.
Woodchucks.What a thing to call your lacrosse team. Too bad I’m going to have to get used to it.
Epilogue
Colt
Prosperity, Oklahoma, Three Years Later
‘Ihope you know that tomorrow will be an even longer, more hellish day.’
‘I’m sadly well aware.’ I stifle a yawn, lying back in the slightly overgrown grass beside May. Her curled hair still holds, half of it pinned up by red roses that are now more or less flattened. She rolls over to her side, resting her head on her right hand, her left on my chest. Her fingers trace the knot in my matching crimson tie. ‘Planning all this shit was a lot easier than doing it,’ I add.
‘Wasn’t it just.’ May cracks a mischievous grin. Oh, no. She scans my backyard, checking the somewhat faded white lines drawn across the grass, and nods with satisfaction when she confirms it’s still up to her standards. ‘What do you say?’
‘May, I think I’m about to fall asleep right now.’
She drops a kiss on my cheek before she lugs herself to her feet, dusting off the grass clinging to her black salwar-kameez outfit. She tosses the white stole embroidered with red roses and green vines matching those on her mariachi-inspired pantsuit over her shoulder. Big gold hoop earrings inlaid with diamonds sway back and forth as she rushes over to the backyard gardening bin. On her feet – she has on a pair of close-toed slippers, matching black velvet with roses. There’s no way at all she can be doing this in those damn shoes of hers.
