“No,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s busy playing house with his upgrade, and I don’t want to interrupt the honeymoon phase of his midlife crisis.”
I make a face. Colten’s parents got divorced only a year ago, due to his dad cheating with said ‘upgrade’, so I don’t blame him for not wanting to get anywhere near that.
“Do you want me to visit them? I can give them the newlywed special.”
Colten snorts, rolling and stepping over the ball before passing it back. “What does that even mean? Are you going to get them a gift basket or commit a felony?”
“Oh, I’ll get them a gift basket alright,” I reply, repeating the same roll and step before passing it back.
“Why does that still sound like you’re going to commit a felony?” Colten asks, an eyebrow raised as he catches the ball, though he doesn’t seem upset.
“Might be, might not be, who knows?” I say, shrugging. Colten huffs a quiet laugh, kicking the ball in a spinning curve toward me. “Oh, nice. Do that again.”
“Threatening gift baskets aside,” he continues, ignoring my demand, “I don’t have any summer classes. Maybe I’ll get a part-time job, something low-stakes with minimal human interaction.” Colten’s gaze flickers over to me. “What about you?”
I shrug and flick the ball back toward him. “I don’t know yet. Thinking about a training camp.”
He stops the ball dead under his foot again, his expression tightening as he looks at me properly now. “Those fill up months in advance.”
“Huh, yeah, I guess.”
“And it’sJune.”
“Yep,” I reply, popping the ‘p’, eyes strictly on the ball and far away from Colten’s surely judgmental death stare.
“Have you even signed up for any?” he asks slowly, like he’s talking to someone who has recently sustained a head injury or is about to.
“Ha ha,” I laugh dryly. “Something could open up, or maybe I could sneak in. I bet I could blend in with the crowd of other white soccer players; I’ll just hunch over.”
It’s weird. A few years ago, I would’ve known every camp deadline by heart by now. I would’ve already figured out the funding and had a training schedule just for the camp.
This year, every time I tried to look up camps, I found something else to do instead.
Colten stares at me like he’s deciding whether to strangle me, but before he can respond, Rich jogs by with Brian trailing behind him, both of them mid warm-up lap.
“Look at that,” Rich says loudly, purposely slowing down. “It’s the world’s most codependent practice pair. I guess that TBI wore off?”
Brian whistles as he also slows down. Slackers. “Do you guys ever train with the rest of us? Don’t you get sick of each other?”
Colten raises an eyebrow at them, unimpressed. “Someone has to keep an eye on Patrick.”
“Wow,” I say, crossing my arms with a frown. “Wooow. Betrayed by my own best friend.”
Rich laughs. “Blink twice if he’s holding you hostage, Freeman.”
“Wha—if anything, I’m the one held hostage!” I complain, but they’re already jogging off. My eye twitches.
While Colten’s distracted watching them leave, I dart forward and flick the ball around his ankle, stealing it.
“Hey—!”
Too late. I’m already running down the field.
Colten groans and chases me. “Patrick! Get back here!”
Ha! Would a hostage run after their captor?
I laugh maniacally, adding in some trick maneuvers to try to throw him off. Unfortunately, I’m laughing too hard to execute any of them correctly. Good thing Coach isn’t here to witness this.
