I hum doubtfully before loudly saying, “Again, but this time with gravity on your side.”
A couple of the newbies laugh. One of them, red-faced and dramatically draped over his knees, groans, “I’m dying.”
“You’re doing great,” I tell him, flashing him an encouraging grin. “Now get up and give me another twenty.”
He does not get up. He does, however, fall to the ground and start whining louder.
I ignore him. My siblings pull this sort of thing all the time. He thinks he can win by pretending to die? The twins perfected that move at age six and have only gotten away with it twice.
“Reset!” f I clap my hands at all the newbies, gaining their attention. “First touch, then pass. Think before you kick. You’re all doing great!”
They shuffle back into position, and I jog between them, adjusting stances, nudging feet, while tapping a shoulder here and there.
It’s weird. A few months ago, I would’ve been out here doing my own drills while thinking about scouts, stats, and whether every touch I did was good enough.
Now?
I’m thinking about whether Nico is about to trip over his own feet again. It’s very likely.
“Princess is doing great, by the way,” Nico says as he jogs past me between reps.
I blink. “Your illegal dorm cat? You still have her?”
“My emotional support queen,” he corrects. “And yes. She loves it in the dorms.”
“Sure,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “And how’s your RA taking it?”
Nico makes a face. “Reyes? Ah, he’s cool. Maybe a bit strict, but I’ll teach him how to let loose one of these days.”
“Do not mess with Reyes, Nico,” I warn, narrowing my eyes at him.
“I’m not messing with him,” Nico says, waving away my concerns as he nearly loses his ball again. “I’mhelpinghim. He needs to have some fun.”
“Hmm,” I reply, knowing that, after the last two weeks spent pre-season training with Nico, Reyes doesn’t want whatever ‘fun’ Nico is helping him with.
Before I can tell him to watch his footwork, someone shouts across the field, “NICO ALVAREZ!”
We both turn.
And there, standing at the edge of the field like the physical manifestation of our conversation, is the RA Daniel Reyes.
He is wet. Not like, sweaty-from-exercise wet, but soaked through with water like he just jumped in a pool while still wearing his clothes.
His hair is plastered to his forehead and his shirt is clinging to him, all of him dripping wet. His face has the most terrifying expression I’ve ever seen from him, and he was the one who found my under the bed salami experiment that caused half the floor to get sick.
Nico freezes before very innocently yelling, “IT WASN’T ME!”
And then runs away.
“I KNOW IT WAS YOU!” Reyes shouts back, already sprinting after him.
I watch them go, wondering how much the ‘running from death’ sprinting should factor into Nico’s exercise plan for today.
“He would seem a lot more innocent if he didn’t immediately flee the scene,” Colten says, appearing at my side and watching the two guys run off the field, both still screaming at the other.
I grin, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “But this is a lot more entertaining.”
Colten snorts before wrapping an arm around my waist and squeezing.
