12

 

 

 

Holy ouch!!

That's gonna bruise in the morning.

The girl on the opposing team continues kicking blindly near my feet, trying to poke out the soccer ball I'm skillfully working between my cleats.

She's not the most accurate of players considering she just missed and kicked me on the inner ankle.

Twice.

Trust me—it's not a nice place to receive a forceful hit.

But I guess it wouldn't be a true soccer match if I wasn't acquiring my fair share of black-and-blue keepsakes.

Ignoring the throbbing pain, I use my shoulder to shove the annoying defender aside. She stumbles, tripping over her own feet and toppling to the ground in a pathetic heap.

"Bye-bye," I mumble as I put on the wheels and speed past.

I dribble down Warrior Stadium's smooth grass, the calm evening air turning into a refreshing breeze when my sprint intensifies. A rumble of anticipation hums in the stands, but I tune it all out as I glance ahead. I see the white goal posts, the ready and waiting goalkeeper, and above that, the full moon surrounded by an abundance of sparkling constellations. Starlight and soccer—can it get any better than that?

Night games are my absolute favorite.

There's just something about playing under buzzing field lights and a navy-colored sky that feeds my freakin' soul...nothing makes me feel more content than this.

Well...one thing would.

Nailing this bad boy into the back of the net.

As I approach the goalie bouncing on the tips of her toes and waving her arms in an intimidation tactic to appear larger, I start to get antsy. A familiar dread overtakes me in swift bursts. No longer am I enjoying myself, the picturesque setting, or the beautiful game. I'm nothing but a bundle of jittery nerves and anxious thoughts as the moment of truth arrives.

You have to score this, Sydney. If you don’t, you can kiss Windhaven goodbye!

I quickly decide where to aim the shot, wind back my leg, and ball connects with laces in a satisfying whack!

The black-and-white globe seems to move in slow motion as it arcs through the air.

I watch as it goes, goes, anddd...

The keeper lifts a fist, punching it over the top of the goal in a save that requires minimal effort on her part.

Shit.

My frustration comes out in a raspberry blown from my lips.

I tighten my ponytail, semi-acknowledging my teammates’ 'shake it off' comments as I try to ignore the embarrassment that surges through my system.

It's difficult, though.

Missing a breakaway shot like that? It's equivalent to missing an easy lay-up in basketball. You've gotta finish those with a goal 99% of the time.

As Tanya jogs over to set up the corner kick, my vision travels towards the bustling bleachers. When I spot Vaughn, I shake my head in exasperation. He gives me an encouraging clap in response, but his lips are turned down in slight disapproval.

My eyes bounce to Rayne. She mouths “It’s okay! You got this!” before a smile of reassurance appears on her face.

Vaughn's disappointed dad gaze, Rayne's sweet motherly gesture...these two really need to have a kid ASAP.

They've already got their parenting roles down pat.

Suddenly, I find my gaze drifting towards Vaughn's opposite side. The magnetic pull leads me straight to Cameron's tall frame. Like the other two, his attention is focused solely on me. But unlike the pair, there's no decipherable emotion etched within his stoic features.

I tilt my head, waiting for something. A grin, a frown, maybe a hopeless look that says 'Why are we even bothering with our sessions?'.

But none of the preceding emerge on his face.

Instead, he takes his index and middle finger, points them at his eyes, and takes a long, deep breath—an exaggerated motion that prompts me to follow suit.

As the oxygen makes its way through my lungs, his words of advice from last Sunday's meet-up flood my ears.

Relax.

Chill.

Have fun with it.

A sudden wave of calm passes over me, my stress melting away in an instant.

I bite down the grateful smile that threatens to spread across my lips, opting instead for the subtlest of nods. I don't wanna be too obvious with our non-verbal communication, not with Vaughn standing six inches to his right.

Not sure big bro would be too happy with our secret-code conversations.

I, for one, am super thrilled with them because when the next opportunity to score presents itself, I heed his advice.

And this time?

I knock that game-winning goal straight past the goalie, no problems whatsoever.

Hell yes!

When that final whistle blows fifteen minutes later, the team gathers in our usual end-of-match huddle.

In lieu of congratulating us on the victory, Coach Addy talks about areas in need of improvement. I understand it’s in the job description to be overly critical, but I swear nothing impresses this lady.

Nina Malik, our senior captain, leads us in one of her infamous post-win celebrations. We form a circle around her, singing Windhaven's fight song loud and proud as she performs some sort of maniacal rain dance in the center.

And junior defender Anna Anderson is blubbering like a baby—happy tears, I’m hoping, over our 1-0 finish. That girl is always crying about something or other. I think she may suffer from overactive tear ducts.

After swapping my sweaty socks and cleats for some flip flops, I head towards the parking lot to find Vaughn.

“Sydney! Wait for meee!”

I turn, smiling when I see Mariana Castillo jogging my way.

Liquid swishes in her big blue water jug, her perfect ponytail swinging in time with the sound. Her impossibly thick hair hits the small of her back when it’s down, those chocolate-colored locks the envy of every girl on the team.

Mariana’s a fellow freshman, a badass center midfielder, and one of my best friends on the squad.

“Where are you running off to, Speedy Gonzales?” She grins as she falls into step beside me. “Did you forget about our post-game injury reports?”

“Never.” I laugh and point to my poor ankle. A large bruise is already forming, tinging my skin a sickly greenish color. “Exhibit A.”

“Oooh, grody! My turn.” She lifts her jersey to the line of her sports bra, revealing a massive soccer ball imprint on her tan stomach. “I thought my dinner might make a reappearance after that hit.”

I grimace at the sight. A free kick drilled her straight in the gut during the first half. The sound was incredibly loud, the physical sting so palpable everyone in the stadium let out a collective groan.

I've had that happen before—it's ten times worse than the most painful of belly flops.

“Okay, no contest here. You win this round,” I concede.

She doesn’t question my decision as she drops her shirt. “Fantastic goal, by the way.”

“Thanks. Only possible because of your fantastic assist.” I bump her shoulder and she laughs.

“True story.”

We chat about our next match and Coach Addy’s inability to smile as we walk together. When we hit the parking lot pavement, Vaughn calls out my name and waves us over.

“Your brother is so cute.” Mariana expels a heady sigh. “Wowza.”

My eyes roll immediately, the reaction now an autonomic response to the familiar sentence.

I’ve heard this same sentiment from all my teammates—every last one. But most go way further than a simple “cute” as their descriptor. I’m telling you, some of these girls belong inside a dudes’ locker room based on the filthy musings I’ve heard leave their dirty mouths, and about my brother, no less.

There are some things I reallydon’t need to hear.

Whenever someone tells me how much they’d love to “get acquainted” with my older sibling, my response is always the same.

“Ughhh, stop!” I crinkle my nose in disgust. “And sorry to burst your bubble, but he’s taken.”

“I know, I know,” Mari says with a guilty giggle. “I’m just admiring from afar.”

We approach the group gathered around Vaughn’s car. Diego’s showing Rayne a video on his phone, Liam and Ellie are deep in conversation, and then there’s the notorious new dude, Zion, looking like a total douche as he leans back on the hood of my brother’s SUV.

The boys have been talking about him—a lot—and the things they’ve been saying? Well, they aren’t exactly positive.

I‘ve only seen the guy once before. I walked past him when I visited the Treehouse earlier this week, the encounter brief.

It’s like deja-vu as I give him a quick perusal now. Wearing dark jeans and an expensive leather jacket the color of charcoal, there’s an air of superiority that seems to swirl around him. Errant tufts of jet-black hair graze his forehead, his eyelids are lowered over a glassy gaze, and he’s partaking in the exact same activity as he was the first time I saw him—smoking a fat blunt.

“You fucking killed it, sis,” Vaughn compliments as he yanks me into a hug.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. Seriously, Syd. I’m impressed.” He squeezes my shoulder, pride rushing through me at his words. “That goal? It was sick. Worthy of the Steel name, for sure.”

“Vaughnnn,” I groan as I pull back. “Stop making me blush.”

A sarcastic grunt interrupts the moment.

“Touching.” Zion shakes his head before blowing a billow of smoke in our direction.

The instant a whiff of his joint hits us, Mariana starts choking.

“Oh my gosh!” She sputters and waves a hand in front of her nose. “Someone must have hit a skunk.”

I exchange an amused glance with my brother.

Interesting fact about my new friend—she’s hands down the most innocent soul I’ve ever met. Inexperienced, pure, and painfully out of touch with anything too scandalous to show on the Disney channel.

I’ve taken the liberty of getting her up to speed with more adult topics, although I’m not exactly an expert myself. Sex, drugs, curse words and trendy slang...she's learning a lot more than just math and science on this campus.

Still, she continues to shock me with her lack of knowledge about stuff most 18-year-olds would and probably should be aware of. She asked me what a blowjob was the other day, for goodness sake.

It’s one thing to be inexperienced when it comes to certain activities—it’s another thing entirely to have never even heard of them.

Sheltered doesn’t even beginto describe Mariana.

“Uh, Mari, that’s not a sk—“

She coughs again. “Windhaven has an excessive skunk population. They must breed like rabbits because I smell them constantly!”

“I think you’re right,” the jerk responsible for the telltale marijuana scent chimes in.

“You’ve smelled them, too?”

“Yeah. All the time.” He takes another drag, wispy clouds of smoke emitting from his nostrils. “Especially on the weekends, right?”

“Mari, don’t—“ I start, but it’s too late.

She’s falling straight into the devil’s trap.

“Yes!” Mariana practically yells. “That’s so strange, isn’t it? Last night was especially bad. It seemed like they were in every apartment in my entire complex. Why isn’t the school doing anything about this? Shouldn’t animal control be contacted at some point?”

“Shit. You’re not kidding around, are you?” Zion lets out a cruel laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s fucking hilarious. How naive can you be?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s bud, Goody Two-Shoes. That’s what bud smells like.”

She looks my way for clarification, not familiar with this particular nickname for the plant.

Apparently our marijuana lesson last week wasn’t quite thorough enough.

I scratch just under my nose, blocking my mouth as I whisper ‘weed’ to save her further embarrassment.

Her mouth forms an O and she turns back to Zion. “Well, pardon me for not being a drug expert like some people.”

“Ay!” Diego suddenly inserts himself into our circle, thankfully interrupting the altercation. “We’re all chillin’ at the Treehouse tonight. Food, games, and my cousin sent me this indie horror movie he made. Says it’s some scary shit. Y’all down?”

I nod. “Sure.”

“Cool.” He grins before his eyes stray to the brunette on my left. “What about you, chica? The more the merrier.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t tonight.” Mariana’s lips push out in a sad pout.

“It’s past her bedtime,” Zion mocks.

“Ha ha ha. Good one.” Sarcasm laces her words as she glares daggers at him. “That’s not why I can’t go.”

“Yeah? What’s the reason, then?” He pushes himself from the car, stepping forward until he’s towering over my petite friend. Placing the joint between his full lips, he raises a dark brow in challenge. “Humor me, Good Girl.”

“I have to study.”

“Of fucking course.” He scoffs and her face goes beet red.

“Who even are you?”

Before he can answer, I decide to put an end to the verbal sparring. I grab Mari’s wrist, give the gang a wave goodbye, and quickly drag her away.

“He’s an asshole, that’s who he is,” I explain as soon as we're out of earshot of the group. “Even Parker thinks so, and he isn’t one to cause unnecessary beef with teammates.”

“He was extremely rude.” Mariana frowns, glancing back over her shoulder with narrowed eyes. “What’s his problem?”

“Who knows?” I make a W-shape with both arms and shrug. “Some people just suck.”

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” she says as we come to a stop in front of her adorable yellow Slug Bug.  Fishing her keys from her bag, she unlocks the car and tosses her water bottle in the passenger seat with a huff. “I hope I never run into the jerk again!”

And with that final declaration, she gives me a hug, hops inside the cute vehicle, and drives home to hit the books.

Vaughn pulls up in front of me a moment later, tires squealing as he rolls down the tinted window. He’s got his cell pressed to his ear, one hand loosely gripping the wheel.

“Get in, loser,” he calls out before honking his horn twice. “We’re going to the Treehouse.”

I laugh as I hop into the front seat. “Did you seriously just quote Mean Girls to me?”

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, is that what that’s from? Rayne and Lexie have been watching chick flicks nonstop. Every time I go over there, I get suckered into suffering through another one. Swear I’ve been quoting these damn movies in my sleep.”

Suddenly, I hear multiple muffled voices coming through his cell speaker. He motions for me to buckle my seat belt before turning his attention back to the phone convo.

"Yeah. Okay. I dunno." He lifts his foot off the brake and scratches his chin. "Beer stock's fine, but I think we're out of all the liquor. Like every last bottle. Thursday night cleaned us out. Get tequila, whiskey...maybe vodka?"

I grab my own phone, casually scrolling through Instagram as my bro talks beer and booze with his unidentified friends.

"Smirnoff, I think? I don't fucking know. I don't drink that shit, but someone obviously does. It's always at our place and it always disapp—shit!"

The car jolts to an abrupt stop as some idiot swerves out right in front of us.

"Be careful!" I yelp, using my free hand to brace myself against the dash.

"Jesus Christ." Vaughn shakes his head and shoots the reckless driver the bird. Another vehicle starts beeping incessantly and he sighs into his cell. "The parking lot is like a freakin' war zone. You guys were smart to get out of here early."

"Give me your phone." I grab his forearm and try to pry the device from his ear. "You need to concentrate on the road, Vaughn; both hands on the wheel! Let me talk to them. I'll put it on speaker so you can hear."

"Fine," he surrenders. "Here—talk to my sister so I don't total my damn car."

I take his cell and stare him down, waiting until he puts his hands at 10 and 2 before hitting the speaker button.

"Hello?"

I hear Weston's charming timbre first. "Hey, Sister Steel."

"Hi, Weston. Who are you with?"

"Cameron. Just lost him, though. Shit, Saturday is not the night to be here. This place is fucking packed." As if to prove his point, the buzz of noisy customers in the background gets louder. "Wait—there he is. Cam! Hold the fuck up!"

"Where are y'all?"

"Liquor store, Baby Blue." Cameron's familiar voice sounds far away, but I'm able to make out his words clearly. "A magical place you won't see the inside of for a few years. Legally, at least."

"Magical?" I release a loud laugh. "I don't think I believe that."

I've been in a liquor store by myself on one occasion—buying some booze for a friend's Sweet 16 party—and magical is probably the last word I'd use to describe the place. Dirty, grimy, a cesspool for disease...those are much more accurate.

But this particular store was well-known for accepting all forms of fake identification, no matter how unbelievable. And mine? It was certainly unbelievable. Worse than McLovin's. It said I was forty-five, blonde, and 4'8''.

Most ridiculous part was the name on the fake license. I almost lost it when the cashier waved goodbye with an enthusiastic "Have a good day, Miss Ima Hoare!".

"You'll see in a couple years," Cam continues. "Unicorns and dragons and shit all around. Crazy stuff."

"Wow. Who would've known?" I play along. "I guess I have a lot to look forward to."

"Get to the point, Syd," Vaughn insists.

I obey his wishes, asking the pair what else they need.

"Ask your brother if he likes Maker's Mark or Jack Daniels," Weston instructs. "And what kind of tequila do we usually get? Jose Cuervo or Patrón? I always forget."

I relay the info, and Vaughn fires off a quick 'both' followed by yet another 'both'. As we slowly inch out of the crowded parking lot, I act as the middle man for the liquor restock discussion.

After five minutes of back-and-forth conversation, I'm pretty positive the boys are planning on running the place dry when Weston asks one final question.

"And what about you, Sydney? What do you want us to get? Pick your poison."

"Oh, I mean, you don't have to get me anyth—"

"She likes Malibu Rum."

Cameron's response is steadfast and certain, so much so that Vaughn casts a suspicious look my way.

"How does he know your favorite drink? You guys have talked like twice."

Twice...rightttt.

More like every freaking day since we first agreed to our deal. We'd talked about drinks a few days ago, my unrelenting insistence that nothing tastes better than Malibu a source of playful conflict in our texts.

But as innocent as our chats have been, I can't tell my brother about them.

I hate hate hate lying to Vaughn, but I know it's for the best. I don't want anything coming between us or between him and his best friend.

"Syd?" Vaughn raises a brow as he awaits my answer.

"Uh, well..."

"Lucky guess." Cameron's voice is suddenly louder, and I'm assuming he snatched the phone from Weston to make sure he amends the blunder. "She's a chick fresh out of high school; shitty coconut rum's the obvious choice."

"Exactly," I add as I mentally wipe the sweat off my brow. "It's the quintessential teenage girl drink. Duh, Vaughn."

"Whatever." He shrugs off the suspicion. "You guys got all the info you need?"

Weston's voice takes over. "Yeah. Liquor is so goddamn expensive—holy hell."

"What about food?" Vaughn calls out. "What do we have at the house?"

"Parker ordered pizza."

"How many?"

"I dunno, dude, ten? Hey...what the fuck?!" A sudden commotion penetrates the line, a few angry grunts and testosterone-fueled words exchanged. "Some baseball assholes are trying to grab the last bottle of Fireball. Gotta go!"

The line goes dead as Vaughn shakes his head.

"Ten pizzas? Fitz is a dumbass. That's not nearly enough."

"Ten isn't enough?" I ask in disbelief.

"Not even close. There's a handful of guys already at the Main House; that pizza won't last five minutes." He points at the traffic ahead. "No way we're gonna get a slice."

"I think we'll be fine." I laugh at the thought, stretching my legs under the dash and sinking into the comfy seat. "I know you guys are insatiable pigs, but ten is plenty."