“Are you fucking serious?” I throw my arms out as I sprint after the ball. “Asshole!”
Landon ignores me, only fueling my rage.
Our goalie makes a save, and looks to pass. Landon lifts his stick, and the ball sails toward him. But I cut in front of Landon and steal the ball, spinning around to take it to the other side.
“You guys need to stop fucking around,” Walker, our teammate, yells.
I shut out everyone else, and focus on sinking the ball into the goal. It’s been tied for the last quarter, and we’re about to go into the fourth. We need to get ahead.
My legs burn as I pound against the turf, surging ahead of everyone else. Out of the corner of my eye, Landon comes flying up the sideline, getting into position by the goal.
He thinks I’m going to pass it to him.
Fuck that.
After I ratted him out to Coach about being hurt last week, he hasn’t spoken to me—not unless it’s on the field, and we’re hurling insults at each other.
I feel awful for getting him kicked out of the game while the UCLA scout was watching, but it was best for him and the team. He couldn’t play in the state he was in, and there was no way we’d make it into the championship game if we lost in the playoff round.
Landon doesn’t see it that way though.
Instead of passing the ball to Landon, I drive the ball straight into the corner of the net. The crowd erupts, chanting my name as the scoreboard light up with another point.
The buzzer rings, and we jog off the field to get into our last huddle of the game.
Coach’s face is tomato-red. “You’re lucky I don’t pull you both out of the game.”
Walker tears off his helmet and glares at me. “You need to pass it.”
“We don’t need another turnover,” I fire back.
“You need to stop playing solo and start acting like a team,” Landon says.
I cough out an incredulous laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”
“Enough.” Coach holds up a hand to silence us. “Do you want to lose this championship?”
Landon and I drop our heads. “No.”
“Then stop acting like you’re not on the same team. The game is way too close to be having these problems right now. We should be five points ahead.”
“Yeah, that turnover really cost us,” I say.
“And your selfishness is ruining this game,” Landon fires back.
“I will bench the both of you right now.” Coach’s voice booms over our bickering. “You’ve got two seconds to decide if you’re going to be able to put your shit aside and play, or if you’d rather be riding the bench.”
My eyes narrow on Landon as he glares at me.
But we remain silent, knowing better than to utter another word.
“You guys can hate each other all you want,” Patrick speaks up. “But stop screwing over the team. This is our last game together.”
Guilt burns like a branding iron in my gut. He’s right. This is the last time we’ll be together, on the same team, playing our final game of high school lacrosse.
I glance out into the stands and spot my father. This is the last game he’ll ever see me play.
I have to win.
