Page 11 of Campus Heat

His expression changed, and I realized that I might have over-shared. I guess I just got a little excited, and it was such a huge relief to actually be able to say it out loud. But it probably also meant that he would see me as some kind of weirdo.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I talk too much.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I like that you’re opening up like this. It makes you more human.”

“Would you look at us, having a proper conversation,” I teased, hoping to break the tension. “But I guess we can’t stay here forever, right? They’re going to start looking for us, eventually.”

“Yeah. Mr. Pine’s been eying me the whole time. I’m pretty sure he wants to pick my brain. Not something I’m looking forward to.”

“I could stay with you if you’d like?”

He nodded, so I got up, grabbed his hand and led him back to the others. As we got close, the guys cheered as if they’d been waiting for him to show up, even though they knew where he was the entire time.

“Ethan,” Mr. Pine said, extending a hand. “I have been waiting to meet the man who will lead us to victory.”

“It’s an honor, Sir.”

“Let’s leave the formalities,” he said. “What I really want is your opinion on Coach Harris. And I don’t want you to sugarcoat things. Give me the brutal truth.”

Ethan went pale as a sheet. “Uh. Well, he’s not exactly an actual football coach. We know that and we’ve made peace with it, but… He’s really been doing his research on the sport, and it’s showing in our practice sessions. He’s great. Coach Harris is great.”

I bit my lip, silently scolding him for the lie. I had watched most of their practice sessions, and there was a bit of improvement. But they were an insult to the word team. And I didn’t know what they were playing, but it wasn’t football. I understood that he didn’t want to get his coach in trouble.

But if he didn’t fix this quickly, it would come back to bite him in the ass.

5

Ethan

I stood at the end of the tunnel and I could barely breathe. It was the first game of the season, and we were nowhere near ready to take on our opponents. They were established while we were still trying to find our feet. But that wasn’t even the worst part.

The first thing I noticed when I stepped out wasn’t the scoreboard or the noise of the Wesleyan Cardinals getting off their bus. It was the paint on the field.

The soccer circle cut straight through the midfield Havenport logo. It was a bright, unapologetic slap in the face. The penalty box lines crossed over what was supposed to be our red zone. The arcs were cleaner than the harsh football marks. It felt like the field had chosen its favorite sport, and it wasn’t the one we were about to play.

I stood at the edge trying to convince myself that this was home, but it didn’t feel like it at all. They didn’t even have a dedicated stadium. We had to host teams on this piece of crap.

“You don’t look very enthusiastic,” Elizabeth said as she came up behind me.

“How could I be? We’re playing against the Cardinals of all teams, and there are like five people on the bleachers and a couple of kids playing around. No band, no students, no late surge of fans. Nobody’s shown up to watch us play. Our biggest fan at this stage is the wind rustling over the aluminum.”

My eyes drifted across the field, and I winced at the sight. The Cardinals ran drills in tight formation. Their quarterback’s throws snapped clean and tight. Their receivers cut precisely without hesitation, and their coach moved with confidence.

“You guys have us,” Elizabeth said, but I don’t know who she was trying to convince. “We really did try to spread the word, but no one seemed to be interested. That’ll change in time.”

“Can you really blame them? Look at us.”

Malik was adjusting his chin strap mid-stretch. The receivers were arguing over who was returning kicks, and Cam nearly lined up under the soccer goal before Dylan corrected him.

“Y’all have to share this field with the soccer team?” someone shouted across the field.

Their laughter carried across the empty space with a reverberating echo. I didn’t look up. I couldn’t.

“Do you want a bite?” Elizabeth asked, waving a granola bar in front of my face. “Sometimes nerves are just low blood sugar.”

“You know, for a cheerleader you have no idea how to lighten a mood,” I said, and took a bite anyway.

“Would you prefer it if I lied to your face? Just face it, you won’t win, but it isn’t the end of the world. You just gotta take it one play at a time and let the game take care of itself.”