Page 8

It’s the first home game of the season. It's a warm Friday night, pink and orange illuminating the California sky, the smell of fresh buttered popcorn wafting through the air. The stands are fully packed with spectators and students. The exact kind of thrill I live for. With fifteen minutes left until kickoff, Coach Jay has our team out on the field running passing drills. I glance toward the bleachers, spotting the marching band all decked out in their polished black and blue uniforms, instruments catching the light as they prepare for their halftime show. The referee blows his whistle. Game time.

Our team huddles up, the guys bouncing on their feet with anxious energy. “Stop worrying about the crowd and don't worry about that scoreboard!” I shout over the noise, looking each of them in the eye. “Go hard, run fast, and trust the teammate next to you. We got this, alright!”

By the time the halftime whistle blows, we’re up by three touchdowns. I am so damn proud of my team and how seamlessly our plays are coming together. As the guys head toward the locker room, clearing the field for the marching band, I linger at the back of the line to watch a minute of their performance. Spotting Cami in the second row, I watch her navigate the field formations while playing her clarinet, and it's incredibly impressive. These kids are seriously talented. But when I look up at the stands, a dull pain deepens in my chest. More than half the crowd has cleared out for the concessions, and the few people left in the bleachers aren't even watching. They’re all staring blankly down at their phones. I watched the band work so hard on this, and nobody is paying attention.

I jog back to the locker room to join the guys. “Good job out there. Keep this intensity up, and we’ll have our first victory of the season.” I tell them, drawing a round of cheers.

“Man, the band needs to hurry up so we can get back to the actual game.” Joey, one of our benchwarmers, mutters with his arms crossed.

I stop dead, heat flowing through my veins at his comment. I point my finger directly at him. “That band is a part of our team, Joey. You disrespect them, you disrespect me.” The entire room goes silent.

“Sorry, Cap,” Joey murmurs, instantly shrinking back into the crowd of players.

Cooper steps up beside me, patting my shoulder in a silent, grateful thank you for backing up the marching band. I give him a small nod, “Alright guys, let’s go win this!”

We finish the game, taking home a dominant 36-6 win. After changing, Cooper and I head out to the parking lot, where my mom and the Bensons are waiting. Cami is standing in the center of the group, wrapped in a proud hug from her mother. She has the sweetest grin on her face, and seeing it makes my entire night ten times better than the win itself.

“Congratulations, boys!” Ian Benson, Cooper’s dad, beams as we walk up. I give my mom a tight hug, then pull Cooper’s mom into one.

“You should be so proud, all three of you!” My mom chimes in.

We start heading to the car while Cooper runs off to sneak in a quick makeout session with Emily behind the bleachers.

I fall into step next to Cami. “You played really well tonight,” I say softly. “ I was able to watch for a minute.”

Her already sweating face starts to turn pink at the compliment.

“Thank you.” She smiles sweetly, “You played well too.”

CHAPTER 5

Camille

DAY 2: REST & RECOUP

Bright sunlight hits my eyes, a harsh reminder that I forgot to close the curtains last night before crawling into bed. I wake up sprawled sideways on the mattress, face-planted into the pillow, with a dangerously dry mouth. Last night's three glasses of champagne are thumping hard in my temples. I reach for my glasses on the nightstand, looking at the clock. I'm shocked to see it's 8:30 AM. It’s the latest I've slept in months.

Craving hydration, I kick off the blankets and stumble over to the mini fridge for a bottle of water. I have never been more grateful for a free day in my life. Once I finish the whole water bottle in one go, I pull myself together with a quick rinse. I slide into my favorite red bikini, pull on a pair of jean shorts, and toss a cream linen button-down over it. Grabbing my canvas tote bag, I toss in my sunglasses, a bottle of sunblock, a blue-and-white striped beach towel, and my current paperback. Snagging my phone and room key from the counter, I head out the door and make a beeline for the resort's dining hall in a desperate search for coffee.

I spot my mom and brother sitting at a table together, finishing up breakfast. The second Cooper catches sight of me, he waves me over with a grin.

“Good morning,” I mumble, dragging out a chair and sinking into the seat next to him.

“Rough night? Cooper teases, taking a bite of bacon. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” I say sarcastically, pressing my fingertips to my throbbing temples.

Mom reaches into her purse and pulls out a bottle of Advil, sliding it across the table. “Here, honey. Take two of these, it’ll help.”

“I only had three glasses of champagne,” I whine, uncapping the bottle. “Why do I feel like absolute crap?”

“Probably because you never drink.” Cooper chimes in with a shrug. “Three drinks is just a warm-up for me.”

Mom looks over at him with silent judgment, shaking her head.

“I drink!” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “I think I was just dehydrated from the long travel day yesterday.”

“What are your plans for the day, Cam?” Mom asks, turning her attention back to me.