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“For me?”
She nods. “He was waiting on the pool deck. His eyes only lingered on each of us for a few seconds before moving on. I swear he looked disappointed when Coach Amber started practice, and you weren’t there.”
I laugh, pushing her gently out of the way to keep walking. “Why would he be disappointed? He doesn’t even know me.”
“Please.You had every college vying for your attention, including USC and UCLA, and you decided to go to Slater Hills? I’m sure even Team USA is confused.”
Taking a long sip of my coffee, I shrug. “It’s not like it actually matters what college I attend. And this is still a D-1 college. As long as I continue to show up for the college games after I’mhopefullyrecruited for the national team.”
“Hopefully,” she says mockingly, and I smirk at her. I don’t know what I did to earn a best friend who followed me across state lines to attend the same college as me, but I’m eternally grateful.
Chapter Three
Sage
Her blonde hair is pulled back into pigtails as she runs down the sidewalk to where I’m waiting. Knowing her hair was brushed and styled before she was sent off to school tells me my mother got up some time before that. It also means that hopefully Val had something better to eat than Pop Tarts.
“Sage! I had the best day!”
I gasp, my mouth opening wide. “No way! What happened, Squirt?”
Her hand slides into mine as we walk, and her little nose scrunches. “I don’t like that nickname anymore. I want to be called something else.”
A small stab directly into my heart makes me pause. The worst part of having a sibling with a large age gap is watching them get older and knowing how little time you have with them.
I force a laugh, swinging our clashed hands. “That’s not how nicknames work. They’re given to you. You don’t choose them.”
“Then choose a different one,” she mumbles.
“Why? I like the one I gave you.”
Val sighs as dramatically as a six-year-old can. “It’s not cool anymore.”
“Sorry, Squirt. I’m the big sister. I don’t care about being cool,” I tell her.
She pouts, tilting her face away from me and stomping down the sidewalk. I smile at her little tantrum, it’s adorable.
I nudge her with my hip. “Guess who my new coach is?”
“David Beckham,” Val says immediately.
Confused, I stutter. “I–uh. What? I don’t play soccer.”
“Oh. What do you play?”
“Water polo,” I tell her slowly, knowing she’s helped me plaster all the posters of my favorite players on the wall and put up my trophies in our room. I doubt she’s paid attention to the few games our mother dragged her to on the uncommon occurrence she wasn’t working at the hospital.
Her nose wiggles. “I told my best friend, Lindsey, that you played water polo and she said she never heard of it, so it’s not cool.”
“What happened to your best friend, Marie?” I ask her. I also want to know who the hell this Lindsey is and why I’m irrationally annoyed that the little six-year-old is talking shit. She only started school two weeks before my semester did and she’s already made more friends than I’ve had in my entire life.
Val shakes her head. “She’s not my best friend anymore.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. But you can tell Lindsey that water polo is in the Summer Olympics so that makes it automatically cool.”
“What’s the Olympics?” she draws out, concentrating hard to pronounce it correctly.
“It’s like where the best players all around the world compete in their sports.”
