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“Everything’s fine,” I reply. “Just overslept. It won’t happen again.”
She nods. “Join the purple group.”
I nod back, then snag a purple pinny and jog over toward the cones that have been set up. I join the line behind Jill, one of the freshmen.
“I swear it’s him,” she’s saying.
“Where?” the girl in front of her asks. Her back is to me, so I can’t tell who she is.
“Bottom left, beside the bleachers. Right by that tree that?—”
“Oh my God. You’re right. It does look like him.”
“It doesn’t just look like him. It is him,” Jill insists.
“What would Adler Beck be doing here?” the other girl asks. She turns. It’s one of the sophomores, Jasmine. “Does that look like Adler Beck to you, Saylor?”
I exhale, allowing my eyes to wander to the sideline for the first time since I got to the field.
He’s attempting to be inconspicuous, but it’s not really working. There are a handful of people in the stands, watching. A few students passing by on their way to the athletic complex. One gorgeous German, leaning against the metal side of the bleachers.
I hope he remembered to lock my car.
“It does, yeah,” I say.
“Do you think he’s participating in a clinic here, like he did at CFOC?” Jasmine asks excitedly.
“You met him, right?” Jill questions. “At Scholenberg this summer? Can you introduce us? I want his autograph.”
“Autograph?” Jasmine grins. “I want his number.”
I pray the line will move faster so I’m no longer trapped in this conversation. But everyone’s moving slower than usual. Jasmine and Jill aren’t the only ones whispering. I catch Emma looking over at me from her spot across the field.
Practice finally ends, and I take a seat on the grass to stretch my tired muscles. Between trying to ignore the gossip and the fact Coach Taylor doesn’t believe in the concept of an easy practice, I’m exhausted. And I had no time to plan out what to say to Beck with everything else going on around me. I’ll have to wing it, which has never gone well for me in conversations.
I hate the paralyzing feeling that accompanies uncertainty. I can feel it creeping over me right now, making my skin itch and my insides crawl. Ending things with Beck would be best. He’s a distraction I don’t need. But I want him, distraction or not, and I realized how much when he issued the ultimatum in the car. Having him in my life won’t help me win games. But he’ll be someone to call after each victory or loss. I’ve never had that support. Never realized it was something to look for until I found it.
My teammates are slow to leave the field, most of them hanging around the benches drinking water. I focus on finishing my stretches, relieved that no one has come over here.
A few minutes later, I hear some commotion. When I glance up, there’s a new figure on the field, way taller than any of my teammates. Beck pauses to say something to Coach Taylor but continues toward me less than a minute later. A few of my remaining teammates exchange shocked glances. They might have been angling for an introduction, but they all assumed Beck was here in some professional capacity.
Beck drops down on the grass beside me without speaking a word. But it says a whole lot. He had to have noticed all the looks at him during our practice. Maybe he could even hear the speculation about why he’s here from where he was standing. Him coming over here sends a very clear message—he’s here for me.
He tilts his head back, staring up at the blue sky. “Your left touch could use a little work,” he tells me without glancing over.
I scoff, straightening from the lean over my left leg. “I only take advice from soccer players who have won a gold medal.”
Germany got silver two years ago.
Beck grins at me, an easy, carefree one that lightens a little of the weight on my chest.
I lean over my right leg to stretch that hamstring.
“Thank you for the painting.”
“You’re welcome. I just saw it and thought…”
“It looks just like the field that night.”
