AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
Unexpected warmth covers my left hand.
I focus on the German countryside flashing by, trying to shake the claustrophobia crawling over me. I just told Beck things I’ve never spoken aloud. Never told anyone.
This feels like more than a date. It seems like a relationship, and a boyfriend will not get me to the Olympics or on the national team roster. Signed to a professional team after graduation. Won’t help me accomplish any of the lofty goals I’ve set for myself.
Even if I were open to having a boyfriend, Beck is the worst possible candidate for the position. Not just because he’s famous. And lives in a foreign country. And goes through women at a dizzying pace. And a poster of him hangs in the bedroom across from my own.
Adler Beck is a terrible idea because I suddenly know with absolute certainty that if I let myself, I could care about him.
Like him.
Maybe even love him.
So, I slide my hand out from underneath his and pretend the pines we’re passing are the most interesting ones I’ve ever seen, so I don’t have to register his response.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A door down the hallway slams. I swear, then spit out the toothpaste in my mouth. I’m texting with Emma about our lease terms. There’s a week-long gap between the end of Scholenberg and the start of Lancaster’s preseason. Despite the fact that we rent the house year-round, our landlord is being difficult about me moving back in a week earlier than everyone else. Supposedly because of the repairs we’ve been bugging him about, but I couldn’t care less about the house’s issues, for once. I’d rather hire a lawyer than have to go home. Emma promises to straighten it out, so I shut off my phone, then rush out of the bathroom.
I’m late for morning practice. The van must already be here, because the floor is empty.
I rush downstairs, the last one to climb into the van. Olivia rolls her eyes when I pass her.
It’s sweltering today, well into the nineties. It’s a relief to file into the dim room in the depths of the stadium where our film sessions take place. Coach Weber is standing at the front of the room, drawing out lines on the whiteboard next to the projector screen.
Normally, I dread film sessions. I understand the importance of them strategically, but I’d much rather be out on the field playing. Today is an exception. I sink down on the cool plastic chair with a relieved sigh. The slightly damp, musty scent permeating the lowest level of the stadium has never been my favorite, but the cooler temperature more than makes up for it. I redo my ponytail, scraping up the sweaty strands sticking to the back of my neck with the rest of my hair.
The film session lasts for two hours, then Coach Weber announces we’re heading outside. Total silence follows. I wasn’t kidding when I told Erika that Coach Weber is a drill sergeant. We file in line like dutiful soldiers out into the oppressive heat. The air hits in a wave of warmth like an oven door that’s just been opened.
“Shit, it’s hot,” Ellie mutters beside me.
“You think?” I murmur back.
Our warm-up routine is a series of sit-ups, planks, burpees, and push-ups. I’m soaked with sweat by the time we finish the last set.
“Center line,” Coach Weber barks. “Usual teams.”
The silence holds, but Alexis huffs out a disbelieving breath to my right. Her face is the same shade as strawberry lemonade. We all follow instructions, taking our assigned positions on the field. I turn to see one of the assistant coaches wheeling out two giant trash bins. That’s new.
“Are those for vomit?” Alexis asks, sounding aghast.
My stomach churns at the thought. I’ve thrown up during practice before. Not an experience I’d love to replicate. But when the bins are close enough for us to get a glimpse inside, I don’t see a generic black bag. Instead, it’s packed with color.
The bins are filled with a rainbow array of balloons.
“First team fully soaked loses,” Coach Weber announces in the same authoritative tone that normally encourages running at an inhuman pace.
“Wh—what?” Ellie stutters beside me, and I’m equally at a loss.
Everyone else is just as taken aback, but we’ve all had listening to our coach drilled into us to the point that it’s permanently impressed. Alexis grabs a yellow balloon; I take a blue one, and soon everyone has one in hand. I roll the sphere in the palm of my hand, feeling the liquid contents squish and contract underneath the latex skin.
My shirt is suddenly sticking to me with more than sweat, and I scowl at Olivia, my Scandinavian nemesis. Never mind the fact that the water actually feels good. I send a balloon back at her, but it hits Sydney instead, who glares at me. I shoot her a satisfied smile, and the game descends into chaos. Balloons are suddenly flying everywhere, exploding into strips of colored plastic and sprays of clear water. I don’t know which side gets fully drenched first, and I don’t think anyone else does earlier. We don’t stop until the bins are empty.
Ellie flops down on the grass, and I lie down beside her to stare up at the perfectly clear sky.
“This is my favorite memory on this field,” she says, giggling slightly.
