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He flashes me a goofball grin. Kyle’s known for taking nothing seriously, but he’s got enough raw athletic talent to be considered my male equivalent on the men’s team. Minus the national championship. “How was Scholenberg?”
“It was amazing,” I reply honestly.
“Yeah, I bet. When did you get back?”
“About an hour ago,” I reply. “How about you? Thought you guys start preseason next week, like us?”
“Yeah, a few of us came back early to chill before the torture starts.” He gives me a sly smile. “Including Tim. Who hasn’t shut up about you, by the way.”
It takes me a few seconds to even remember who Tim is.
“Why don’t you come over later?” Kyle suggests.
Nothing sounds worse right now. I’m totally drained, mentally and physically. Emotionally.
“Rain check?” I request. “I’m battling a serious case of jet lag.”
“Yet you’re out running?”
“I run every day. It’s how you become a national champ, Andrews. Take notes.”
He laughs.
“What are you even doing here?” I inquire, glancing around the parking lot. “I know it can’t be to work out.”
“I forgot my favorite shorts before leaving for break.” He holds up some gray mesh material in one hand.
“Of course.” I roll my eyes. “See you around. Tell Tim I’m flattered he has a crush on me.”
“Tell him yourself.” Kyle winks. “See ya, Saylor.”
He heads for the parking lot, and I start running again.
My pace isn’t quite as frantic as it was before, but I’m still pushing myself. I’m in the best shape of my life right now thanks to Christina Weber and her militaristic training methods.
My knee hasn’t so much as twinged in weeks. When I departed Lancaster two months ago, that was all I hoped for. I’ve made soccer my top priority ever since I started playing, and anything that doesn’t advance those goals doesn’t matter. Can’t matter.
I almost trip over my bags when I open the front door. I didn’t turn on any lights earlier, and the house is dark now. I feel along the wall for the light switch and then head upstairs, leaving the heavier bag by the door. The slanting stairs creak as I drag my smaller luggage to the second floor.
Cressida and Anne’s rooms are to the right, and mine is the first one on the left, with Emma’s located across the hall. I push open the wooden door, half-covered with peeling paint, surveying my room. The air has the stagnant, stale quality of that which has been sitting for a while, so I drop my suitcase and head to the solitary window, throwing the sash up to aerate.
Fresh air circulates, picking up a cross-breeze from the hallway. I’d normally describe my room as “organized chaos,” but that’s a stretch right now. I packed for Scholenberg in a hurry, and there’s evidence of that scattered everywhere, like a tornado passed through recently.
Rather than deal with any of it, I grab a clean towel from my closet and head down the hall to take a shower. I stand under the pulsing spray for longer than usual, letting the hot water massage my sore muscles. Long showers weren’t common while sharing a bathroom with six other girls.
I get dressed in a pair of sweats and a tank top, not bothering to do more than yank a brush through my blonde hair. Stray droplets follow me as I pad downstairs to forage through the kitchen.
Food options are limited. Very limited. No one has lived here since I left for Scholenberg. I finally scrounge up a packet of ramen and a bag of chips.
I make my meager meal and then raid the liquor cabinet. I drench a few ice cubes with a generous splash of gin and settle on the couch. The alcohol burns a harsh trail down my esophagus and sears my stomach as I stare at the television.
The buzzing of my phone distracts me from the fascinating task of studying a black screen.
“Hey,” I answer, balancing the bowl of ramen on my knee as I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder.
“You answered! It’s a miracle!” Hallie exclaims.
“Do you know what a miracle is? I answer all the time.”
