by McKinley May
We continue our stroll through campus, arriving at Gigi's just a few minutes later. Due to its prime location and mouthwatering menu, the mom-and-pop brunch spot is a Windhaven favorite. On weekends, it's not uncommon for students to wait three freakin' hours for a table.
Lucky for us, it's an early weekday morning so the place isn't exactly bustling with activity. When we get seated, we immediately order a pitcher of bottomless mimosas and some of their famous buttermilk biscuits.
Lexie shows up just as the spiked orange juice does. Before sitting down, she checks her watch and frowns at her boyfriend.
"Don't you have class right now?"
"Yeah." Weston shrugs. "But I can't go."
"Why not?"
"'Cause I'm sick."
She slides into his side of the booth and gives him a skeptical perusal.
"You're sick..." she repeats in an unconvinced tone.
"Yup." A mischievous grin breaks across his face. "Sick of that fucking class. It's boring as hell."
"Weston!" Lexie laughs as he swings an arm over her shoulder and tugs her close. She reaches up, mussing his hair playfully. "What am I gonna do with you?"
He presses his lips to her forehead and plasters on one of his signature dimple-popping smirks. "I can think of a few things."
Her cheeks go pink and he exhales a heavy sigh.
"Why didn't you move into the Redhouse, Barbie? You should've been my new roommate. Shit."
"Well, for starters, I'm not a member of the men's soccer team. Just in case you forgot," she jokes before taking a small sip of her mimosa. "Also, us living together? It would be way too much of a distraction. We wouldn't get any work done. Like, ever."
"You got that right," he concedes with a grin. "Getting us out of the bedroom would be an impossible task. Fuck, we'd never leave."
"Dammit, Paine. I'm sitting right here," I point out. "Keep that shit to yourself."
"Can't, dude. Have you seen this girl?" He squeezes Lexie's shoulder. "Dirty thoughts flood my mind anytime she's around—a few are bound to be vocalized. You're gonna have to learn to deal."
"Learn to deal. Right." I reach for my drink, downing the entire thing in one giant gulp.
Learning to deal with Liam and Ellie wasn't too difficult. With Vaughn and Rayne? Not a problem. But when Weston and Lexie became a couple last semester, it suddenly occurred to me that I now hold the "odd man out" title in our friend group. I'm officially the single dude. The lone wolf.
It doesn't exactly bother me, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a pinch of envy every so often for what all three of my best friends have going on.
Like right now, for instance, as I watch the pair across from me nestled up like the happiest damn couple on the face of the earth.
Seriously, somebody put these two in an engagement ring commercial or some shit. They're the poster children for love.
I pour myself another drink—the first of many to come. After two hours, Lexie has to leave for class. Weston and I finish up the third pitcher of bubbly OJ as she bids us farewell.
"How's the kid shit going?" Weston's voice is slightly slurred, both of us rocking a strong buzz from the champagne. "Coach hasn't kicked you off the team yet, so I'm guessing you've managed to keep her alive. Impressive."
"She's still in one piece, yeah." I laugh before shaking my head. "She's a handful, though. Shit. Took her to a skatepark on Sunday and she tried to start a fist fight with some of the guys on the ramp. If Sydney didn't calm her down, it was about to be pre-teen UFC in there. And then afterwards, she—"
"Wait. Stop right there." He cocks his head. "Did you say Sydney? As in Sydney Steel?"
Ah, fuck.
How the hell did I let that slip out?
Screw alcohol and its loose-lipped side effects.
"Maybe. Does it matter?"
I shrug, trying to play it off, but he keeps pushing the subject.
"You've been hanging out with Sydney." He utters the sentence with complete disbelief. "I seriously hope you're messing with me, dude. Tell me you're busting my balls."
Although I know Weston isn't a snitch and wouldn't run his mouth to Vaughn, I really don't wanna get into it right now.
And that's why I choose to ignore his question, waving down our waitress instead.
"What can I do for you?" the older woman asks with a friendly smile.
I tap the empty pitcher with a finger. "Can we get another round?"
"Sure thing, hon. Comin' right up."
As she walks off to input the order, Weston groans.
"Another one? What are you trying to do, Collins? Get me drunk on fuckin' mimosas?"
"Yeah," I say. "That's exactly what I'm trying to do."
He cackles at my response, but I'm not joking.
After letting the cat out of the bag, I've gotta try and remedy the situation.
Getting him white-girl wasted on copious amounts of champagne?
That just might blur his memory enough to forget we ever had this conversation.
12
Holy ouch!!
That's gonna bruise in the morning.
The girl on the opposing team continues kicking blindly near my feet, trying to poke out the soccer ball I'm skillfully working between my cleats.
She's not the most accurate of players considering she just missed and kicked me on the inner ankle.
Twice.
Trust me—it's not a nice place to receive a forceful hit.
But I guess it wouldn't be a true soccer match if I wasn't acquiring my fair share of black-and-blue keepsakes.
Ignoring the throbbing pain, I use my shoulder to shove the annoying defender aside. She stumbles, tripping over her own feet and toppling to the ground in a pathetic heap.
"Bye-bye," I mumble as I put on the wheels and speed past.
I dribble down Warrior Stadium's smooth grass, the calm evening air turning into a refreshing breeze when my sprint intensifies. A rumble of anticipation hums in the stands, but I tune it all out as I glance ahead. I see the white goal posts, the ready and waiting goalkeeper, and above that, the full moon surrounded by an abundance of sparkling constellations. Starlight and soccer—can it get any better than that?
Night games are my absolute favorite.
There's just something about playing under buzzing field lights and a navy-colored sky that feeds my freakin' soul...nothing makes me feel more content than this.
Well...one thing would.
Nailing this bad boy into the back of the net.
As I approach the goalie bouncing on the tips of her toes and waving her arms in an intimidation tactic to appear larger, I start to get antsy. A familiar dread overtakes me in swift bursts. No longer am I enjoying myself, the picturesque setting, or the beautiful game. I'm nothing but a bundle of jittery nerves and anxious thoughts as the moment of truth arrives.
You have to score this, Sydney. If you don’t, you can kiss Windhaven goodbye!
I quickly decide where to aim the shot, wind back my leg, and ball connects with laces in a satisfying whack!
The black-and-white globe seems to move in slow motion as it arcs through the air.
I watch as it goes, goes, anddd...
The keeper lifts a fist, punching it over the top of the goal in a save that requires minimal effort on her part.
Shit.
My frustration comes out in a raspberry blown from my lips.
I tighten my ponytail, semi-acknowledging my teammates’ 'shake it off' comments as I try to ignore the embarrassment that surges through my system.
It's difficult, though.
Missing a breakaway shot like that? It's equivalent to missing an easy lay-up in basketball. You've gotta finish those with a goal 99% of the time.
As Tanya jogs over to set up the corner kick, my vision travels towards the bustling bleachers. When I spot Vaughn, I shake my head in exasperation. He gives me an encouraging clap in response, but his lips are turned down in slight disapproval.
/>
My eyes bounce to Rayne. She mouths “It’s okay! You got this!” before a smile of reassurance appears on her face.
Vaughn's disappointed dad gaze, Rayne's sweet motherly gesture...these two really need to have a kid ASAP.
They've already got their parenting roles down pat.
Suddenly, I find my gaze drifting towards Vaughn's opposite side. The magnetic pull leads me straight to Cameron's tall frame. Like the other two, his attention is focused solely on me. But unlike the pair, there's no decipherable emotion etched within his stoic features.
I tilt my head, waiting for something. A grin, a frown, maybe a hopeless look that says 'Why are we even bothering with our sessions?'.
But none of the preceding emerge on his face.
Instead, he takes his index and middle finger, points them at his eyes, and takes a long, deep breath—an exaggerated motion that prompts me to follow suit.
As the oxygen makes its way through my lungs, his words of advice from last Sunday's meet-up flood my ears.
Relax.
Chill.
Have fun with it.
A sudden wave of calm passes over me, my stress melting away in an instant.
I bite down the grateful smile that threatens to spread across my lips, opting instead for the subtlest of nods. I don't wanna be too obvious with our non-verbal communication, not with Vaughn standing six inches to his right.
Not sure big bro would be too happy with our secret-code conversations.
I, for one, am super thrilled with them because when the next opportunity to score presents itself, I heed his advice.
And this time?
I knock that game-winning goal straight past the goalie, no problems whatsoever.
Hell yes!
When that final whistle blows fifteen minutes later, the team gathers in our usual end-of-match huddle.
In lieu of congratulating us on the victory, Coach Addy talks about areas in need of improvement. I understand it’s in the job description to be overly critical, but I swear nothing impresses this lady.
Nina Malik, our senior captain, leads us in one of her infamous post-win celebrations. We form a circle around her, singing Windhaven's fight song loud and proud as she performs some sort of maniacal rain dance in the center.
And junior defender Anna Anderson is blubbering like a baby—happy tears, I’m hoping, over our 1-0 finish. That girl is always crying about something or other. I think she may suffer from overactive tear ducts.
After swapping my sweaty socks and cleats for some flip flops, I head towards the parking lot to find Vaughn.
“Sydney! Wait for meee!”
I turn, smiling when I see Mariana Castillo jogging my way.
Liquid swishes in her big blue water jug, her perfect ponytail swinging in time with the sound. Her impossibly thick hair hits the small of her back when it’s down, those chocolate-colored locks the envy of every girl on the team.
Mariana’s a fellow freshman, a badass center midfielder, and one of my best friends on the squad.
“Where are you running off to, Speedy Gonzales?” She grins as she falls into step beside me. “Did you forget about our post-game injury reports?”
“Never.” I laugh and point to my poor ankle. A large bruise is already forming, tinging my skin a sickly greenish color. “Exhibit A.”
“Oooh, grody! My turn.” She lifts her jersey to the line of her sports bra, revealing a massive soccer ball imprint on her tan stomach. “I thought my dinner might make a reappearance after that hit.”
I grimace at the sight. A free kick drilled her straight in the gut during the first half. The sound was incredibly loud, the physical sting so palpable everyone in the stadium let out a collective groan.
I've had that happen before—it's ten times worse than the most painful of belly flops.
“Okay, no contest here. You win this round,” I concede.
She doesn’t question my decision as she drops her shirt. “Fantastic goal, by the way.”
“Thanks. Only possible because of your fantastic assist.” I bump her shoulder and she laughs.
“True story.”
We chat about our next match and Coach Addy’s inability to smile as we walk together. When we hit the parking lot pavement, Vaughn calls out my name and waves us over.
“Your brother is so cute.” Mariana expels a heady sigh. “Wowza.”
My eyes roll immediately, the reaction now an autonomic response to the familiar sentence.
I’ve heard this same sentiment from all my teammates—every last one. But most go way further than a simple “cute” as their descriptor. I’m telling you, some of these girls belong inside a dudes’ locker room based on the filthy musings I’ve heard leave their dirty mouths, and about my brother, no less.
There are some things I really don’t need to hear.
Whenever someone tells me how much they’d love to “get acquainted” with my older sibling, my response is always the same.
“Ughhh, stop!” I crinkle my nose in disgust. “And sorry to burst your bubble, but he’s taken.”
“I know, I know,” Mari says with a guilty giggle. “I’m just admiring from afar.”
We approach the group gathered around Vaughn’s car. Diego’s showing Rayne a video on his phone, Liam and Ellie are deep in conversation, and then there’s the notorious new dude, Zion, looking like a total douche as he leans back on the hood of my brother’s SUV.
The boys have been talking about him—a lot—and the things they’ve been saying? Well, they aren’t exactly positive.
I‘ve only seen the guy once before. I walked past him when I visited the Treehouse earlier this week, the encounter brief.
It’s like deja-vu as I give him a quick perusal now. Wearing dark jeans and an expensive leather jacket the color of charcoal, there’s an air of superiority that seems to swirl around him. Errant tufts of jet-black hair graze his forehead, his eyelids are lowered over a glassy gaze, and he’s partaking in the exact same activity as he was the first time I saw him—smoking a fat blunt.
“You fucking killed it, sis,” Vaughn compliments as he yanks me into a hug.
“You think so?”
“Yeah. Seriously, Syd. I’m impressed.” He squeezes my shoulder, pride rushing through me at his words. “That goal? It was sick. Worthy of the Steel name, for sure.”
“Vaughnnn,” I groan as I pull back. “Stop making me blush.”
A sarcastic grunt interrupts the moment.
“Touching.” Zion shakes his head before blowing a billow of smoke in our direction.
The instant a whiff of his joint hits us, Mariana starts choking.
“Oh my gosh!” She sputters and waves a hand in front of her nose. “Someone must have hit a skunk.”
I exchange an amused glance with my brother.
Interesting fact about my new friend—she’s hands down the most innocent soul I’ve ever met. Inexperienced, pure, and painfully out of touch with anything too scandalous to show on the Disney channel.
I’ve taken the liberty of getting her up to speed with more adult topics, although I’m not exactly an expert myself. Sex, drugs, curse words and trendy slang...she's learning a lot more than just math and science on this campus.
Still, she continues to shock me with her lack of knowledge about stuff most 18-year-olds would and probably should be aware of. She asked me what a blowjob was the other day, for goodness sake.
It’s one thing to be inexperienced when it comes to certain activities—it’s another thing entirely to have never even heard of them.
Sheltered doesn’t even begin to describe Mariana.
“Uh, Mari, that’s not a sk—“
She coughs again. “Windhaven has an excessive skunk population. They must breed like rabbits because I smell them constantly!”
“I think you’re right,” the jerk responsible for the telltale marijuana scent chimes in.
“You’ve smelled them, too?”
; “Yeah. All the time.” He takes another drag, wispy clouds of smoke emitting from his nostrils. “Especially on the weekends, right?”
“Mari, don’t—“ I start, but it’s too late.
She’s falling straight into the devil’s trap.
“Yes!” Mariana practically yells. “That’s so strange, isn’t it? Last night was especially bad. It seemed like they were in every apartment in my entire complex. Why isn’t the school doing anything about this? Shouldn’t animal control be contacted at some point?”
“Shit. You’re not kidding around, are you?” Zion lets out a cruel laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s fucking hilarious. How naive can you be?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s bud, Goody Two-Shoes. That’s what bud smells like.”
She looks my way for clarification, not familiar with this particular nickname for the plant.
Apparently our marijuana lesson last week wasn’t quite thorough enough.
I scratch just under my nose, blocking my mouth as I whisper ‘weed’ to save her further embarrassment.
Her mouth forms an O and she turns back to Zion. “Well, pardon me for not being a drug expert like some people.”
“Ay!” Diego suddenly inserts himself into our circle, thankfully interrupting the altercation. “We’re all chillin’ at the Treehouse tonight. Food, games, and my cousin sent me this indie horror movie he made. Says it’s some scary shit. Y’all down?”
I nod. “Sure.”
“Cool.” He grins before his eyes stray to the brunette on my left. “What about you, chica? The more the merrier.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t tonight.” Mariana’s lips push out in a sad pout.
“It’s past her bedtime,” Zion mocks.
“Ha ha ha. Good one.” Sarcasm laces her words as she glares daggers at him. “That’s not why I can’t go.”
“Yeah? What’s the reason, then?” He pushes himself from the car, stepping forward until he’s towering over my petite friend. Placing the joint between his full lips, he raises a dark brow in challenge. “Humor me, Good Girl.”
“I have to study.”
“Of fucking course.” He scoffs and her face goes beet red.
“Who even are you?”