ɢᴜʏ ɢᴇʀᴍᴀɪɴᴇ
𝐈 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐘 lips to hers--my best friend, the person I had known like the palm of my hand. I kissed the lips that whispered years of secrets, the lips that laughed at my jokes and screamed when I threw snow or seaweed.
My eyes fluttered closed as I lightly placed a hand to her wrist. My heart slammed against my chest. I never knew a simple kiss could do this to a person. Maybe that's why I did it--I wanted to feel what Mae could do to me.
She slowly stepped away, just enough to make us a foot apart. Her eyes were wide and she was bright red like she didn't think I would actually go through with it. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. In my entire life, never had I seen Maeve Williams at a loss for words.
"Okay, it couldn't have been that bad," I said as she continued to stare at me.
But she didn't say anything. Neither of us spoke. In those minutes of silence, she was placing a wall between us, brick by brick. So I turned to grab the bike behind me. I swung my leg over to the other pedal and pushed myself to move away from her. I was down the street in 20 seconds. I felt her watch me as I left.
I liked Mae. I hadn't known how to do anything else. I liked her from the first memory of us swinging on the hammock. I liked her from the time when we learned how to skate. I liked her from the time when my older brother would place her on his shoulders and run around the yard. I liked her from the time that she came to the hospital when I broke my arm. I liked her from the times when she would try to braid my hair and paint my nails. I liked Mae because it was human instinct.
But as I biked home, I hated her.
☆∵☆∵☆∵☆∵☆∵☆∵☆∵☆∵☆∵☆∵☆
𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 where he got it, or why he was wearing it, but Fulton Reed smeared two thick stripes of eyeblack across his cheeks. Maybe it was an intimidation tactic, but I don't think he needed it--either way, the Hawks were scared of him. They avoided his eye contact altogether as they sized the rest of us up during the national anthem.
Even from the front of the line, I could feel the tension between the two teams behind me--it couldn't be ignored. But it was even more impossible to ignore the fury I sensed pulsing off of McGill and Larson. As if I had eyes in the back of my head, I could just see them glaring at Maeve and Adam like predators spotting their prey.
I hated her but, God, I wanted to smack the smirks right off their faces. She was my enemy--not theirs. She was the most patronizing, dogmatic, hypocritical person I've ever met but I would never let either of them lay a finger on her.
Out of old habit, of course.
As soon as the pre-recorded 'Star-Spangled Banner' from 1978 had finished (longest 2 minutes of my life), Jack Reilly started screaming for his team to get to the bench as if the game would start without them. They started that stupid 'win' chant for the millionth time and half the stadium followed in their lead--waving fake hawks around in the air.
"Are those custom made or-" Averman asked, turning to Williams before abruptly stopping at the sight of her death stare.
Bombay rolled his eyes at the obnoxiously lengthy repetition and called us into a huddle. "Quack, Quack, Quack," He started, immediately getting us to join him.
Across from me, I caught Mae's eye. She didn't smile at me. She didn't frown or roll her eyes. She was focused. She wanted to win. I knew that. She knew that. It was like for the next hour we would understand each other--we would work together. This was the biggest game I've ever played in. But Maeve--she's been here before. She's won state championships. But she wanted to prove herself. She wanted to show Chris McGill, Aiden Larson, Jack Reilly, and mostly herself, that she could do this. She didn't need the Hawks. She was capable of winning on any team.
