There was beauty in compartmentalizing.
Despite the now-notorious quiz becoming the black hole for Cannondale gossip during the last week of school, I'd protected myself with a steely fortress of resolve. I wouldn't let it derail me. Absolutely not. This was just shit that I needed to box up and slap a pretty red bow on for future me to deal with later.
Dad had just dropped off me, Macallan, and Gianna for us to check-in to a DIII lacrosse showcase. It conveniently took place at a large athletic complex in an uppity Boston suburb, sparing us from waking up morbidly early or staying in an overpriced hotel room.
The instant we stepped through the glass sliding doors of the athletic complex, I confronted the familiar smell of rubber and sweat. Our sneakers squeaked on the linoleum flooring as we made our way through the lobby, slipping into a stream of other lacrosse players.
"Why do I feel like people are looking at us?" Gianna asked as we joined one of the lines to check in.
"Because people are looking at us," I informed her as I intercepted some of the glances shot our way with daggers in my eyes.
New England was a small pond, and elite lacrosse showcases made that pond even smaller. Besides, we were still in Boston. I'd fully anticipated coming face-to-face with players from other private schools in Massachusetts, and knew that my reputation preceded me - especially at showcases.
"I bet half of the girls here know about the quiz," Macallan murmured as she attempted to wrangle her blonde hair into a top knot bun. She'd run out of time to blow-dry it this morning and was quietly brooding over the still-damp waves. "Even the message boards for other schools like Silvermine are talking about it."
"This never should've happened," Gianna blurted out, shaking her head. "It's so cowardly and pathetic."
"Which is why someone posted the link to the quiz on the message board," Macallan explained, dropping her hair. "Everything is anonymous, so there's no way to know who created or posted it."
"Unless someone owns up or snitches," I said, even though I sincerely doubted that this would be the case. But if there was someone who needed to harness optimism regarding this whole horrid situation, it was Macallan Blake.
"At least we have Headmistress Harvey on our side," Gianna sighed out before stepping up to the check-in table.
Macallan and I shared a dubious look.
Headmistress Harvey had immediately made a statement condemning the quiz and warned of severe consequences for anyone directly involved. So, on the surface, Cannondale's impressive reaction time seemed to demonstrate the school's commitment to protecting the wellbeing of their students, but we both knew better. Scandals like this were detrimental to the school's prestige. That was what they wanted to protect at all costs.
The soft vibration of my phone from inside the pocket of my Cannondale lacrosse jacket acquired my attention as Macallan approached the check-in table. I slipped out the device, my heart already asking me too many questions.
TRIP MCKENNA, 8:32 AM: don't forget to think of me when you hit that upper left corner
I automatically smiled as memories from that afternoon we'd spent practicing at the stadium surfaced to the forefront of my mind. I selected the heart reaction for the message, but settled on a coy response.
CHANDER ENGLAND, 8:33 AM: that only applies to *real* games
I was still smiling a little when I arrived at the check-in table after Macallan.
"Last name?" An overly buff guy asked, not bothering to look up from the extensive roster in front of him.
"England."
His eyes snapped up, recognition registering on his features. "Alright, Chandler, you're with team #3 today." He handed me my schedule and a navy drawbag that contained the essentials for the showcase - an assigned number, reversible penny, and schedule.
I flashed him a winning smile. "Great, thank you."
I glanced down at my team's roster when I stepped away from the table and immediately grimaced at the sight of Marissa Humphry's name listed directly below mine.
"Just my luck," I muttered, placing my #55 stickers on the front and back of the issued navy penny.
I would have loved nothing more than to crush Marissa Humphry on the draw today since Cannondale had yet to face off against Silvermine Academy this season, but now I had to be her teammate.
"Damn," Gianna huffed out as we put on our gear. "We would've absolutely kicked ass if we were all on the same team."
"We can still kick ass separately," I assured her, tightening the strap of my goggles.
She glanced up at me with a slight smirk as she double-knotted her laces. "I don't doubt that you can, Chan."
We spent the morning rotating through standard drills before transitioning into scrimmages. The drills were valuable for demonstrating stickwork and general skills, but scrimmages were the most important part of the showcase. That was where you needed to demonstrate who you were as a player and stand out for all the right reasons. No coach was impressed by a ball hog forcing a drive to the cage or repetitive shooting space calls on defense.
"I need to keep my head screwed on straight," Macallan said. She sat in front of me on the small bleachers as I dutch braided her hair before the first scrimmage. Gianna had already been called to join her assigned team, and was somewhere on the opposite end of the sprawling field house. "Just focus on lacrosse, and deal with all the bullshit later."
"Today is about our future, Mac," I reminded her as I finished tying her braid into a high ponytail. "Now, you're going to go out there and come up with the draw like I know you can."
She laughed. "I won't have much of an excuse if I don't since I won't have you for competition."
"Not until game five," I quipped, referencing our schedule.
"You mean when I have to go up against you and Marissa Humphry on the circle?" She ran her fingertips over her new braid and beamed up at me. "Thank you so much for reminding me and for the braid."
"Anytime."
✘ ✘ ✘
I loved scoring. I loved that breathless moment of exhilaration as the ball soared past the goalie, and you knew that you'd scored. I loved those moments directly after scoring when my teammates celebrated and pride welled up inside of me. I loved scoring, but I loved winning the draw more.
Drawing to myself was my preferred strategy, and I brought the ball into the pocket of my stick with a perfectly timed flick of my wrist. Two midfielders from the other team quickly closed in on me, but I artfully escaped the double-team. Speed was the most reliable tool in my athletic arsenal.
Scanning upfield as I crossed the restraining line, I recognized that it was better not to push the fast break, and I veered off to the right at the top of the 12-meter to initiate a controlled possession. After our offense whipped the ball around twice, I received the ball again at the top with Marissa on my left.
When we locked eyes, I knew what was coming. We'd played this out countless times during our Boston Elite games.
As other attackers cut through the 8-meter, I entertained my defender with fancy footwork and calculated cradles. The moment I pulled back a few steps, Marissa swooped over, setting an artful pick on my defender as her own defender trailed behind her.
I switched to my left hand and drove hard to cage. Other defenders crashed in, but I knew I was already golden. I faked the goalie high before switching back into my right hand and shooting into the lower left corner. The ball hit the inner steel piping with a satisfying clang.
"Is that a hat-trick?" one of the attackers asked, hitting the shaft of her stick against mine in congratulations.
"You bet it is," I said, striking a coy yet humble tone.
Marissa intercepted me on my way back to the center circle, and we instinctively tapped our sticks together.
"Remember that the next time you go to yellow-card me," she told me.
I scoffed, flicking my braid over my shoulder. "As if I won't assist you at least ten times today."
Even though we'd played two tournament seasons together since the championship game, Marissa still felt the need to bring up the yellow card. I bet she liked to think that she was capable of getting under my skin, but I'd moved on. I didn't have the emotional real estate for minor, isolated mistakes like that.
Marissa and I both finished the scrimmage with double hat-tricks, but I'd bested her in draw controls. That was enough to bring a self-satisfied smirk to my lips when we returned to the sidelines.
The coach assigned to team #3 predictably pulled Marissa and me aside before moving to another turf field for our next scrimmage. "Do you two play together?"
"Club," I confirmed, forcing a smile. "Boston Elite."
"Since the sixth grade," Marissa added, elbowing me in the arm.
The coach offered us an impressed nod. "It shows. You guys are fantastic teammates."
I rolled my eyes when we turned away from the coach. Marissa and I knew how to make each other look good just from playing together at Boston Elite since we were eleven. I scored off of her feeds, and she scored off of mine. But that didn't make us fantastic teammates. We never had each other's backs when we stepped off of the field.
"Silvermine has home-field advantage for our first game, so I hope you're prepared for a rowdy crowd," Marissa said, cradling a ball in a way that reminded me of ice hockey. Her two older brothers were NHL players, and her lacrosse form reflected that. I thought that her stick-handling skills didn't appear as graceful and fluid as mine, but she pulled it off pretty well. I would never tell her that.
"Last time I checked, rowdy crowds don't win draw controls," I retorted, splitting away from her to join some of the other players from team #3.
I found myself standing beside Marissa before our third scrimmage of the day, a massive black mesh net behind us that seperated the turf from the walkways of the fieldhouse.
"So, are you still flirting with Middlebury?" Marissa asked, keeping her voice low yet casual. Discussing your college prospects at a showcase was considered risky, and not to mention tactless if any of the coaching staff happened to overhear the conversation.
I slid her a nonchalant look. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm seeing someone."
"Oh, ha-ha," she drawled. "You must think you're wicked funny, Chandler."
"I have my moments."
"Well, just so you know, I am."
I involuntarily tightened my grip on my stick. Marissa hadn't attended Middlebury's camp last summer or playday in the fall. If she was serious, this had to be a new development. I needed to pursue impromptu reconnaissance.
Unfortunately, said impromptu reconnaissance required playing along with Marissa's lousy metaphor. "Is Trinity no longer your type?"
"I'm keeping my options open. Being tied down isn't my thing." Marissa gave a little snort. "Unlike you, apparently."
"That was a pathetic bondage joke."
Out on the turf, Macallan beat out her defender on the crease with a split dodge and fired off a shot into the upper right corner of the goal.
"It's crazy that Macallan isn't in Cannondale's starting lineup."
Marissa hadn't bothered keeping her voice low for this subject. While she'd always been friendly with Macallan on Boston Elite, I knew she was hoping to bait me into saying something that could insult Coach Mayer or my starting teammates. I had to bite back a scoff; she must be delusional if she thought I'd ever do that.
"She had two goals against Hopkins Hall last week," I informed her.
We'd powered past Hopkins Hall 17-5 last Wednesday, and Coach Mayer subbed out most of the starting lineup before the end of the first half - Kelsey and me included. But Macallan gaining her confidence back was what mattered. Confidence was everything.
"But she's still not a starter." Marissa nodded to where Gianna was on the turf. "Did your new friend play a part in that?"
"We don't need to talk, Marissa. We just need to play."
Her smirk informed me that she wasn't planning on shutting up. "Gianna Lash went to school with my cousin from Long Island before she transferred to Cannondale. Jenna is a sophomore, but the grapevine transcends grades."
I actually scoffed this time. I refused to take part in this kind of pedestrian gossip. "If there's something you'd like to share with me, then just spit it out."
"It's very smoke and mirrors, so just be mindful of who your friends are, Chan."
"So, you're looking out for me? That's really sweet of you."
"That quiz on the message board was pretty shitty, so maybe I'm just trying to be a good samaritan." Marissa retied the knot of her white Nike head tie. "But don't you think it's better to be tricked by your competition than your friend?"
The buzzer on the scoreboard blared, signaling the end of the current scrimmage. It was time for Marissa and me to take to the turf with our team. I swiftly turned away from her because I didn't owe her an answer, but I did have one: it was infinitely better not to be tricked at all.