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Everybody's noticed that there's something different about Daisy. It's not that she's clean now; no, that was something everybody noticed a long time ago. Maybe it's the meds that Betsy finally convinced her to try. Maybe it's the fact that she faced her brother, gave him her piece, and got a horrific response in return. Or maybe, just maybe... she's getting better.
It shows on the court. Unlucky Number 13 barrels down the court, passing with lightning speed and accuracy in her new position with Kevin and Neil, before turning into a beast to be reckoned with in defence with the other boys. The smile that appears on Wymack's face when she gets into her zone doesn't disappear until well after training finishes every night.
It's not hard to see she's happier away from the game, too. Her and the girls live in an eternal state of slumber party. Chick-flicks can be heard coming from under their dormitory door at all hours, the fumes of nail polish and cheap perfume wafts through the corridors. Daisy has never looked better; her fiery locks have been returned to their former glory, her skin is clear and her lips no longer chapped and peeling. Everybody's noticed that Daisy Cohen is alive again.
Especially one man.
Especially Kevin.
It's almost a relief to see him staring at Daisy at the gym on Tuesday morning, in her tiny little shorts while she jogs idly on the treadmill. It sure beats the panic attacks and depression spirals they've found him in for the last week-and-a-half. Their game against the Ravens is in three days, and shit, is everyone feeling the pressure.
"Hey," says Nicky. Everybody ignores him. "Hey," he says again, louder. When he gets the attention he wants, he points at the screen in the corner playing sports news.
"--underdog team, the Palmetto Foxes, facing off against the Edgar Allen Ravens this week. Gee, Fred, I'm excited for this one!" one of the hosts exclaims, slamming her hands on the table before her. Daisy takes off one of her shoes and pelts it at Kevin's shoulder. He turns to look at her, wide-eyed, and she jerks her head towards the exit of the gym. He turns to stare back at the screen.
"Holly, it's definitely going to be the one to watch this weekend," Fred replies. They both have smiles painted on that Daisy knows only comes from something a little harder than caffeine. "The Ravens are only ahead of the Foxes by one point, which is a sentence I never thought would come out of my mouth. Why do you think that is? Do you think newcomer Neil Josten is really the reason they're coming out of their slump?"
Dan lets out a whistle, and Matt reaches out to ruffle the hair on his head.
"What is he, their firstborn?" Daisy whispers to Allison, who stifles a snort.
"I think it's a combination of factors, Fred," says Holly. From somewhere, Wymack has retrieved a remote and flicks the volume a little louder. Daisy tosses her other shoe at Kevin, but he doesn't even react when it bounces off of the side of his head. "Of course, Kevin Day's transfer definitely hasn't hindered them. Their offence is fractured, and Cohen has had mighty shoes to fill stepping into that position."
"She's playing better than ever since being cut from the rest of the last season," Fred says. Daisy rolls her eyes so far back into her skull that it aches. "That ankle injury seems to pay her no mind these days. We'll see how strong their offence really is when they go up against the Ravens this Friday, when Day and Moriyama are finally reunited on Court!"
"Turn it off, Coach," Daisy whines. "I hate remembering that I exist in the public eye."
He obeys her words, but not because she spoke them. Kevin is quivering on the weight bench, Daisy's shoes left abandoned on the floor beside him. It's Andrew who reacts first, giving Kevin a violent shove towards the door. The pair of them disappear into the October chill, leaving Daisy and her tiny gym shorts with eyes on them no longer.
"Daisy, you wanna--?"
"Nah," the girl replies to her coach. "The munchkin's got him."
The workout continues in silence, nobody wanting to talk anymore now that the pressure of Friday's game has set in. Like, it shouldn't even really be that scary. They all know they're going to lose, and of course they're going to put up a fight to the death. But the inevitable fact is this: Kevin Day will not make it out of the court on Friday unscathed, and it's up to the rest of them to stop the shockwaves from going too deep.
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Daisy can see him standing outside of her afternoon lecture on Thursday. He's peered in more than once, checked his watch, and ducked back out of view. The girl sitting behind Daisy had noticed him before she had, poking the girl in the shoulder and nodding towards the window.
"Is that your boyfriend?" the girl whispers. Daisy scowls at the six-foot-four figure leaning, back to the glass and tapping away at his phone.
"No," she grumbles. Whatever focus she had on the already-dry lecture has dissipated, and the last twenty-five minutes drag on spectacularly slowly. When she finally bursts free of the classroom and hooks a hand into Kevin's arm, she sighs with relief.
"Sorry," he begins, but her elbow digging into his ribs stops him.
"Shut up," she replies. He shakes her grip free and she glances up at him with furrowed eyebrows. "You look great for someone who's just been crying."
His expression sours further. "I came to get you to come train with me, before we start official practise--"
"I'm hungry," she interrupts. He just looks down at her, face completely blank of emotion, before fishing a hand into his rucksack and retrieving a protein bar. "Hungrier than that. Come get a burger with me."
"I don't want to eat," he says, so Daisy smacks her fist into his shoulder. "Ouch."
He gives in after Daisy whines at him. There's nothing he can do about it, really, because Daisy will always get her way in the end. He'll put up a fight that he only half-believes in, a smile hidden behind a faux scowl, and then she'll say something cute or pout her pink bottom lip and he'll roll over and show his belly. Today, it's letting her feed him fries and a cheeseburger, with a real bread bun instead of a lettuce one. It's the same burger joint they visit often, because Kevin talked them into selling soy milkshakes when he found out Daisy had gone from vegetarianism to full vegan.
Her cheeks hollow as she sips milkshake through a straw, and Kevin feels something shift at the bottom of his stomach. It's been happening more and more recently; he'll get distracted by her biceps at the gym, notice her thighs in her compression tights, see that she's tied her hair back in a different way. It's getting embarrassing, and thankfully nobody has noticed. At least, he prays they haven't.
"Take a photo, dude."
Kevin blinks, realises he's been watching her. Again. "What?"
"If you take a photo, you won't have to keep staring," she answers smoothly. Her lips are curved into a wicked smile and Kevin just shakes his head.
"You really believe you're the centre of the universe, huh?"
"Oh, baby," Daisy snickers. She pilfers his phone from the tabletop, taps through it, and snaps a photo of herself. "I know I am."
Her inky eyes watch as he pushes the fries around on his plate. He made it through most of the plate before getting distracted, and her brows furrow as she sees him sinking back into his thoughts.
"Do you want to head to the court?" she suggests, but a shrug in reply tells her the problem is worse than she thought. "Do you want to... catch a movie? Go bowling? Arcade?"
Instead, he stands to cross the diner, pays for their meals at the counter, and stands watching her with his hands on his hips. The girl closes her eyes and prays for strength to whoever is listening, and follows him out of the restaurant. They walk in silence for a little while, Kevin's hands dug deep into his pockets and Daisy's swinging loosely at her side. Their direction is towards the court and, even though it's where Daisy expected they'd end up, she finds herself a little disappointed. Like, sure, she's got her unhealthy coping mechanisms. But her time with Betsy is helping, and it's easier for her to find reasons to stay away from the gym at midnight. When Kevin stops before they reach the perimeter fence, Daisy almost sighs in relief.
He suddenly falls backwards and Daisy's breath catches in her throat, spinning on her heel sharply. But he's tipped himself back onto a park bench, and the girl takes the seat beside him. She's acutely aware that their hands are millimetres from each other.
"Does Andrew know you're here?" she finds herself asking, just to fill the silence.
"No," says Kevin. "I just told him I was going out."
"You know he doesn't like me, right? Like, at all?"
He turns to face her, green irises bearing into her own. The depth of those forest eyes sends a strange feeling through her limbs, makes her fingertips feel electric. "Who cares?"
"I'm sure you'll care once he puts a knife between my ribs." Daisy puffs out a breath that Kevin mirrors with a low laugh. "I'm serious. He hates me coming over to your dorm, he never lets you come to mine..."
"I think Allison is more of a problem at yours."
Daisy's eyes narrow. "Keep her name out of your mouth, Two."
He rolls his eyes. Silence falls over the pair, and Daisy pulls in a deep breath before allowing her fingers to twitch to the left, her pinkie finger hooking over his. She keeps her eyes trained on the horizon as Kevin looks down at their hands, then up at her face with furrowed brows. Daisy's tan cheeks set on fire and she lets her full lungs empty sharply... but when she goes to pull her hand away, he reaches out to link his fingers in with her own, squeezing so tight she feels like her fingers might break. Before she can react at all, he's already let go and paced a few steps away from her.
"Let's go," he says, before turning on his heel and striding away. Daisy's expression blooms, her eyes soften and a gentle smile takes over her glossed lips. Her feet find the floor once more, following in Kevin's footsteps across the lawn and towards the fence. She lingers behind him as he punches in the code, takes her sweet time changing into training gear, and meets him on the court in her own sweet time.
"More striker training?" she suggests as she tugs down the visor over her face. Normally she cleans her makeup off before kitting out, but today something told her to leave the smudgy traces of eyeliner painted on her lashline, leave the cherry-scented gloss on her pink lips. She can see Kevin notice this as well, and his eyes narrow a little in response. "I've got a date tonight, I don't want to have to start from scratch after training."
Kevin doesn't respond to that. Honestly, Daisy didn't think he would. And it's not really a date, she's just getting drinks with one of the cheerleaders she used to be friends with... before. Mostly she called it a date because she know it would bother him, and by all accounts, it has. "You're not playing as striker tomorrow," he says finally, after he's set out cones around their half of the court and placed the ball bucket in the centre of the first-fourth line.
"Oh, thank fuck," Daisy sighs, a sharp smile overtaking her lips. "You and Neil are going to be fine. You played almost a full game without me last week."
Kevin nods but doesn't respond. "What?" Daisy demands after he shoots her a furtive look.
"You remembered his name," is his reply, and it takes Daisy a moment to clock it.
"Oh, I did," she echoes. Kevin stares at her for a moment, then fires a ball at the top corner of the goal. It illuminates bright green.
"Don't let me score another," he says, and Daisy's eyes spark with flame.
"You're on, Two."
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Unlucky number thirteen is just now realising she's made a huge mistake.
It's late at night, far later than she'd expected to stay at the court, but evening practise hadn't gone well for her and her mind became fixated on firing balls and catching rebounds until she was satisfied... and for Daisy Cohen, satisfaction is not an easy feeling to come by. So, nearing midnight, she finds herself ignoring the aching of her arms and the shaking of her legs and continuing her drills, half of them her own and the other half Kevin has taught her.
So when the man himself, accompanied by the murderous blonde and the skittish brunette, turns up for midnight practise, he sees red.
"Cohen!" He shouts, storming onto the court with steam coming out of his ears. "Have you been here since we all left?"
"Fuck off," she replies, using quivering wrists to scoop a ball off of the floor and fire it at the other end of the court. As it makes contact with a resounding crack, Kevin's fingers twine into the grate of her helmet and pull her around so they're eye-to-eye. Sweat drips down her face like waterfalls, she can barely get a breath in through her gritted teeth, and her body quakes as if she'll collapse as soon as he releases her.
"I thought you had a date?"
"...shit."
Kevin groans, lets go of her helmet, and seizes the racquet from her grip. "Get a shower. You're so fucking stupid."
It's a shove from behind that catches him off guard. His face contorts into a scowl, and he turns just as her hands reach out to push him again. "Give me my racquet back, Day."
"No. Go home."
She's too quick for him, and another brutal shove causes him to stumble backwards. "Give me my fucking racquet. I'm not asking."
"Stop with the lover's quarrel, it's giving me a headache," calls a taunting voice from the entrance to the court. Neil has arrived, dressed for practise, but Andrew is not. Clad in all black, he saunters onto the court and gently removes the racquet from Kevin's grip, and offers it to Daisy. She snatches it back right away. "If she says she's fine, then she'll be able to stop you from scoring. Right, Margaret?"
"Too fucking right," she replies, tone full of venom. Kevin's head is reeling; her change in mood from earlier today has all but given him whiplash, and she's already striding away from him before he can get a word in. She stands, legs spread in a solid stance and spinning her stick around in her palms. Neil looks to Kevin.
"Is this actually happening?" he asks the taller man, who shrugs.
"It won't last long," Kevin replies.
"Oh, she'll surprise you," says Andrew. Both gazes snap to him. "She's far too stubborn to let you win."
And stubborn she is. Daisy puts up her fight, because of course she does. She plays against Neil for the first half of their practise, and every five minutes she can be heard screaming at the kid to play harder, dirtier, to put in more effort. After almost an hour, he trudges off court with his racquet trailing behind him. He forgets, after weeks of Daisy playing with him rather than against him, that the girl hides a lot of power behind her punch and her tactics are downright cruel. Kevin takes his spot soon after, a fire rising in his belly that will only be quelled when he proves her wrong. He scores once against her, using every strategy and scheme he knows, even resorting to dirtier plays like cracking his stick into hers and shoving her with his shoulders. But every time, she gets back up, chases his down, and retrieves the ball before he can send it home to the goal. By the time two o'clock rolls around, Kevin finally lets his last throw fly and lets his racquet fall limp at his side. Daisy catches the ball with ease, drops it in the bucket, and stares at him.
"Wanna try take my racquet now, Two?"
He doesn't respond, so she tosses her stick to him and strides off of the court quickly. He sees her body shaking, sees her top half convulse before she breaks into a run towards the changing rooms, hand pressed against her mouth.
"Am I childish enough to say 'I told you so'?" Andrew's mocking tone comes from behind, and Kevin so badly wants to sink a fist into the centre of the blond's face. Instead, he tells Andrew to take Neil home, and that he would wait around for Daisy. Andrew argues, of course, but Kevin is already halfway back to the Foxes home room. He waits for his teammates to pass by, waits to hear the click of the door closing behind them, before he makes his way into the women's change rooms. Even from here, separated by a door from the shower stalls, he can hear the sounds of retching.
She's sitting on the floor of a shower stall, vomit pooled around her knees as she crouches on the floor. There's sick in the ends of her hair, on the front of her jersey, and Kevin sighs and leans against the door. Daisy looks up at him, bottom lip trembling.
"I-- go away," she says sharply, even though he can hear the unshed tears in her voice. "I'm fine."
"That's Neil's catchphrase, get your own," Kevin says. "Lift up your arms."
Frowning, she complies. In a swift motion, he brings her jersey over her head, leaving her in a sweat-stained sports bra. He unties her shoelaces and pulls off wet socks, lets her step out of her shorts and compression tights. Daisy stares at her feet as he kicks off his own shoes and socks, steps into the shower behind her, and flicks on the water. She's already dropped back to the floor without him holding her up, so he crouches beside her, his fingers working shampoo into her scalp and conditioning the ends the way he knows girls do. He washes her body detached from thought, scrubs the dried vomit from her bare thighs and tosses her soiled kit out of the water spray. Daisy stops shaking, eventually, but he can feel how tense her muscles are under his grip.
Oh, how Daisy wishes these were different circumstances. To have Kevin Day in the shower with her, rubbing strawberry-scented body wash over her limbs and creating vanilla-almond suds in her hair... in another world, it might have been something more. But his clinical hands make quick work, and when she's left in a soaked sports bra and a pair of ugly underwear she never thought anybody would see, he turns the water off and leaves without another word. Daisy could cry, she could sob her heart out; never once did his gaze turn to irritation, to pity or annoyance. His eyes stayed clear, didn't linger on the parts of her body that boys eyes normally do.
He returns with a towel, shockingly orange in colour with an embroidered white paw print in the corner. He hands it to her and pulls the stall door shut, giving her time to peel off her saturated undergarments and wrap the towel around herself tightly. Daisy pulls open the door finally, and peers up at him through her eyelashes.
"Don't give me that kicked-puppy look," he mutters, using another towel to dry off his hands and forearms. His efforts are wasted, Daisy thinks, because the rest of him is soaked through anyway. "You would have fallen asleep in a pool of your own vomit if I hadn't have been here."
Daisy leans back against the stall, partly because he helps steady her exhausted limbs and partly because she wants to get a better look at the whole of him. There's no words left in her brain, nothing that she can say that wouldn't be better left unspoken. So instead, she reaches out to take his left hand in both of her own. His eyes follow her own, tracing the marled white scar that marks the smooth skin on the back of his palm. She traces a thumb over it, so gentle he barely feels the touch, and finds his fingers curling around her own hand.
"Thank you," she says. Her voice is softer than he's ever heard it, so used to the commanding bark she uses on court or the teasing exasperation she often taunts him with.
While her eyes are still analysing his hand, he chances a look up at her face. Traces of mascara litter her dark under-eyes, her hair lays in damp curls around her face where she's roughly towelled it. He wants to run his hands over her cheek, to feel the supple flesh beneath his fingers. Oh, how he wants to. If his hand weren't already caught in her grip, there might be nothing to stop him.
But that feeling isn't something he's allowed to dwell on. Daisy Cohen will never be someone he can be like that with, and he needs to drill it into his stupid twenty-year-old brain. There is absolutely nothing left in his heart that would allow him to care for someone in the way she deserves to be cared for, and he pulls his hand out of her grip.
"I'll see you at practise," he says, and she offers him a smile before he retreats from the bathroom.
Fuck, he thinks as he leaves the room, fingers finding their way into his hair and pulling hard in frustration. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
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The lead up to Friday's game is almost hell. Dan has three panic attacks before lunch, Neil and the Monsters refuse to talk to any of the upperclassmen, and Kevin has barricaded himself in his bedroom. There's a dark cloud hanging over the third floor, and even with all the negativity and resurfacing trauma overhead, Daisy finds herself in a good mood. She takes herself for breakfast downtown, spends a couple hours studying in the library, and returns with a dozen donuts to share with her teammates.
"How are you so chill about this?" Matt asks her as they pile into his truck as dusk falls, ready to ride to the stadium and face their fears. "Riko hates your guts."
"I know," says Daisy, her tone bouncing as Allison pulls her into the truckbed. "And it's whatever. Like, we're going to lose. That's pretty much obvious. But we may as well give them a hell of a time while they're kicking our asses."
"Huh," says Dan, as if this thought hadn't crossed her mind before.
"Like, we've won all but one of ours games so far? The Foxes have never done that before," Daisy carries on. Nobody's sure what's gotten into the girl, what murky depth she pulled these high spirits out of. Perhaps she traded part of her soul to the devil in exchange from a reprieve of her depressions. "Us facing the Ravens is an achievement in itself. A six-out-of-eight winning streak still leaves us in second place."
These words carry through. It gives Dan her strength back, gives her the energy to give the Foxes a short but fiery pep talk before they change out. Even from within their home room, the sound of the crowd outside is deafening. The echo of thousands of voices, thousands of feet rattling on the bleachers carries down into the lounge, and as they're spending their final few minutes before heading onto the court, the pot finally boils over.
Kevin drops his racquet, and everybody looks at him. Coach takes his arm and hauls him away down the corridor before anybody can react, just as one of the stadium volunteers enters the room.
"Coach is in his office," Dan drones off, because it's all the aides ever want to know. But this one lingers.
"There's a visitor for Cohen," says the kid. He can't be older than a freshman, and Daisy has never seen someone look more intimidated in the face of the Foxes. "He's with the Ravens, but he says it can't wait until after the game."
Daisy's brow falls low over her eyes. Helmet gripped in one hand and racquet tight in the other, she breaks away from Dan's concerned look and follows the volunteer up the hallway, into the small area with tables and microphones where the Foxes take turns talking to the press post-match. There waits a man, dressed in a black hoodie and loose jeans, reading the plaques on the wall that list the line-ups of past seasons. Daisy's name is on two of them, and by the end of this season, there will be a third. Sometimes, those little gilded lists are what remind Daisy that she's real, that she has existed, and that a piece of her will remain here long after she's gone.
She places her helmet down on the table they keep water bottles, and faces the man.
"Did Tetsuji send you? Did Riko?" she asks, folding her arms tight and keeping her grip on her racquet tighter. The man turns, slowly, and Daisy's nerves are electric.
"Maggie," says Jonathan Cohen, bearing his teeth in a sick grin that looks more like a warning than an offer of friendship. "How long it's been."
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hello my babies i love u all and i hope you had an amazing halloween!! i saw someone dressed in a fox jersey at the club i went to and i think i died a little. anyway, lmk ur thoughts!! jonathan is here, what horrific shit will ensue?!