Practice was a welcome respite from Kingsbridge's stuffy hallways and annoying gossip. There was something about the fresh fall morning air that made it seem like the world wasn't so bad after all, and being back on the pitch, with the team, was the exact antidote to all things Will and Mads.
As expected, a number of the JV guys had turned up, which was good. We didn't have too many seniors who'd graduated, but next year would be absolutely brutal when we lost our goalie, JJ, and Sam, the other forward, among others.
"Feeling threatened?" Sam asked with a smirk, as the JV guys tried to keep up with the cross drill. So far, not a single one of their forwards or mids had done anything inspired.
"More like disappoi—" I started, then cut off as a ball slammed into my back.
I whirled, ready to rip into whatever asshole had kicked it. But rather than one of my teammates trying for a laugh, one of the girls was rushing over from their half, shouting an apology.
No, not just one of the girls. The new girl. The one who'd fallen all over herself when she'd met my brother. And now here she was, trying to manufacture some sort of meet cute by pelting me with a soccer ball in the middle of practice.
It was way too fucking early for this. So I wound up and kicked the ball as far and high away from her as I could.
There, I thought, That ought to tell you everything you need to know about how this isn't going to be a thing.
"Dude..." Sam whispered, watching as she ran off to chase the ball. "Harsh much?"
I folded my arms. "I'm not interested."
"In what?" Sam laughed. "Helping out a newbie?"
I ground my teeth. Okay, so maybe it was a little harsh. But honestly? The last thing I felt like doing was ceding my space—my pitch—to someone who seemed solely interested in getting to my brother. I wasn't going to let someone else go through me. Not again.
Sam just shook his head and, now at the front of the line, took off towards the corner for the cross drill.
As much as I tried to stop it, the stupid ball incident kept interrupting my thoughts for the rest of practice. When we took a break for water, I heard Audra saying my name and, out of the corner of my eye, watched her brandish a finger at the new girl. I had to smile at that, thinking of how I'd defended her at the dinner table. I might not know her, but apparently the feeling was mutual about messing with fellow varsity players.
Curiosity eventually got the best of me and, after a lengthy internal debate during our ladder drill, I couldn't stop myself from glancing back to see if the new girl knew what she was doing or if it might've really just been an errant shot from a bad player. Her penalty shot was dismal, all jittery nerves that went high and right over the crossbar, and the frosty anger I'd felt towards her thawed a bit. Maybe she really was just a hopeless shot.
But then she turned around, looking back towards me. I hoped she hadn't caught me looking. Because if she had indeed kicked the ball on purpose, the last thing I needed was her thinking her stupid stunt had worked.