Competition was the most consistent thing in my life. Whether it was on the soccer field against another team, video games against my fourteen-year-old brother, Justin, or a board game with my group of friends, winning was something everyone around me basked in.
Jasmine, one of my best friends, threw her arms up in the air in victory, her mouth filled with popcorn. "Yeeffftthhh!"
I captured her victory dance at the end of our popcorn-eating competition with my camera. Andrew, my other best friend, grimaced, "Don't get hotheaded. You won once."
The three of us surrounded the kitchen island at my house; empty popcorn bags littered the table. Sun rays streamed into the room through the windows, providing warmth despite the February air outside. The aroma from the multiple bags of buttered popcorn we had heated up in the microwave earlier was strong but not nauseating.
Jasmine flipped her box braids over her shoulder. "Shut up."
Here we go. I flicked through the pictures on my camera as their argument escalated. Andrew's blue eyes settled on Jasmine.
"I'm not trying to fight with you today."
"Then let's not try to pick fights," she quipped.
But, oh no. He just had to keep talking. "I know you're having a rough time since the breakup—"
"I don't want to talk to you about it," she said. "I don't want to talk to anyone about it." Jasmine got up and left the kitchen, then my bedroom door slammed shut upstairs.
"I told you," I chided. "We should give her space. Sean broke up with her only a few weeks ago."
Andrew ran a hand through his blond hair and looked at the now-empty doorway through which Jasmine had just exited. "I'll try to talk to her."
"You think you can get through to her?" The front door opened, and I recognized the person who entered by their footsteps. Justin. "She doesn't seem to favor you at the moment."
"She doesn't seem to favor men at the moment," Andrew added. "I'll be back."
"Macy!" Justin entered the room, a basketball tucked under his arm, as Andrew exited. My brother unzipped his thick sweater, ears red from the cold weather as he rubbed at his rosy cheeks. "You guys ate my popcorn?"
"I didn't."
"Liar."
"I said I didn't." As I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow he hissed, pushing my arm away.
"Anyway," he grumbled, sticking his head in the fridge.
"What's Andrew doing?"
"Get me a ginger ale, would you?"
"No."
I gave him a look and he handed me a can as he got water for himself.
"He's talking to Jasmine upstairs."
"Is that a good idea?" Even Justin knew about the strain between Andrew and Jasmine at the moment. "To have those two in a room alone together? The other day she almost took off his head." Good point. I took a sip of my drink, put it on the counter, and left the room to head off the potential war.
The two of them jumped when I opened my door, Andrew springing up from my bed to stand. I wasn't sure who to question first—Andrew had a strained smile on his face and Jasmine had a sudden interest in my bedsheets. "Everything all right here?"
"I should get going," Andrew mumbled.
"Are you going to practice tomorrow?" I asked.
"Of course. I'll see you guys then." And without another word he bolted from the room.
"So . . . Andrew?" I teased.
She cringed, a predictable response. We'd all been friends for years. I couldn't even imagine what would happen if one of us got involved in a romantic relationship with another.
"No, definitely no."
Her phone beeped and her eyes scanned the message before she tossed her phone at the foot of my bed. "What's up?"
"Amy's gushing over Sam." Jasmine's friend, Amy, had a crush on everyone. I wasn't surprised.
The name Sam didn't ring any bells. "Who?"
"You know Sam."
"I have no idea who Sam is, dude." I raised my arms up to stretch. "Does he even go to our school?"
"Yes."
"Any teams? What grade?"
"He's in our grade."
"What does he look like?"
"He's white," she said, and shot me a look that I should've expected.
"That's literally almost everyone at school except for you."
As I searched for my cleats for tomorrow's soccer practice, she said, "You must've seen him around. He transferred from England this year."
"I know faces, not names. Finally." I put my found cleats in my duffel bag.
I was just reaching to grab my soccer ball near my desk when Jasmine snapped her fingers, sitting up. "Ooh! He was in my history class in the first semester."
"You remember that I wasn't in your history class, right? How would I even—you know what? Never mind. Want to go to the rec center?"
"He's kind of low key." I really wasn't going to get out of this conversation. "I think he only talked to, like, three people in that class."
"Not everyone's as outgoing as you," I pointed out.
Jasmine was involved in many clubs in our school. She also played volleyball and softball, which meant she talked to everyone. It wasn't solely her interests—her extroverted personality also drew people to her. "I think he plays soccer too."
That got my attention. "Did he try out for the team?"
"You would have noticed if he tried out for the team, Mace."
"You sure? If he did, he could've been one of the guys who were wondering what I was doing at tryouts. I don't think any of those guys made the cut."
I'd played soccer since I was a kid and every year, whenever I tried out for my school's team, I'd get the same expression from the rest of the competition. That subtle surprised look over a girl trying out for the boys' team (our school didn't have one for girls). And when I was named captain not too long ago? That surprised look was a little less subtle when people around school heard. After three years on the team, I'd become used to the guys looking at me strangely, but I didn't care—all I wanted to do was play.
Justin popped his head into my room. "Where are you headed?"
"Soccer fields are open right now at the rec center. Might attempt to get Jasmine to pass me the ball."
"No way, I've got to go," she declared. "I have a ton of things to do."
"Want to come?" My question was directed at my brother, even though I knew he had come from playing basketball there.
"Anything to get out of homework."
"Justin." Jasmine shrugged on her jacket. "You know Sam, right? In our grade?"
"How would he know?" I asked. "He's in grade nine."
"Curly hair?" Justin said. "Green eyes?"
"Exactly," Jasmine agreed.
"Am I the only one who hasn't seen this guy?" I asked.
"You've seen him," she assured me. "You just don't know his name. See you tomorrow!"
She grabbed her things, swinging her backpack onto her shoulders as she left the house, her gesture hinting that she wasn't going to give another thought to Sam or anything school related.
~
"When does Dad get home?" Justin asked as we left the house.
"Around five." As I spoke, white air puffed in front of me. The snowfall usually stuck around until March in Port Meadow. Currently, the snow lingered in small traces on the ground, but I wanted it all gone. Canadian spring needed to come faster. I wanted to play soccer outside instead of on the indoor field. Because of the cold weather, the school's outdoor soccer season wouldn't begin until early May, and our current indoor practices focused on upcoming tournaments and exhibition games.
"Maybe he can get me popcorn since you all ate it all," Justin huffed, the tip of his nose already red from the cold. He peered over at my camera as he twisted my soccer ball in his hands, making a face at what he spotted on the screen.
"You made it a competition? And Andrew lost?" His eyes widened at the picture of Jasmine's victorious moment. He flicked through a couple more pictures. "If I was as old as you are, I'd do dumb stuff with my friends all the time to relive my youth too. I don't even blame you." As my brother continued his joking, I placed my camera in my shoulder bag. "When you leave for university, I'm turning your room into a man cave with games, a new TV, and a minifridge."
"I haven't even left yet and you're already thinking of life post-me."
I hadn't decided which school I'd be going to. Acceptance letters from potential universities' science programs were starting to come in and I didn't have to choose until the beginning of June, however, I wanted to be part of a soccer team and get a good scholarship to help with tuition fees. The potential to get scouted for a university team was slim. Scouts came to at least one off-season tournament or exhibition game before the season started, but if I didn't get the opportunity it wouldn't be the end of the world. Academically I was doing well, but soccer was my life. Securing a spot on a team and continuing my journey within the sport would be huge. Justin didn't notice that the weight of the conversation was starting to overwhelm me. Not now.
Justin yammered on about what he would add to his man cave during our fifteen-minute walk. We passed by a variety of houses in the quiet, residential neighborhood we'd lived in since we were kids.
This was the usual pattern. Justin would talk about anything and everything, holding the soccer ball, basketball, or both, and I would take pictures. Of the same houses I'd seen for almost the past eighteen years and the faces of people who'd recently moved in. Of two people with a child who held a tablet in their hands who passed us on the sidewalk, similarly bundled up in jackets. Of anything, really, that could capture the moment. When we grew closer to the rec center, I knocked the soccer ball out of my brother's hands, and it rolled onto the grass in front of us.
"Hey!" Justin yelled as I ran with it. I was at my best when the ball was between my feet, no matter how cold it was, the frozen grass crunching underneath my shoes, or any obstacle in my way. I handled the ball with my feet as my brother sprinted after me. "This isn't fair, I just played two hours of basketball!"
I slowed down so he could try to get the ball off me. He stuck his foot out to kick it away, but I rolled it back out of his reach. Dodging him, I ran with the ball, loving the feeling of it moving with me while I passed the frosted playground, the trees, and moved closer to the rec center to get away from the cold.
Throwing a look over my shoulder, I heard my brother curse as he struggled to keep up with me. For his sake, I slowed down again, and then promptly tripped over the ball and into someone's arms.
A flash of pain made me wince as the metallic zipper of their clothing collided with the side of my head. For a second, I was stunned at how distracted I had been to not notice the person in the empty park, but if they hadn't been there, my brother would've watched me fall face first into the grass. As quickly as I landed, I was equally fast to jump out of the stranger's arms. "I'm so sor—"
"Do the world a favor and watch where you're going," he muttered rudely, brushing off his leather jacket as if I'd contaminated it when my head had connected with the cold zipper. "You have working eyes. Use them."
Taking a step back, I fixed my low ponytail, glad that my brown hair hadn't gotten caught in the zipper. "Okay, jerk, relax."
"It's not my fault you don't know how to use—"
Picking up the ball with my hands, I held it under one arm.
His accent gave me the impression that he'd spent a lot of time in the UK. "I know how to use this just fine."
"Doesn't look like it," he mumbled.
Justin appeared. "Aren't you Sam?"
He did look familiar—one of those people you'd spot in the hallway but never acknowledge. Based on my first interaction with him, it was a good thing I'd never bothered to speak to him before. It wasn't hard to see why Jasmine would think I'd have noticed him if he was at tryouts. He was tall, with curly brown hair and currently annoyed green eyes. She might find him attractive, but with a personality like this? No.
"She's your sister?" Sam said.
"I can speak for myself."
"You might want to tell her that the ball is meant to be kicked, not tripped over," he said to Justin. "I figured that the captain of the football team would have a much better handle on the ball."
"Justin, go long," I said, annoyed. "Soccer. We call it soccer over here."
Justin ran halfway across the field and I kicked the ball in his direction. It soared perfectly over Sam's head in an arc and landed in front of my brother.
"Did I offend you somehow in our fifty-four seconds of conversation?" Sam asked.
Fifty-four seconds of what? He had faint freckles on his nose and his hair looked as if he'd run his fingers through it a few times. "See something you like?"
"Not at the moment."
Sam looked amused. "It's not my fault you're having an off day with the ball. Practice helps, you know?"
"Do you mean to sound this condescending or is it just you as a person?"
"Depends. Watch where you're going next time." Sam brushed his shoulder against mine as he walked in the direction we had come from.
Justin let out a low whistle. "Sh-o-o-o-t."
"Jasmine didn't say he was such a—"
"Dick?"
~
Later that Sunday night, my brother and my dad surrounded the dinner table. Dad was out of the suit and tie he wore when he went to work at the law firm, and sported a T-shirt and jeans. He usually didn't work weekends but he had an important case and, even when he was tired from a long day, he liked us all sitting around the table eating dinner together. From the head of the table, he asked, "What did you guys do today?"
I shrugged, pasta in my mouth. "Nothing interesting."
Justin gave me a weird look, possibly noticing that I was still ticked off from earlier. "What happened to you, Mr. Krabs? Get any big bucks recently?"
As kids, my brother and I were obsessed with SpongeBob SquarePants. With our dad being a lawyer, he earned the name Mr. Krabs pretty easily. Justin's favorite character as a kid was Patrick, and I was Sandy because I had taken a month of karate lessons. My dad's expression suddenly grew serious.
"Uh-oh, what did you do, Patrick?" I teased.
"I didn't do anything! What did you do, Sandy?" my brother retorted.
"Neither of you has done anything wrong." Dad paused. "That I know of."
"Careful, Justin."
Justin feigned irritation at my words.
"What do you guys think of going to your grandmother's this spring break?" Dad asked. "You haven't seen her in a long time."
"We just saw her and Grandpa this past summer," I said.
"I mean your mom's mother."
The last time we had seen our maternal grandmother was years ago, after mom's funeral. I barely remembered the last time we saw her—everything around that time was a blur.
Mom had passed away in the early summer of 2005, when I was nine and Justin was six. She was coming home from the bookstore she owned when a drunk driver collided with her car. Even though she died when we were young, I was lucky enough to have a good memory of who she was and what she looked like outside of the pictures and old videos of us growing up. Justin had her light-brown hair but we both had her brown eyes. However, I was naturally more tanned, like she was, and Justin was more fair, like our dad.
I also shared her love of soccer. She'd played growing up, and was on her varsity college team. She'd instilled in me the founda- tion of the sport I loved and wanted to carry with me in the future.
As for our maternal grandmother, we hadn't seen her in years. Before Mom died, our maternal grandfather had died as well. After Mom's funeral, she didn't stay in much contact as she traveled to different places over the years, never settling down. Before then, she hadn't lived far from Port Meadow, only two towns over in Redmond. I never pressured Dad to tell us why she had left our mom's childhood home, let alone the country, but I always thought it was linked to losing her husband and her daughter. That was a lot of sadness for one person to handle.
Growing up before Grandpa had died, before Mom had died, we used to go to my grandmother's house all the time. We would meet our grandparents' friends, have nights filled with board games and great food, and hang out as a family. Last I heard, she had been in Italy, where she had lived before moving to Canada with my grandfather after Mom was born.
"I'm in," said Justin.
"Macy?" Dad asked.
He shouldn't have sounded worried. I would jump at any chance to be reconnected with my mom in some form. My brother looked at me curiously and I cleared my throat. "Does she still live—"
"In your mom's childhood home? Yes, she moved back recently. She wants to see you guys. I figured spring break was a good time for you all to know each other."
"I'm in."
A week of the past without any thought of the future was exactly what I needed.
~
On Monday, as I shoved my duffel bag in my locker at school, Andrew approached me. "Jas said you had a little encounter with Sam."
His name was not the first one I wanted to hear this morning.
"He's annoying."
"You met him once."
"And? I don't like him," I declared. "Besides, how do you know him?"
"We had history together."
"Did everyone have the same history class last semester?"
"He transferred this school year," Andrew explained as some classmates greeted us as they passed by. Wellington Secondary School was in the middle of a suburban area, not too far from my house, but a ways away from the downtown core of Port Meadow. With a big population of students, I didn't know or expect to know everyone. "You really didn't know who he was?"
"No clue," I admitted.
"Talk about timing."
Sam—scrolling through his phone—was walking down the hall with someone who was talking animatedly.
"Hey, Sam." Andrew's voice carried down the busy hallway. He and Sam did a subtle fist bump.
"Hey . . ." Sam looked at me as I scowled and closed my locker.
"Nice to see you again too," he said.
I recognized Sam's friend, Caleb. We didn't run in the same circles—he was popular, me, not so much. He had dark-brown hair, tanned skin, and his approachable nature showed in the bright smile on his face. "Caleb, right? We had math together last semester," I said.
"You're Macy. The soccer player?"
"That's her." Andrew slung his arm around me.
"You two are together?" Caleb asked.
Instantly, I gagged. "God, no."
Andrew pushed me away. "Never."
"Ever," I added.
"Forget I said anything." Caleb raised his hands in defense.
"It's not that—" Andrew looked nauseated. "She's like my sister." We'd known each other since preschool. He was my best friend, there was definitely no changing that. "The thought of— it's a no."
"A definite no." I shivered involuntarily. Sam stared at me.
"What?"
The first warning bell cut through the air, and everyone in the hallway rushed to their first-period classes. Caleb followed suit, waving at us. "See you later."
"Bye, Hazel." Sam smirked.
What? "That's not my name."
"Make sure you don't trip on any soccer balls on the way to class." He disappeared into the passing crowd with Caleb.
"He's annoying," I muttered.
"He's playing around," Andrew said as we walked to class. "I'm surprised you didn't know him. Especially with his last name."
"What's his last name?" We got to our desks in time for the national anthem.
When the anthem ended, Andrew still didn't answer. I pinched him and he hissed, "Fuck."
"I'm waiting."
"Wait longer." He smirked. "Maybe I'll keep this information from you; after all, what's in it for me?"
"Would you just—"
"His last name's Cahill."
I gasped dramatically, tapping Andrew's arm frantically. "He's Cedric's brother?"
"He's Cedric's cousin," he clarified.
"What!"
Cedric Cahill and I met when we were in ninth-grade science class. I wasn't one to be head over heels for anyone—my friends got into relationships, broke up with people, and went through rejection to a point where I didn't want to be involved in any of that. The idea of feeling that way for anyone made me squeamish.
However, meeting Cedric changed my perspective slightly. He had moved here from the UK when he was younger. He played rugby, was smart, and had kind brown eyes. Eventually, as I talked to him more often, I began to have feelings for him. Feelings I'd never acted upon.
"Macy Anderson."
The loud voice coming from the front of the room forced the class into silence. My voice had carried throughout the entire classroom, interrupting announcements and violating homeroom's number one rule.
To make things worse, I was given detention, aggravating me further as I stood outside the gym after school with my friends, where practice was going to be held today.
"We'll see you at the next practice," Jon Ming said. "Don't worry about it, the team's not going to fall apart with you missing one practice."
"Cheer up." Jacob patted me on the back before he slipped inside the gym with Jon Ming. Brandon and Austin fist bumped me as they followed the other two inside.
Along with Andrew and Jasmine, Jon Ming, Austin, Brandon, and Jacob were my closest friends. I'd played soccer with them for the past four years, since we'd started high school. They were weird beyond belief, ate as much food as I did, and were the most annoying people I knew. Yet I wouldn't change any of them for the world.
"This is your fault," I snapped at Andrew as we watched our friends start to set up for drills. Where I was supposed to be.
"You're the one who yelled."
Yes, but I shouldn't have gotten detention for it. Not when we had a game next week against our biggest competitors, Crenshaw Hills. Wellington had had a huge rivalry with them for years, and soccer was a sport both schools were known for, making us the biggest competitors in the city.
My phone buzzed as Andrew slipped into the gym and I headed to the classroom to serve out my penance at detention.
Jasmine: sucks that you're in detention
Me: I can feel your sympathy from a mile away. Please note the heavy sarcasm
Jasmine: ;)
I entered the classroom, gave the teacher who usually held detention, Mr. Malik, my pink slip, and sat down at the desk farthest away from the others who were in the room. I slouched in my chair, putting my earphones in before lifting the hood of my sweater over my head. Suddenly, my earphones were pulled from my ears.
"What are you doing here?"
Sam.
"What are you doing here?"
He straddled a chair backward in front of me, his elbow perched on the desk. "Got caught skipping class."
When I proceeded to put my earphones back in my ears, he hooked his fingers on the wires and pulled. "Dude," I protested.
"Why are you here?" he repeated. "You should be at practice, no?"
"It's not your concern." From the look on his face I figured he wasn't going to budge until I gave him a proper response. "I may have sort of accidentally yelled during the announcements this morning."
"Which teacher?"
"Mr. Oliver."
He snorted then glanced over at the now-empty desk where a teacher should have been sitting. Where the heck did he go?
Sam stood, his chair scraping the floor, and looked at the clock. "Want to get out of here?" I must've made a face of disapproval at his suggestion because he continued. "Mr. Malik usually leaves then comes back toward the end. We're good."
"I don't know you. Why the hell would I trust you?"
"It's not a matter of trust." His green eyes were mischievous.
"We're not getting caught." Sam gestured to a few other students who had started leaving the classroom. It was either here, stewing over not being at soccer practice or—"C'mon, Hazel."
"That's not my name." My earphones went back in. "And I'm not skipping detention."
Sam didn't bother me any further, settling in and taking a seat at the desk next to me. We sat in silence for the next hour and a half, him going through his phone and me doing the latest physics homework until the students who had left eventually came back into the classroom. Not long after them, Mr. Malik returned, and detention ended.
I was out the door and headed toward my locker to grab my jacket when Sam caught up to me. "Do you want to hit the diner? You've got to be hungry." He wasn't wrong. My stomach was eating itself from the long day at school. "Practice is probably over. What else do you have to do?"
A few minutes later, Sam and I were sitting at the diner a block away from school. Various people greeted Sam as they passed by, but he didn't pay attention to them. His focus for the next half an hour was annoyingly on the girl over my shoulder, as he gave her flirty eyes. He even had the nerve to send her a little wave that she returned before continuing her conversation with her friends.
"You're related to Cedric?"
Annoyance flashed across Sam's face. "Not exactly who I would like to be associated with. We aren't exactly fond of each other." He took a fry from my plate. I hated sharing. How did someone not like Cedric? Sam said, "Change the topic."
"But—"
"Change. The. Topic."
"Okay!" Holy. I moved the plate out of his reach. He held his hands out, stunned. "Wait, the only reason you know me is because of my cousin?"
Outside of my close friends, I didn't pay a lot of attention to anyone else. I recognized faces, but names? There was much more to focus on. Like the soccer team and picking between universities.
"Hello? Earth to Hazel." Sam snapped his fingers in my face.
"Not my name," I said. "Unlike you and me, Cedric and I are actually friends. I've seen you around but, I don't know, I never knew your name."
Sam didn't reply, his attention drifting back over my shoulder as I shoved a fry in my mouth. He reached for my plate, snagging himself another fry. "Bro, you've got to stop doing that."
"You don't like sharing?"
"Buy your own." I reached into my backpack and pulled my camera out of its bag.
"Possessive." He tilted his chin at the device in my hands. "What's with the camera?"
"I like taking pictures."
"You can do that with your phone," he pointed out. "The captain of the football team has a hobby?"
"It's soccer."
"I'm from England. It's football."
"I'm not getting into this argument with you," I said. "I'm going home."
"Hazel, c'mon." He gestured back to my seat as I rose. "Sit, I'll stop being annoying. What kind of pictures do you have in there?"
"You sure you don't want to talk to the girl behind me?"
He reached a hand out for my camera and I gave it to him. He flicked through the pictures and I leaned over the table to get a better look. One was Andrew giving me the middle finger as we walked to his car the other day. "You and Andrew have been friends for a long time?"
"A very long time," I said. "What about you and Caleb? You guys seem close."
"We are." Looking at his phone, he cursed under his breath then handed me back my camera. "Shit. I got to go. Maybe I'll see you in detention again, Hazel."
"Don't count on it," I muttered as he shrugged his jacket on. "How often do you get in trouble?"
"Depends on what you consider trouble."
~
I lay on Jasmine's bed later that night, watching her fix the posters along her walls. They covered almost every inch of her room, images of all her favorite movies. I'd watched the collection grow over the years and she'd never taken a single poster down. "Did you know Sam and Cedric were related?"
"Did I know that they're cousins?" she asked. "I think everyone knows."
"They're so"—I tried to find the right word—"different."
Jasmine reached up to fix her Star Wars poster. "They're cousins, not clones."
I rolled over on her bed, resting my hands under my chin. "I mean Cedric's so nice and Sam's so not."
"Remember when you had a thing for Cedric?" Jasmine sat down on the bed next to me and grabbed my camera to look through pictures. "I'd never seen you so unlike yourself."
Had a thing for Cedric? Had it gone away? No. I didn't admit that out loud to anyone. Although he was a popular guy and we didn't see each other that often, it was strange that he had a cousin I didn't know about.
"Cedric's still cute, no?" Jasmine beamed, eager to hear my response.
If my face is burning up I swear—"I'm not having this conversation with you."
"Who are you going to talk to about boys? Andrew? Please." Jasmine held up my camera. "Mind explaining this?"
I snorted at the sight of Sam making a funny-looking face at my camera. He must've taken it when I wasn't looking. I reached for my camera with no plans of deleting the picture. "He had detention too."
"Look at you, best friends with troublemaker Sam." I grunted out a no yet Jasmine wasn't convinced. "Macy, you never know."
"It's not happening," I protested. Not with someone as irritating as he was.