17
“YOU LOOK LIKEmy dad circa 1995.”
I gestured at the vintage neon-green Oakleys that hugged Nick’s face, the mirrored lenses reflecting the sun like a laser beam.
“I’m going to choose to receive that as a compliment, thank you very much,” he said with a quirked smile.
I glanced down at Sam, who was seated in a camping chair, a giant straw sunhat covering her curls. “Are you good, ref?” I asked.
“I have this, what more do I need?” she said, proudly showing off the rusty silver whistle that hung around her neck.
I instinctively dug my hand around my shorts pocket as I stood there, looking for my phone. I’d made the decision to leave it in Sunrise, an attempt to give myself over to the present moment. An excellent plan, in theory. But now, in the actual present, it felt uncomfortable and awkward, like when I’d worn slightly stretched-out underpants to work that constantly shifted around all day. Not having my phone was giving my brain a wedgie.
In its place was the Color Week medal (best to have it on me at all times so I could toss it back at Mack when he least expected it), and my new checklist. It was starting to feel like some sort of talisman, a reminder of why I was here, of the things I wanted to accomplish. And right now, I was here to play this Capture the Flag game and experience some joy, goddamnit.
Just then, Mack sauntered up next to me, decked out in a worn maroon USC Trojans shirt and ancient-looking navy running shorts. Such a casual outfit, but it somehow moved with his body, showing off every bit of tanned skin and tight muscle.
“Hey,” he said, running a hand through his bedhead, the pieces of golden-brown hair shooting every which way. Mack looked refreshed and rested, and not like someone who just hours ago had his mouth all over mine.
“Hi!” I chirped, flashing a too-wide, toothy smile. I fingered the folded paper in my pocket, wishing desperately it had a screen that I could flick on to distract myself and avert my gaze. Instead, I just kept staring at Mack with my forced grin.
“Sleep okay?” he asked nonchalantly, stretching an arm overhead and leaning toward one side. I analyzed his tone for any hint of sarcasm or teasing. Surely it was in there; he must be referencing our make-out session in some way. But he was giving me no clues this morning, so I just kept playing along.
“Amazing,” I lied, nodding agreeably. “Out like a rock. Must have been the swim.”
“Clara!” Nick shouted, ending whatever the hell this weird back-and-forth was between Mack and me. “You ready?”
“You know it!” I said, tightening the ponytail at the base of my neck.
“Real Color Week captain energy you’ve got this week, Millen,” Mack said, looking me up and down as he kicked a foot back and grabbed it, balancing on one leg as he stretched. Show-off. “Your shirt’s tucked and everything.”
“Just getting in the spirit of things!” I said before turning toward the group.
“Okay! Listen up!” I said loudly, waving everyone to order. “Nick’s going to review the rules, because we have a very special guest with us today who is new to Capture the Flag.” I golf-clapped my hands in Linus’s direction, and the rest of the group joined in with whoops and applause.
He was snuggled in behind Eloise, his chin nestled on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her waist, their hands clasped. I turned away, not liking the ugly feeling of jealousy that rose in me at the sight of my friend so clearly in love.
“All right, everyone!” Nick shouted like he was in charge of hundreds of people, even though there were just seven of us.
“Dude, we hear you,” Mack said, cupping his ears as he took a step back.
Nick slid his glasses down his nose to give Mack a pointed glare before continuing, just a little bit louder.
“Okay, here we go. Teams are determined at random by drawing names out of a hat, to ensure fairness.”
Nick looked up from the clipboard in his hand and eyed the group sternly to make sure we were all listening. “Except we didn’t have a hat, so we’re using this salad bowl Clara stole from the dining hall this morning.”
I did a tiny curtsy as Sam leaned forward and picked up a familiar-looking, dinged-up brown plastic container off the ground, passing it to Nick. “Your bowl, sir.”
“Thank you, esteemed referee.” He held it out to us like an offering and then plucked a small folded piece of paper out of the bowl before passing it on to Trey.
“Green team!” he announced gleefully.
“Same,” Trey said, giving Nick a quick smile. He then handed the bowl to Eloise, who had to unravel her arm from Linus in order to take it.
“Green team too,” she said. I swallowed nervously, my fingers toying with my hair, braiding the strands of my ponytail just to have something to do. There was no need to keep drawing out of the bowl—the process of elimination meant that Mack and I were on the same team.
Somehow when I had pitched this idea last night, the thought of us being together on a team never crossed my mind.
Eloise turned toward us. “I expect you two to take good care of Linus.”
“Oh, don’t worry, El; Millen and I are going to show him how the game’s played.”
If Mack was also frazzled by our new role as teammates, he didn’t let on. Instead, he grinned with competitive delight at Eloise’s disappointed face. I recognized this look; he was sniffing out a weakness, plotting how to use this against her in the game.
I’d always liked this shark-like part of Mack that mixed so easily with his mellow, laid-back nature. We’d been kindred spirits in this sense; two very different people who both loved to win.
“And of course,” Nick said with a sweep of his hand, “losers buy lunch.”
“Well done, Nick,” I said.
Sam grabbed the two handkerchiefs, blue and green, from her lap, and tossed them at Nick.
“Questions? Comments? Inside jokes?” he asked.
“No pantsing,” Sam said, smirking, directing her gaze at Trey.
“It was an accident!” Trey exclaimed defensively, and everyone but me laughed. I turned slightly to Mack, tilting my head in his direction, but not so near that he’d assume I was trying to get closer to him. I didn’t want him to think I was still playing last night over in my mind.
Because I wasn’t.
At least, not right this very second.
“I don’t remember anyone getting pantsed,” I murmured, drifting just close enough to his shoulder to catch a whiff of sunscreen, that industrial-strength camp laundry detergent, and a hint of musky sweat. Eau de Mack.
“It was a few summers ago,” he explained. “Four years ago, maybe? We were playing a very drunk game of kickball. Trey accidentally grabbed Regan’s shorts while trying to get her out at home plate. It did not go well.”
“Sounds like my kind of game.” I plastered a smile on my face like a shield, so he wouldn’t know that my brain was doing equations of how many summer reunions I’d missed, grieving the memories I’d lost out on making.
Mack nudged me with his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Millen. We’ll make new inside jokes this week.”
I turned to catch his eye, waiting for the wisecrack. Instead, he offered me a kind, knowing smile. This was the most unnerving thing about him, what had unraveled me so intensely last night. He didn’t just know where the door was to all the soft, vulnerable truths I rarely revealed to people; he held the key in the palm of his hand.
“All right, Greenies.” Nick waved Trey and Eloise toward him as he jogged backward like a soccer pro. “You’re with me down by the far goal!”
Eloise paused in front of Linus, planting a hard and fast kiss on his lips before running off after her teammates. He cleared his throat awkwardly and gave us a sheepish look, taking his glasses off and wiping the kiss-created smudges off with his T-shirt.
Mack stood next to him, sunglasses crooked on the top of his head, and looked directly at me, running the edge of his tongue along his bottom lip that had felt like witchcraft when pressed against my neck. He said nothing, but his eyes narrowed as they caught mine, as if to say, Remember how we did this last night? Remember how good it felt? We could do it again, if you wanted to.
It was enough to send my stomach scrambling with nerves, to weaken all my best intentions. Then I remembered how fast he’d switched from hot to cold, the stupid game with the wireless password. It had been just another one of our silly, antagonistic disagreements, and if it had been anyone else, I would have laughed it off. But every interaction with Mack stayed with me, and stung, lodged under my skin like a splinter.
I turned my gaze back to Linus.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he began with a tepid smile on his face. Then his slender brow furrowed ever so slightly. “But I think it would be fun to beat my girlfriend.”
“Yeah, man,” Mack encouraged with a light punch to his shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”
“She kicked my ass in Bananagrams last week.” Linus peered over his shoulder to where Eloise was huddled in a tight circle with Trey and Nick, and his lips unfolded into a smile before turning back to face us. “So she has it coming.”
“I like you,” I said. “Anyone who loves Eloise but also loves to win is my kind of person.”
Linus’s face perked up, a blush creeping across his skin.
“And Millen doesn’t like anybody that easily, man,” Mack chimed in, the teasing dripping from every syllable. “So you should really take that as a compliment.”
“Aw, that’s not true for everybody.” I reached out and patted Mack on the top of his head, trying to ignore the softness of his hair, bouncing like delicate wisps of cotton against my skin. “It’s just that you make it so hard.”
Linus’s eyes darted between us as Mack ducked away from my touch and jogged a few steps away.
“Uh, so how do we play?” he asked.
“The plan is all defense with teams this small,” I said matter-of-factly as that familiar competitive fire sizzled up deep inside me, the one that lived for challenges like this. The adrenaline felt like an old friend, sparking up a fire I’d not lit in such a long time.
“Uh, no.” Mack gave me a skeptical once-over with a shake of his head. “Nick hates running, so he’ll probably be guarding the flag. We should charge them. Rush the field, go deep and be aggressive. Linus, you look like you’ve got a pep to your step.”
Mack gave Linus another confidence-boosting thump on the back, and I rolled my eyes at his bro energy. Mack could charm a rock.
“I ran Division Three cross-country in college,” Linus replied, his chest puffing up just a bit.
“Perfect. We all charge the front line, then.” Mack said this like it was a done deal, and irritation prickled through my body. “We win with chaos. Whoever gets to the flag first grabs it and rushes back to home base.”
Linus nodded, squinting in thought as he listened.
“Or,” I interjected, my voice clipped, “Linus could be defending our flag. I can guard the middle of the field, and you help with defense. If he’s fast, he’ll tag anyone who gets close and we can lock them all up in our jail. And then we all run to their side at once, grab the flag, and win.”
“That’s playing scared, Millen,” Mack said, pushing his scratched Wayfarers up on his forehead to narrow his eyes at me.
“Or it’s playing strategically and smart.” I folded my arms in front of my chest, holding my ground. “Chaos isn’t a strategy.”
“It’s been a few years for you, Millen. I don’t think you remember how this game works.” He broke out into a smile as he watched me get more frustrated. “But I just coached the juniors to victory this very summer.”
“Are you seriously about to mansplain a children’s game to me, Mack?” I asked, taking a step closer to him.
Mack let out a choked laugh, shaking his head. “I’d never dream of it.”
“That’s definitely what it sounds like,” I pushed.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mack’s eyes sparkled. He was clearly relishing this.
Linus looked between the two of us, confused. “Wait, so which plan are we—”
“Fine.” Mack threw his hands up, still smiling. “Let’s try it your way, Millen. Linus, just do what she says. Defense it is.”
“Glad you’re finally catching on,” I said, offering him the most obnoxiously pleasant smile I could muster. “Linus—guard the flag at the end of the field. Mack and I will defend the front line. We want to draw them into our territory, tag ’em, and then make a run for their flag while they’re tied up in jail.”
“Whatever you say, Millen. Do you think you can play nice today?” Mack asked, sliding his sunglasses down his face. His stubble was even more pronounced, and he ran a hand across his jaw, my eyes following, admiring the strong lines of his neck, the tiny dimple in his chin that seemed to disappear whenever he smiled or let out a laugh.
“That depends on how much of an asshole you are,” I replied.
“Millen—” Mack said, but Sam’s referee whistle cut through our tension, and he swallowed whatever comeback was lingering on his lips. I waved him and Linus to their places on the field, more confident than I’d felt in a long time.
Sam’s whistle ripped through the air again, and Eloise dashed onto our side of the field instantly, braid shooting behind her like a comet. Mack and I both raced right at her, but she pivoted on her feet, still youthfully athletic, and rushed directly back to the safety of her team’s territory. It was all the time Trey needed to bolt past me, a flash of red tank top and tattoos.
“Crap!” I yelled, trying to keep an eye on him as Eloise taunted us by jogging right toward us again, hopping onto our side of the field with a leap. Our plan—my plan—was already starting to crack.
“Mack!” I yelled as I bolted away from her this time. “I’m going for the flag!”
“I thought we were playing D?” he hollered back as he trailed Eloise, who was zigzagging back and forth over the dividing line with a ferocious look of glee on her face.
“Change of plans!” I shouted, my brain making a panicked, split-second decision. “You hold the line!”
He snapped something back at me, but I was too far away to hear, sprinting down the far side of the field inside enemy territory. Trey was already lurking dangerously close to where Linus was defending our flag, and Eloise was surely near him, with Mack on her tail. The only person I had to worry about here was Nick, who was pacing back and forth from his position guarding the flag just to the left of the goal, his eyes trained on me.
My body moved like it had just played the game yesterday, even though it had been years, a decade possibly. Hell, I hadn’t even worked out in months. The sneakers on my feet had been collecting dust in my apartment’s one tiny closet. But in this moment I was electric, unstoppable.
I slowed to a jog, moving along the edge of the field to the right of Nick’s peripheral vision. He’d somehow stopped focusing on me and was instead running up the field away from their flag, gesturing frantically to someone in front of him. It was such a novice move—to leave their flag completely unprotected—that I let out a quiet chuckle under my breath. Poor sweet Nick. I was seriously about to steal this flag out from under his nose.
With a grunt, I launched my body forward, cutting across the field until I was just a few feet away from the green team flag. A win was just inches away from me, and the euphoria of it was coursing through my veins.
It felt fucking amazing.
“Agh!” A hand smacked against my shoulder and tugged at the edge of my tank top. I twisted around to find Eloise behind me, pink-faced and breathing heavily.
“Gotcha,” she panted, her face lighting up like the Cheshire Cat.
“Goddamnit,” I muttered as she nodded her head toward the soccer goal.
“Jail time, baby.”
“But Mack was about to get you!” I protested, begrudgingly turning to follow her.
Eloise shook her head. “Mack’s your cellmate.”
“Are you serious?” I turned to find that he was indeed pacing around the goal as he flicked his eyes toward his watch every few seconds.
“Off you go!” Eloise said with a playful push toward Mack, who glowered at me as I jogged toward him.
“You were supposed to be guarding her,” I hissed, wiping my dirty hands on the front of my tank top. “Do you not know how to play this game?”
I inhaled the tangy scent of my body clinging to my sweat-soaked clothes as I caught my breath, and knew without looking in a mirror that my hair—still knotted in a loose ponytail—was a wet, sticky mess. Normally, I would have felt self-conscious about appearing all disheveled, especially in front of someone I’d kissed the night before. But today was different; all I wanted to do right now was lean into this untamed side of me, and reclaim it as my own.
“It was your idea for us to all be on defense, and then you changed your mind and decided to run across the field!” He waved a hand in the air, toddler tantrum-esque. “What were you thinking?”
“It’s called thinking on your feet,” I snapped back, looking down at my own watch. Ninety seconds left in jail. We still had a shot to win this. “Changing course. Reworking the plan. You know, like, deciding to do one thing, and then switching and doing another? You’re good at that.”
I narrowed my eyes as the image of him shooting off the diving dock last night flashed through my mind.
“All I did was follow your plan for the game, Millen,” he said, once again gesturing around us. “I did exactly what you wanted.”
His damp, threadbare T-shirt was clinging to his chest, and my eyes—which I swear were only on him to glare—drifted just a bit, and settled right on that one spot along his collarbone that I could still almost feel under my fingertips, hard and smooth.
Goddamnit.
Off to our left, Nick turned around, gawking at us. “Are you two seriously fighting over Capture the Flag?”
“Yes!” we both yelled back, a little too loud.
Just then a shout went up on the other side of the field. Trey was on the move again, arms pumping furiously as a blue flag whipped wildly in his hand.
“Crap,” I grumbled under my breath. Trey crossed the midline with a leap, the air punctured by Sam’s whistle blaring from the sideline. He collapsed dramatically on the grass, Eloise running over to join him, hands triumphant in the air.
“That’s the game. We lost.”
“We’re going with my plan next time, Millen.” Mack’s eyes bore down on me as he raked a hand through sweat-soaked hair, looking utterly furious.
“There’s not going to be a next time, Sullivan,” I replied, taking off with a jog. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of “I told you so.” He could wallow without me as far as I cared.
Not that I did care about what Mack thought. Not about me, or my Capture the Flag game strategy, or anything, really.
Which is why it didn’t matter that I glanced behind me, just to see if he was watching me go, and why I didn’t care at all that he wasn’t.
Not one bit.