Chapter 3
We claim a quiet corner of the field, the late afternoon sun still warm against our backs. It’s not quite warm enough to be shirtless, but summer is in the air.
The rest of the soccer team is scattered across the grass running drills, and the football guys are practicing further down by the bleachers, their helmets flashing as they knock their heads together.
Today is the last day for finals, which means the whole field has this loose, relieved energy, like everyone’s brain collectively unclenched.
Music is playing from someone’s phone while a few people are laughing near the benches. It’s nice, relaxing even.
Colten, of course, has me practicing drills. At least he’s doing it with me.
He taps the ball toward me, and I trap it easily before sending it back.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
We’ve practiced this together so many times that we don’t even really have to look. Our feet just know where the other one is going to send the ball.
The sun catches the loose strands of Colten’s dyed black hair escaping the ponytail. It’s long enough now that when he doesn’t pull it back, it brushes his shoulders.
He should probably cut it. The NCAA might allow longer hair these days, but it’s still looked down on. He might not aspire to go pro anymore, but as long as he’s playing D2 soccer, he has to be careful.
I hope he keeps it long. I like helping him dye it.
“So, what are you doing this summer?” I ask super casually.
He rolls the ball under his foot, thinking. “I’ll probably go home for a bit. My mom’s been asking.”
“Aw, Freeman family reunion,” I say, taking back the ball as he kicks it over. “Going to see your dad, too?”
Colten stiffens, but still easily catches the ball with the inside of his foot, smooth and controlled.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s busy playing house with his upgrade, and I don’t want to interrupt the honeymoon phase of his midlife crisis.”
I make a face. Colten’s parents got divorced only a year ago, due to his dad cheating with said ‘upgrade’, so I don’t blame him for not wanting to get anywhere near that.
“Do you want me to visit them? I can give them the newlywed special.”
Colten snorts, rolling and stepping over the ball before passing it back. “What does that even mean? Are you going to get them a gift basket or commit a felony?”
“Oh, I’ll get them a gift basket alright,” I reply, repeating the same roll and step before passing it back.
“Why does that still sound like you’re going to commit a felony?” Colten asks, an eyebrow raised as he catches the ball, though he doesn’t seem upset.
“Might be, might not be, who knows?” I say, shrugging. Colten huffs a quiet laugh, kicking the ball in a spinning curve toward me. “Oh, nice. Do that again.”
“Threatening gift baskets aside,” he continues, ignoring my demand, “I don’t have any summer classes. Maybe I’ll get a part-time job, something low-stakes with minimal human interaction.” Colten’s gaze flickers over to me. “What about you?”
I shrug and flick the ball back toward him. “I don’t know yet. Thinking about a training camp.”
He stops the ball dead under his foot again, his expression tightening as he looks at me properly now. “Those fill up months in advance.”
“Huh, yeah, I guess.”
“And it’s June.”
“Yep,” I reply, popping the ‘p’, eyes strictly on the ball and far away from Colten’s surely judgmental death stare.
“Have you even signed up for any?” he asks slowly, like he’s talking to someone who has recently sustained a head injury or is about to.
“Ha ha,” I laugh dryly. “Something could open up, or maybe I could sneak in. I bet I could blend in with the crowd of other white soccer players; I’ll just hunch over.”
It’s weird. A few years ago, I would’ve known every camp deadline by heart by now. I would’ve already figured out the funding and had a training schedule just for the camp.
This year, every time I tried to look up camps, I found something else to do instead.
Colten stares at me like he’s deciding whether to strangle me, but before he can respond, Rich jogs by with Brian trailing behind him, both of them mid warm-up lap.
“Look at that,” Rich says loudly, purposely slowing down. “It’s the world’s most codependent practice pair. I guess that TBI wore off?”
Brian whistles as he also slows down. Slackers. “Do you guys ever train with the rest of us? Don’t you get sick of each other?”
Colten raises an eyebrow at them, unimpressed. “Someone has to keep an eye on Patrick.”
“Wow,” I say, crossing my arms with a frown. “Wooow. Betrayed by my own best friend.”
Rich laughs. “Blink twice if he’s holding you hostage, Freeman.”
“Wha—if anything, I’m the one held hostage!” I complain, but they’re already jogging off. My eye twitches.
While Colten’s distracted watching them leave, I dart forward and flick the ball around his ankle, stealing it.
“Hey—!”
Too late. I’m already running down the field.
Colten groans and chases me. “Patrick! Get back here!”
Ha! Would a hostage run after their captor?
I laugh maniacally, adding in some trick maneuvers to try to throw him off. Unfortunately, I’m laughing too hard to execute any of them correctly. Good thing Coach isn’t here to witness this.
Colten closes the distance fast. He may be nearly a foot shorter than me, but he’s quick, and when he tries to hook the ball away, I have to spin to shield it with my leg.
“If you want me to be your hostage, you have to ask nicely!” I tell him.
Colten tries to kick it out, but I dribble it backwards, watching him the whole time.
“C’mon, Freeman,” I tease, grinning. “Make me an honest man.”
Colten stumbles, his cleats catching on some patch of grass. I laugh harder.
“The only way you could be an honest man is if someone forced you,” Colten says, lunging for the ball again, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration and a hint of pink on his cheeks.
We’re way too close for any real soccer practice now. It’s just the two of us kicking the ball back and forth, mostly between my legs, trying to steal control without tripping over each other. I’m breathing hard, my heart picking up with every one of Colten’s nonstop attempts.
He keeps brushing against me, shoulder to chest, thigh to thigh, and I’m barely keeping the ball. Sweat slides down my back, and with him this close, the bergamot scent of his shampoo cuts straight through the grass and summer air.
I keep my face carefully away from his head. He’s headbutted me before, and it hurts like hell.
Still, I can’t stop grinning down at him, half tempted to forget the ball altogether and just toss him into the grass.
“You’re just mad because you’re short,” I say, eager to escalate this.
His eyes narrow, and I only get one second of self-congratulation before he tackles me.
The ball goes flying somewhere as I hit the ground with a startled laugh.
“Red card!” I call out in between breathless laughter.
Colten does not care. Colten is already putting his stupid judo skills into action, which means I have to focus.
He grabs my arm and twists it behind my back, but I wiggle like a very determined worm and manage to keep myself from getting completely trapped. Still, he’s persistent, and annoyingly better at wrestling than me.
But honestly? That just makes it more fun.
He hooks his leg around mine, shifts his weight, and suddenly I’m flat on my back in the grass with Colten straddling my waist and both my arms pinned down.
He grins victoriously, his face flushed, dark hair slipping loose from his ponytail.
The sun behind him makes the edges of his silhouette glow—
Wait, no, he’s literally glowing.
“Oh!” I say, delighted.
Colten blinks down at me. “What?”
“You’re doing it again!”
“Doing what?”
“You’re glowing again!” I wiggle under his hold excitedly, though I’m thoroughly pinned. Even if this is one of the less cool magical abilities someone could get, it’s still magic! “What are you thinking about? How do you think it was activated?”
It’s the same soft white light from before, only brighter now, like someone turned up the dimmer switch.
Colten looks down at himself, staring at the glow coming from his hands with curiosity. It dims lightly as he looks over it.
Then, out of nowhere, his eyes go wide, and the healthy flush on his face dials it up to tomato-level red.
“Oh my god,” he mutters under his breath.
“What?” I ask, wiggling under him some more. Oh! The light is brightening up again! “Did you figure out what causes it?!”
Colten launches himself off me as if I burned him.
The sudden loss of his warm weight sends a shiver through me. Now all I feel is the cool grass against my back.
“I’m done,” he says, already heading for the locker rooms without looking at me.
“What?” I ask, blinking after him. “It’s barely been half an hour!”
He doesn’t answer. He just breaks into a jog, the glow around him dimming with every step. It’s disappointing both to watch him go and to see the magic disappear—but also, why? Did I say something??
“Colten!” I yell, but he doesn’t look back, let alone stop, even though I shout his name loud enough that a couple of guys on the other side of the field turn to look at me.
I scramble up from the grass, grabbing our soccer ball as I run after him. “Hey!”
Colten is already halfway to the locker rooms, faster than the cows at feeding time.
What the heck.
Literally five seconds ago, he was sitting on top of me in the grass, looking extremely pleased with himself.
He must know why it happened, how he made himself glow. He figured it out, but he’s not telling me.
Which is both annoying and a little concerning. Mostly annoying.
I catch up just as he disappears through the doors that lead to the locker room. The ball basket is sitting outside the entrance, so I toss the ball in before pushing through the doors.
The room is quiet, most of the guys still outside running drills. The faint echo of sneakers against the floor is the only sign anyone else is here.