I tied my towel tighter around me as I stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. The steam warmed the air quickly, and for a moment, I just stood under the running water, letting it rush over my head and shoulders like it could rinse away the nerves about today's match.
St. Victoria's versus Westhill High.
Even though I wasn't playing, something about the tension made my stomach twist. Or maybe it was just the thought of Josh playing for real or the thought of our school loosing. Probably both.
After drying off, I tugged on the tight, strapless tube I always wore under my uniform. It pressed against my chest, flattening everything into place. Secure. Controlled. Then came my pleated navy skirt and button-down blouse. The collar sat just right, and I smoothed my hands down my front to make sure there weren't any wrinkles.
I packed my hair into two braided pigtails, each falling neatly over my shoulders. I looked like a kid from a boarding school pamphlet, but at least it distracted from… other things. A quick sweep of mascara on my lashes and a touch of lip gloss gave me just enough confidence to not vanish entirely in the crowd.
I stepped into the kitchen where Mom was plating scrambled eggs and toast. Dad was already seated with his coffee, reading something on his tablet.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Mom greeted.
"Morning," I mumbled, sitting down to eat.
Just as I took my first bite, the hallway creaked. I turned and saw Simon—my little brother—standing there in jeans, a pressed tee, and sneakers, his hair brushed and styled like he was going for a school photo shoot.
"Where are you going?" I asked suspiciously, narrowing my eyes.
"I… I wanted to ask if I could come with you," he said, folding his hands in front of him like he was at confession. "To the match. I swear I'll be quiet."
"No, Simon. It's not—" I began, but he immediately turned to Mom with a wide-eyed look of betrayal.
"Please, Avi," Mom said gently, shooting me the soft look she always used when she wanted something. "It'll be good for him to get out a little."
I sighed and looked at Simon. He clutched his hands like he was praying. I could practically hear the puppy whimper in his eyes.
"I—ugh—fine," I muttered, stabbing my eggs again. "But you better behave."
Simon fist-pumped the air and rushed to grab his plate.
I had barely finished eating when my phone buzzed on the counter.
> Bella: outside your house 😚
I rolled my eyes and typed back quickly.
> Me: You see me now, and we might have a little accompany 😮💨
Simon practically latched onto my arm as we walked to the door. The second we stepped outside, Bella's sleek black car sat waiting at the curb, shining like something out of a fashion magazine. The windows were tinted, and the rims were glossy and clean like they'd been polished five minutes ago.
Bella threw her door open and popped out, her sunglasses pushing her hair back like a headband. Her heels clicked as she walked toward us, long black trench coat swinging behind her like a cape.
"Ohh, look who we have here," she teased, looking right at Simon with a smirk.
"Hi Bella, good to see you," Simon said brightly, still clinging to me.
"Awwn, good boy! I've missed you." She threw her arms wide and wrapped him in a dramatic hug. "Did your sister tell you I missed you?"
Simon shook his head innocently. Bella gave me a full-on glare, lips puckered in a fake pout.
"I forgot," I said with a nervous laugh. "Sorry, Bella. I didn't plan for him to come."
"Mmhm," she said, dramatically offended, but I could tell she wasn't really mad.
I hustled into the car and Simon followed. Inside, the interior smelled like vanilla and leather. The seats were deep black with soft, quilted stitching. Bella had a designer bag tossed casually on the middle seat, and her favorite mint-scented gum peeked out from the cupholder. Her phone was already connected to the speakers, quiet pop music playing in the background. There was a small velvet pillow tucked into one corner, and the ceiling lights were soft and golden.
"Good morning, Mr. James," I said politely, looking up at the driver's seat.
Mr. James turned slightly, giving me a kind smile in the rearview mirror. "Good morning, Miss Beaufort."
Bella rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ava, you greet him like he's the head of the house."
I nudged her with my elbow. "He deserves it. You could try it sometime."
Bella stuck out her tongue at me and leaned back with a grin. Mr. James chuckled quietly and pulled away from the curb, taking us toward school as the morning sunlight filtered through the trees.
And just like that, the day had officially begun.
---
We pulled into the school parking lot just as the buzz of match day settled over the air like static — tense, electric, and loud.
The field had already started to fill with students and teachers, and banners were being pinned to fences with tape that probably wouldn't survive the wind. Bella adjusted her sunglasses and climbed out of the car like she was arriving at a red carpet event. Simon scrambled after me, practically skipping.
Josh was already there, dressed in his warm-up uniform, hoodie unzipped to reveal the St. Victoria's crest on his chest. His hair was pulled back in a small knot, a few curls escaping around his temples. He looked surprisingly calm for someone about to compete — though maybe that was just the face he wore.
Bella spotted him first. "Hey, loser boy!" she called, smirking. "Try not to throw a tantrum if things don't go your way today."
Josh looked over, deadpan. "Don't worry, Bella. I only throw tantrums when you lose."
I couldn't help laughing, and even Simon giggled beside me.
"Touché," Bella said with a playful scowl, bumping her shoulder into mine. "He's getting sharper."
Josh grinned and jogged over, his eyes flicking down to Simon. "Hey, buddy. You made it!"
Simon lit up like the sun. "Yeah! Avi said I could come if I behave."
Josh reached out for a quick fist bump. "Then you better behave. This match is serious business."
Simon nodded solemnly like he was being knighted.
Josh's eyes met mine, and I instinctively reached for his hand. He gave it a squeeze — firm, steady — and together we made our way toward the bleachers.
The cheerleaders were already on the sidelines, their uniforms crisp and bright, hair ribbons bouncing with every jump. Up ahead, the rest of the team gathered near the benches, watching the preliminary matches play out on the field — scrimmage-style warm-ups that felt more like tradition than necessity. A few lower-division teams had short games before the main event, just enough to get the crowd warmed up.
We found seats in the middle row of the bleachers where the view was perfect. The metal benches were cold, but the sun balanced it out. Josh peeled off toward the team section where the players were supposed to sit during the early events. He shot me a wink before joining them.
Bella was still laughing at something a group of seniors had said behind us when I noticed movement near the team huddle.
Alexander Worthington.
Team captain. Number ten. Golden boy of St. Victoria's football.
Even just standing there with his arms crossed, he looked like he belonged on a championship poster — tall, composed, perfectly annoyed at everyone and everything around him. The way the rest of the team circled around him, I could tell he was giving them one of his trademark pre-game speeches. Fierce. Focused. Unshakably confident.
I watched quietly as he clapped a teammate on the back and then said something that made the group nod in unison.
"We are winners together!" one of them shouted, and the others echoed it like a battle cry.
A strange little flutter started in my stomach.
Then, for the briefest moment, Alex's eyes lifted — and landed directly on me.
It was only a second. Maybe less.
But it froze me.
His expression wasn't smug or curious. It was unreadable — a little cold, a little irritated, like he'd seen something he didn't like. Or maybe like he was thinking something he didn't want to say.
And then, just as quickly, he looked away, already talking again to someone beside him.
I blinked and swallowed, unsure why the look even mattered.
"Ugh, you seeing this?" Bella said beside me, pointing at a cheerleader doing an over-the-top hair flip. "I swear they choreograph that move just to catch the sunlight."
I gave a half-laugh and leaned forward, trying to shake off the strange feeling Alex's look left behind.
The Westhill High team finally arrived and lined up for formal greetings — tense handshakes, polite nods, all of it like a rehearsal for war.
Then the announcer's voice boomed through the speakers.
"Welcome to the St. Victoria's Home Field! Today's match will begin shortly. Players, to your stations. Spectators, please remain in the bleachers."
Simon tugged on my sleeve. "Is it starting now?"
"Almost," I said, nudging him playfully. "This is just the opening act."
And just like that, the real game — the real everything — was about to begin.
---
ALEXANDER'S POV
Game day.
The sun was out, the field smelled like turf and tension, and the stands were filling up faster than usual — more noise, more eyes, more pressure. Good. I liked pressure. It filtered out the ones who didn't belong.
My arms were crossed as I stood near the sideline, watching the team jog warmup laps. A few of them were laughing too much. That kind of energy made me twitch.
Josh — or whatever his name actually was — Number 20, was already chatting someone up near the bleachers. Of course he was. The guy treated pre-game like a group hangout. If he choked during the match, I'd bench him without blinking.
Theo nudged me with his elbow. "Yo, that's the girl I was telling you about."
I looked in the direction of his chin tilt and saw a blonde in a too-tight jacket throwing a dramatic wave. She was halfway down the steps of the bleachers, all smile and gloss.
I didn't wave back. Just stared.
Theo did, though — one of those quick half-waves with a grin. "You're so cold, man."
I rolled my eyes. "She'll live."
Then I saw her.
Avaline Beaufort.
Braided hair. Crisp uniform. Neat posture like she was born with it. She looked completely unaware of the chaos around her — like she didn't even need to try to stand out. And somehow, that annoyed me.
Next to her sat… a kid?
I blinked. Small, maybe ten or eleven. Big eyes, brown hair, and features that looked like hers — too much like hers for it to be random. He was giggling at something she said, and she smiled down at him with this soft, warm look I'd never seen on her before.
She has a brother?
That didn't track. She never talked about him — at least, not in the spaces I usually overheard her. Then again, I didn't really care enough to be paying that much attention.
Still. The resemblance was eerie.
On her other side was Bella — of course.
Bella Taylor: chaos in heels. Once my sister's best friend back in middle school. Heaven knows what happened to that friendship — probably ended the second Bella realized she'd rather run with the seniors than babysit a Worthington. Whatever. Couldn't blame her.
Bella leaned in close to Avaline, whispered something, and Avaline smiled again — smaller this time, head tilted, just enough that her braid slid across her shoulder. She didn't even know I was watching. Or maybe she did and didn't care.
For a split second, something buzzed under my skin.
I snapped my gaze back to the team.
Josh — Number 20 — was still laughing and messing around. I'd have to talk to him before kickoff.
I clapped once. "Bring it in!"
The guys jogged over, forming a loose circle. The noise of the crowd faded slightly behind the rush of my thoughts.
"Today's not just a match," I said, voice calm but sharp. "It's our rep. Our record. Every pass, every second. Play as a team or don't play at all."
Heads nodded.
"We are winners together," Mason called, and the others echoed him like a chant.
I stepped back as the group broke up, everyone heading for their benches.
And just before I turned back toward the field, I looked up again.
Avaline was still in the same spot. Still sitting between Number 20 and Bella, still looking like a picture that didn't belong in the chaos of a sports field. But now, she wasn't smiling. She wasn't even looking at me.
She was just sitting there quietly, hands in her lap, her eyes somewhere far away — like she was already in her own head, lost in some thought I'd never be invited into.
For some reason, that bothered me more than it should've.
And I didn't know why.
---
The field was loud.
Real loud.
The second the umpire called it, the crowd ignited — cheers, chants, claps. Westhill had come heavy, their fans practically painted in school colors, and from the look of their warm-ups, their team wasn't bluffing either.
Julian Carter — their captain — was first up. Typical. The guy liked attention. He adjusted his gloves slow, like he had all the time in the world, then stepped into position like it was a show.
Mason gave me a look. I nodded once.
The pitch flew.
Crack.
Julian hit it clean — sharp and deep — a line drive into left field. He ran like he was born on bases, and the crowd erupted as he slid into second like it was nothing.
Damn.
They came to play.
The pressure dropped on us fast, but we didn't buckle. Our pitcher, Caleb, tightened his grip and delivered sharper throws after that. We held them off. Defense kicked in. I was everywhere I needed to be, eyes sharp, hand steady.
Then it was our turn.
The wind was sharp against my neck as I stepped onto the plate for the first pitch — but I didn't swing. Not yet. The real game hadn't started.
I let others test the rhythm first. That's when Number 20 — Josh, I guess — walked up like it was nothing.
Didn't expect much. Kid was all jokes and charm. But then—
Crack.
He connected.
The ball flew.
Straight down the right field line, slicing through open space like a bullet. A hit like that? Unexpected. He slid into third like it was instinct. The bleachers shook.
I turned, caught the crowd's reaction, and that's when I saw her.
Avaline.
Head thrown back, laughing, jumping — shouting Number 20's name like she'd always believed in him. Bella hugged her tight, both of them screaming like it was the championship.
Josh — still on base — turned to the crowd and blew a kiss.
Cocky.
But damn it, I was proud of him.
I didn't smile. Didn't show it. But I let the feeling sit, just for a second.
Game reset. Theo stepped up next.
Focused. Shoulders loose. When the pitch came, he waited half a second longer than he should've, but still — crack — a beautiful swing.
Hit.
Another run.
We were up 2-1 now.
But Westhill didn't stay quiet.
Their second baseman crushed one just shy of the fence. Our outfielder couldn't reach it in time. Tie: 2-2.
The noise was deafening.
And I was done watching.
I stepped up. Adjusted my helmet. Tapped the bat once, twice, like I always did.
Pitch one — too low. I didn't swing.
Pitch two — strike. No problem.
Pitch three — perfect.
I swung.
The sound was clean — a deep, satisfying crack that sent the ball flying center field. I didn't stop running until I slid across home plate, dirt streaking across my uniform.
Score: 3-2.
Cheers roared behind me. Theo caught up, yelling something I didn't hear, and I pulled him into a half-hug with one arm. He'd earned it.
Final inning.
Westhill was scrambling. Their batters hit, but we held strong. No more runs. They cracked under pressure — one too many wild swings, one ground ball too many.
Game clock ticked.
Final out.
And just like that, it was over.
We'd won.
I turned back toward the stands, breathing heavy, the sweat burning in my eyes. And there she was again — Avaline, still smiling, hair a little messy now from all the movement. Bella was yelling something, their arms around each other like they'd won it themselves.
And maybe they had. For Number 20, at least.
For me?
I wasn't sure yet.
---
AVALINE'S POV
I wasn't exactly a sports girl.
Sure, I showed up for the school spirit, wore the colors, clapped when I was supposed to — but baseball? Half the time I had no idea what was going on. Still, Bella insisted we had to sit front row like "true royalty," and Simon was practically bouncing beside me, loving every second.
The crowd was louder than I expected, and the energy from both teams buzzed like something electric. St. Victoria's had a fire I hadn't seen before — sharp, focused. And Westhill… well, they didn't come to lose either.
Then out of nowhere—crack.
Josh.
I blinked. Bella gasped. We turned to each other like we'd just seen someone perform a miracle.
"He didn't—did he—did you just see that?!" Bella shrieked, grabbing my arm.
"He did! Josh actually—he hit it!"
It was like the world paused for a second. The ball flew so fast I almost missed it, but the cheers? Deafening. Bella and I screamed his name, standing up before we even realized what we were doing.
"JOSH!!" we shouted together, nearly in sync, arms in the air, voices cracked with excitement.
Even the team was stunned. His teammates swarmed him, high-fives, back slaps, every handshake possible. They turned toward us—probably because we were the loudest humans on the planet—and even Alex looked.
His expression? Flat. Emotionless. Classic.
But it didn't matter. I was too happy to care.
Simon was clapping wildly beside me, though I could tell he didn't fully understand why we were so over-the-top. He was just happy because we were happy.
Josh spotted us from across the field, grinning like a kid, and blew us a kiss.
Bella clutched her chest dramatically. "I swear, I saw my future husband for a second."
We sat down, still laughing breathlessly.
Then Westhill made their shot.
It was a clean, hard hit — they tied the score. The cheer from the opposite side of the field felt like a wave crashing over ours. We quieted a little, just watching now.
Then another player — number 12 — stepped up.
I narrowed my eyes. Something about him looked… familiar?
It clicked a second later. I'd seen him once at the café, walking in behind Alex. He was definitely one of those people. The ones I'd probably gone to school with for years and never noticed. He scored too. The crowd lost it again.
Bella and I laughed, almost disbelieving. "This game's on crack," she whispered.
Another shot from Westhill made the stands erupt again — tied again.
My palms were sweating. Even I was on edge now.
But then — toward the end — it happened.
Alex stepped up.
Effortless, like he'd done it a hundred times. No nerves, no drama. Just cool precision. And then—crack.
Ball gone. Like it was nothing.
The stands exploded.
We'd won.
Players flooded the field, arms around each other, shouts echoing in the air. St. Victoria's bench lit up. Westhill clapped for each other too — clearly disappointed, but not bitter. They'd fought hard. It just wasn't their day.
Josh was running up and down the field, all teeth and joy, laughing so hard his helmet slid halfway off. I'd never seen him that happy. I smiled just watching him.
Bella, Simon, and I stood near the gate, waiting. We wanted to say hi before I had to rush to the café. Bella was scrolling on her phone, mumbling about the sun. Simon was still bouncing, probably replaying Josh's hit in his mind.
But Josh took forever.
"They better be naming a stadium after him for all this time we're waiting," Bella muttered.
Finally, he jogged over, cheeks flushed, still breathless.
"Sorry, sorry! The team just won't shut up," he said between pants.
"Well, duh," Bella teased, flicking his shoulder. "You weren't a sore loser or a clown today. Who knew you had it in you?"
Josh grinned and bowed dramatically. "Thank you, thank you. I'm here all week."
"You were amazing, Josh," I said softly, smiling.
"Thanks, Avi." He looked between us. "I gotta run back before Coach chews me out. We'll talk later, yeah?"
We nodded, and he jogged back, waving as he went.
I turned to Bella. "Do me a huge favor?"
"Don't say child sacrifice."
"Drop Simon home for me?"
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Yeah, yeah. Go make your coffee money."
I hugged Simon tight, kissed the top of his head, and took off.
---
The Café – Late Afternoon
The door chimed softly as I entered.
The shift had already started without me, but it was slow — only two tables filled, the smell of espresso clinging to the air like a warm blanket. Sunlight filtered through the windows in golden streaks.
"Hey Ava," Mari, the assistant manager, called from behind the counter. "Good game?"
"Very," I said, tying my apron.
I moved into the rhythm like second nature — wiping the counters, checking the pastry case, refilling sugar jars. The world outside was buzzing, but in here, it was calm. Soft indie music played overhead. A couple laughed softly in the corner. Someone typed quietly on a laptop.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the chrome reflection on the espresso machine — cheeks still flushed, eyes bright.
It had been a good day.
And for once, I wasn't just surviving it.
---
ALEXANDER'S POV
The field was still humming with leftover energy — sweaty bodies, mud-smeared uniforms, scattered baseballs and shouts in the background. We'd just won, but the adrenaline was still pumping through my veins like I hadn't stopped playing.
I spotted Number 20 — Josh, I think someone said his name once — beaming like he'd won the damn championship. First-line debut, first clean shot, first actual contribution that didn't make Coach pull his hair out. I had to give it to him. The guy earned a high-five.
"Yo, Number 20!" Theo called out, striding ahead of me.
Josh turned, surprised we were even walking over. Kid looked like we just told him he made varsity in the MLB.
"Good game," I said, slapping his back with a little more force than necessary. "Didn't think you had it in you."
Josh laughed nervously. "Honestly? Me neither."
"You hit like a toddler last practice," Theo chimed in, smirking. "What'd you eat for breakfast, confidence cereal?"
We all chuckled, and Josh shook his head. "I swear, I just blacked out for a second and swung."
Theo grinned. "Well, blackout again next game."
"Anyway," I cut in, cool and casual, "we're doing the usual first-line post-win celebration. Saturday night."
Josh raised his brows. "Like… the party?"
"Obviously." I raised a brow back. "Or you thought we just high-five each other and go home to cry into protein shakes?"
Theo laughed out loud and Josh joined in, still a little wide-eyed like this was some kind of dream.
"Man… that's crazy. Thanks. So, um—can we bring friends?"
I was about to shut that down with a simple nope, but Theo jumped in, grinning.
"If they're girls, sure. We're not building a nerd convention."
I rolled my eyes, but smirked. "Don't bring anyone who'll cry over loud music or spill soda on the speakers."
Josh grinned wider. I could already tell who he was thinking of.
Great. Miss Sunshine was going to be there. With her blinding smile and fake innocence. I could already hear her laughing with that Bella girl like they ran the party.
Josh looked like he'd just been invited to sit with royalty. His grin stretched all the way to his ears. "Thanks, guys. Really."
"Don't get used to it," I muttered, only half serious.
We split off after that, Theo and I heading toward the back lot.
"Did you see that Westhill guy with the crooked glove?" Theo snorted. "Looked like he borrowed it from a toddler."
"Don't even get me started," I said, shaking my head. "That whole lineup was chaos. One of them swung like he was killing mosquitoes."
Theo laughed so hard he nearly tripped over a bag. I didn't even try to hold back my grin.
Yeah. Today had been good. Solid win. New blood showed up. No major drama. The team held it down.
I didn't say it out loud, but part of me was already looking forward to that party — even if certain wide-eyed, giggling spectators showed up too.
Not that it mattered.
Right?