Trip nearly tripped.

Impressed by the impact of my impromptu ambush, my lips twitched up into a coy smirk. If someone like Grayson Kirby had witnessed it, he'd have cracked the obvious joke that I assumed Trip had heard countless times.

However, I was infinitely classier than Grayson, and held my tongue.

After catching himself with one hand on the wall, Trip's brown eyes landed on me and his mouth curved into an almost-smile. "Missed you? More than I should've."

The hint of affection in his otherwise sarcastic response persuaded my heart to skip a beat.

"Your footwork could use some work," I quipped, pointing the head of my lacrosse stick at Trip's Adidas sneakers. Unlike the other lacrosse boys in the field house, he wore a black pullover bearing the Cannondale crest and khakis. "Unless I'm just that distracting."

Casual sass was one of the best weapons in my arsenal. It rarely let me down.

Trip scoffed and shook his head before turning to Delaney. "How was Shanghai?"

As Delaney exhaled a wistful sigh, I recalled her most recent Instagram post. It contained photos of classical gardens, teahouses, and the silhouette of the city's stunning skyline. I'd visited with Mom a few years ago when she'd filmed there.

"Amazing as always," she answered. "We got back two days ago, but I'm still pretty jet-lagged."  

Before Trip could issue a reply, Vale appeared in the doorway. He directed his steely gaze at the Duke-bound lacrosse captain.

"I'll forward you and Kirby the AM weight-room schedule when it's finalized," he informed Trip without acknowledging our presence. Delaney shifted subtly beside me, rolling her shoulders back. "I'm still coordinating with D'Marco for baseball's preferred times, but you had the initiative to stop by first. I won't forget that."

"Awesome," Trip smiled. "Thanks again."

An air of athletic prestige buzzed around Trip, but it was that boyish yet charming smile that drew people in. Myself included, apparently.

Hooking his thumbs under the straps of his backpack, Trip offered us a courteous nod before retreating down the hallway. I allowed my gaze to follow him for a moment before begrudgingly focusing on Cannondale's athletic director.

"Ladies," Vale finally greeted, his smile tight. "Welcome back to Cannondale."

"It's good to be back," Delaney said, tucking a lock of glossy black hair behind her ear. "Is now still a good time to meet?"

"Sure is," Vale replied, stepping away from the door to let us in. "Glad to see you brought Chandler along too."

While Vale certainly had respect for Delaney as the girls' lacrosse captain, he shamelessly favored me and she knew it. There wasn't any bad blood between us since we never competed against each other for playing time, but rather an unspoken understanding and mutual admiration that defined our relationship as teammates.

I forced a smile as I entered Vale's office. "I ran into my captain on my way back from the turf, and thought I'd tag along."

Vale's office reeked of expensive cologne and disinfectant that tickled the back of my throat when I inhaled. There was only one chair situated in front of his L-shaped mahogany desk, which I nodded for Delaney to take. She was the captain, after all. As I leaned back against the wall, careful to avoid the old-school team photos, Vale settled into his high-backed desk chair.

Vale nodded with slightly narrowed eyes as he read off his MacBook's screen. "And your email said you had a question about school-funded team gear?"

"Correct." Delaney sat up a little straighter in her seat. "A friend of mine on the boys' lacrosse team mentioned they were receiving team jackets from Cannondale. I was wondering if the school had plans to include other varsity programs."

Her tone was humble yet dignified, and she'd carefully articulated her words in a way that didn't come across as accusatory.

Vale interlaced his fingers on his desk. "The boys' program received a generous donation. This combined with the preexisting budget made that purchase possible." 

"What about our preexisting budget?" I asked a little too pointedly. Feigning politeness wasn't always my strong suit, but at least I was direct.

Vale's heavy eyebrows pinched together. "All of Cannondale's athletic programs are still receiving the traditional team gear packages. The funds your team raised at the Autumn Athletics Banquet were impressive, so there isn't anything to be concerned about financially."

While Vale wasn't wrong, he was dodging the question. However, he wasn't obligated to tell us any more than that, and so he wasn't going to.

My lips pinched together in a frown as I exercised self-restraint. Lashing out at the athletic director wasn't going to solve anything.

"I know last year's loss was painful," Vale continued, having the sense to sound sympathetic. "Chandler's yellow card was a real stroke of bad luck, and Silvermine is a tough team. However, I don't doubt that you'll crush them this year."

At the mention of the yellow card, irritation tore through me.

In overtime during the conference championship game, I'd received a yellow card for a check-to-the-head. My coach called it a bad call, I called it possessing self-destructive tendencies. During the two minutes I'd spent kneeling in the box, Silvermine scored. That goal had won them the game.

I offered Vale a terse smile. "That would be ideal."

Delaney laughed lightly, and shot me a quick smile from over her shoulder. "And maybe Chandler can break her own record while she's at it."

Vale's gaze zeroed in on me as though I could offer him front mezzanine tickets to Hamilton. The one thing Vale valued more than the boys' lacrosse program was breaking school records. The success of the school's athletic programs and individual athletes reflected directly on him. Their success was his success.

"How about that, Chandler?" Vale asked, arching an eyebrow. "You up for the task?"

"Of course," I insisted, tightening my grip on the composite shaft of my stick. Failing to beat my record would mean that I wasn't continuing to be the best, and I wasn't about to let that happen. The fiercest competitor I'd face this season was myself.

"Excellent." Vale leaned back in his chair, visibly satisfied. "Well I'm happy to have cleared that up for you both. Is there anything else I can be of help with?"

Delaney shook her head. "No, that's all. Thank you for your time, Mr. Vale."

"Thank you," I echoed, conjuring a thin smile to my face as I stepped away from the wall.

Vale shook our hands and held the door open for us on our way out. Delaney and I didn't speak until we were exiting the lobby of the athletic facility, dusk settling outside.

"Even though that went exactly as I thought it would, it was worth a shot," I said, aware that this was hardly a consolation.

Delaney exhaled wearily but still sent a small smile my way. "I know, and I appreciated the heads up that Trip gave me earlier. At least the boys' lacrosse team has one decent captain."

I braced for the cold as I pushed through the door. "If anyone can keep Grayson's worst impulses in check it's Trip," I admitted.

The two senior captains of the boys' varsity lacrosse team were two very different kinds of leaders. Grayson Kirby adhered to the stereotypical senior Reign of Terror archetype, fueled by his arrogance and conveniently attractive features. His mean-to-be-cool attitude still made him obnoxiously well-liked by Cannondale's student body.

But it was a different kind of well-liked than Trip.

You didn't need to be friends with Trip McKenna to know that he was the nicest guy - all you had to do was observe. He talked to everyone no matter where they fell on the social hierarchy, held doors open for people, and radiated a certain kind of confidence that never felt arrogant. Just genuine. It was the kind of nice that skirted the line of being artificial, but you just knew that it wasn't. It was in his eyes.

When we approached the walkway that led to the senior girls' dormitory, Delaney stopped walking. The vintage lamp posts emitted a warm glow that reflected off of the thin layer of snow that covered the ground.

"Thanks for having my back in there, Chan," Delaney said, her voice brimming with gratitude.

"Of course," I replied without missing a beat. It would've been selfish to let her face the meathead that was our athletic director alone.

After we parted ways, I headed over to the north end of campus that backed up to the woods. Vines crept up the brick exterior of Roosevelt Hall, framing its stone accents that were perhaps once white but had dimmed as time and cold New England weather beat away at them. Before I swiped my key-card, I glanced up at the darkening sky. Early stars winked through Boston's haze of light pollution, effortlessly stubborn just like me.  

✘ ✘ ✘

The shiny pastel pink Dr. Martens on the hardwood floor caught my eye the moment I stepped into my dorm room. They were the only indication I needed to know that Kelsey Jackman had returned to Cannondale.

Kelsey, Macallan, and I occupied the only triple on the third floor of Roosevelt Hall, a spacious corner room with two large windows that provided us with an abundance of natural light. As far as dorm rooms go, ours was pretty damn luxurious. The three of us had been roommates since our first term at Cannondale. We'd first met at our private middle school in Boston and had successfully requested each other upon enrolling at Cannondale. Now at 16, it was rare to see us apart.

"I will never forgive you," Kelsey declared with a wry smile. She sat cross-legged on her bottom bunk bed with headphones around her neck and laptop open on the duvet.

I glanced back at Kelsey from over my shoulder as I stashed my lacrosse gear in my closet. "What did I do now?"

Kelsey pointed to my desk, her blue nail polish still vibrant beneath the soft glow of the fairy lights. "The succulent I gave you for Christmas is dead."

"Listen, that's not my fault," I defended. "I warned you that I couldn't take care of a plant."

I'd brought the succulent to Dad's townhouse in Beacon Hill for the holiday break, but despite following Kelsey's simple instructions on how to nourish it and whatnot, it was now a withered-up plant corpse. I'd brought said plant corpse back to Cannondale, hoping that Kelsey and her green thumb could revive it. Unfortunately, her reaction informed me otherwise. 

"You're right. You did warn me, but the second time's a charm, Chan," Kelsey said. "Next time I'm in Wellesley, I'll go to the trendy Nordic lifestyle store and pick up another one for you. A cactus this time."

Rolling my eyes, I traded in my trainers for slippers. "I can't be a plant mom like you. Besides, it's not like I have a great role model to look up to."

Kelsey sighed, twisting a dark curl of hair around her pointer finger. "Listen, it can be your plant, and I can water it."

"Kelsey, no." It was my turn to point. On the windowsill beside Kelsey's bed was an elaborate arrangement of succulents and other leafy plants spilling out of clear jars. Various crystals sat amongst them, protecting our room from negative energy or whatever.  "Our room is already a small greenhouse."

Kelsey flipped me off as she slouched back against her large sherpa pillow. "So, Mac told me about those damn jackets. How did the meeting with Vale go?"

"Predictably."

As I relayed the conversation with Vale play-by-play, Kelsey's expression turned sour.

"Classic Vale," Kelsey groaned once I'd finished my explanation. "Money is never a problem at Cannondale, but it's no secret that sports culture favors boys." 

Kelsey was an attacker on the lacrosse team and had verbally committed to play at the University of Virginia. We'd been the only freshman to make varsity from our class and had fought our way into the starting lineup by midseason. The two of us had walked with our heads held high and shoulders back, knowing that we deserved the attention we attracted.

However, unlike Kelsey, playing lacrosse at a Division I school didn't interest me. As much as I loved the sport, the time commitment required to play at that level was intense. I didn't want lacrosse to become my entire life, but that wasn't to say that I didn't want to play in college.

I'd zeroed in my focus on attending one of the eleven schools in the New England Small College Athletic Conference. They weren't called the 'little ivies' for nothing. If all went according to plan, I'd verbally commit to one over the summer before my senior year.

"Well, here's to hoping our college athletic directors aren't washed up private school assholes," I said, hopping up onto my twin-sized bed. It wasn't as objectively comfortable as the queen-sized bed at Dad's townhouse, but it was the one I spent the majority of my nights in. It also felt more like home than anywhere else these days. 

"A girl can dream," Kelsey sighed out and slid off her bed to retrieve the yoga mat that she stored beneath it. Vinyāsa was a fundamental part of her evening ritual.

As I watched her roll out the lavender mat in the middle of the room, I noticed her brown skin had an enviable golden glow.

"You're wicked tan, by the way," I told her.

Kelsey beamed and held out an arm, her colorful beaded bracelets sliding down her wrist. "Miami treated me well. Macallan said the same thing actually, but she also whined about being pale.

"That's why she applies fake tan every week," I pointed out, shedding my sweatshirt to lounge in my sports bra.

"I admire Mac's dedication and ours for enabling her," Kelsey said as she sunk into Warrior I.

I couldn't hold back a snicker. Ever since our freshman year, Kelsey and I had taken turns assisting Macallan in her quest for being tan by slipping on the mitt and applying the mouse to the spots on her back that she couldn't quite reach. It was all about that even application.

"Fake tanning isn't for the faint of heart," I informed with mock seriousness. "It's a religion." 

My phone suddenly buzzed facedown on my duvet, acquiring my attention. When I picked it up, I bit back a smile at the sight of the text that illuminated the screen.

TRIP MCKENNA, 6:16 PM: for the record, i have fantastic footwork.

I didn't hesitate before typing out a response; that kind of game was beneath me.

CHANDLER ENGLAND, 6:16 PM: maybe if you keep telling yourself that, it'll eventually come true.

"Wow," Kelsey drawled, her brown eyes bright with amusement. "You can't tell me that you weren't just communing with a boy."

Deciding to cut to the chase, I exhaled an exaggerated sigh and flicked my gaze in Kelsey's direction. "I kissed Trip McKenna at the holiday party."

Kelsey stared at me wide-eyed for a moment before shaking her head with a shit-eating grin. "I should've known. You both came back inside with windblown hair and flushed cheeks."

"There was a snowstorm," I reminded her.

She was still grinning, not buying my defense for a moment. "So what's the deal, then? Are you about to stake your claim and crush at least a dozen hearts?"

"There is no deal." My eyes momentarily fluttered shut as I recalled our infrequent correspondences over break. There was nothing intrinsically romantic about sharing songs off of Spotify or maintaining a streak on Snapchat. "We haven't even really talked about it."

I'd made a habit of not entertaining fantasies about boys living up to expectations.  I liked Trip, but I liked the idea of him more and the attention that came with it.  What transpired at the holiday party was neither a mistake or a catalyst for a whirlwind romance. It was only a kiss.

"Well that's fun," Kelsey remarked, transitioning into reverse Warrior. "Trip's got the whole school thinking he walks on water."

I hummed as I hooked my phone up to its charging cord. "But I'm smart, pretty, and have just enough emotional baggage to make me alluring."

"I mean, what more could anyone want?" she teased, a mischievous glint shining in her eyes. "And even if Trip is your new love interest, who has to know?"

I scoffed. "I'd be his dirty little secret."

As Kelsey erupted into the first verse of the iconic The All-American Rejects song, I wondered how much of it actually reflected my current situation. At a school like Cannondale, keeping secrets was a sport that everyone claimed to be the best at, but in reality, no one was. You can dance in the shadows, but everyone's got a flashlight.

✘ ✘ ✘

listen Joshua Bassett is the perfect Trip and I have hard feelings about this. refrain from making fandom references because they hurt my soul.