Even if I'd wanted to save Trip McKenna a seat in AP Government, my plans to do so would've been foiled. The desks were arranged in the shape of a horseshoe with the new seating chart displayed on the SMART board at the front of the classroom.

"New term, new seats," Mrs. Aspen announced from behind her desk. "Earn back the privilege of self-determination by proving you're capable of stepping outside of your comfort zone and sitting next to different people."

A collective groan sounded from students filing into the classroom, but no one dared to protest any further. Mrs. Aspen was the kind of teacher who was perfectly nice until the moment someone attempted to bend the rules.

When I located my school picture on the chart, my lips flattened into a grim line. I'd tragically been assigned to sit between Grayson Kirby and Anthony D'Marco, a nearly unbearable combination of pomposity and overpriced cologne. Just because they looked like Abercrombie models didn't mean they had to smell like the store.

"Sandwiched by two of Cannondale's most eligible bachelors," Macallan stated in a low voice. "You're in for a super fun term."

"Not everyone can have their minion seated next to them," I jabbed, noting that Gianna was assigned to a desk beside Macallan. She'd arrived alongside us, but now stood at Mrs. Aspen's desk, shaking her hand.

"Quit being such a shark, Chan," Macallan retorted. "I love you, but there's no blood in the water."

"Not yet."

"How about you focus on who's seated directly across from you."

My gaze shot across the room, and I realized that Macallan had paid far closer attention to the seating chart. Directly across from my desk on the opposite side of the horseshoe was Trip. A stray brown curl fell over his forehead as he scribbled onto his notebook, and his black denim jacket hugged his toned shoulders a little too well.

After fixing me with an amused smirk, Macallan headed over to her desk in the middle of the horseshoe.

The moment I took my seat, Grayson dropped into the one on my left. The blue of his eyes matched the shade of his polo shirt, regrettably attractive. 

"You, me, and Tony D," he drawled and gave me a stupid wink. "Lucky you, England."

"Lucky me," I echoed, deadpan. I didn't like the glint in Grayson's eyes or how close he was to me. Retrieving my spiral notebook from my backpack, I made a point of dropping it loudly onto my desk. "Make one wrong move, and you'll regret it."

Grayson threw his hands up in mock defense. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, message received. I wouldn't dare."

Most of the AP classes at Cannondale were usually a mix of seniors and juniors, though a select few were open to qualified sophomores. Of the four AP classes I was enrolled in this year, Grayson was in three of them. There wasn't a day of the school week that I could escape him.

"I'm going to explain this to you in lacrosse terms since that's probably the only way to get it through your thick skull," I said, tapping a finger to where our desks touched. "This is the restraining line. Don't cross it because then you'll be offside."

Grayson's eyes flashed with irritation, but he laughed off my words as he wrote the date in perfect cursive on top of a blank sheet in his notebook. "Like I said, I wouldn't dare."

Just as I was about to shoot another cold remark his way, the chair to my right was rattled backward by a large hand.

"Boundaries are important, Grayson. That's what England is saying," came the unmistakable voice of Anthony D'Marco, or 'Tony D' as everyone called him. While the majority of students at Cannondale hailed from the Boston area, Tony D was a true Bostonian and had the stereotypical accent to prove it.

Tony D wasn't a lacrosse player, but he was one hell of an athlete. He was the best quarterback in the state of Massachusetts, committed to play at Boston College. Being the captain of the baseball team was a side-gig for him. All of the hotshot senior boy athletes hung out, making Tony D a close associate of Grayson and Trip. Macallan's boyfriend Jameson also belonged within that elite social stratosphere, but he was similar to Trip in that he wasn't an insufferable jock. Thank god for that.

I scowled as Tony D plopped down into his seat. He was all strapping muscle and had a head of hair that was a little too unruly to be considered stylish.

"Wow, thank you for that ingenious translation, Tony D," I rolled my eyes.

A smirk pulled at Tony D's lips as he leaned forward to look over at Grayson. Appearing to have devised an unspoken plan, the boys simultaneously reached across my desk and performed an elaborate ritualistic handshake, and snickered as I sank lower in my seat. This term was about to feel like a millennium.

"So England," Tony D said, working a hand through his hair. "I was looking at the classes I can take at BC in the fall that won't conflict with football. Your dad's history class is one of them."

I side-eyed him, twirling the gold rings layered on my fingers. "Dr. England teaches multiple history classes, so you're going to need to be more specific."

"Some European history class. You get to watch old movies."

"Still not helpful."

This was a white lie. Dad's most popular lecture was HSTEU 250, which was European History and Film After 1945, but Tony D didn't need to know that. If I could spare Dad the misery of enduring Tony D's presence, I would do it in a heartbeat.

Finally catching onto my disinterest in our conversation, Tony D redirected his attention elsewhere. He extended a muscular arm in Trip's direction and groaned. "So close, yet so far. We'll miss you Tripster."

"Sure you will," Trip replied with a dry chuckle, and caught my gaze. I sent him a pleading glance, knowing he'd sense my suffering from across the room. One corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile that still made his eyes crinkle. I selfishly wanted everyone to know that it was for me.

At the front of the room, Mrs. Aspen was queuing up the PowerPoint with the words The American Bureaucracy displayed in bold on the title slide.

"Alright, let's get started," she stated, and the classroom chatter instantly ceased.

I sighed softly and resigned myself to concentrating on the 'iron triangle' rather than the person who would likely sit across from me for the rest of the term.

✘ ✘ ✘

Aside from being an All-American lacrosse player, I was a damn good runner. Coach Mayer called it my not-so-secret superpower. When I came up with a ground ball on defense, my teammates would simply get out of the way and let me run the ball down into the offensive end. It made for an easy transition.

Running wasn't just something I was good at, though; it was a mindset. When your heartbeat pulsed in your ears and all that mattered was putting one foot in front of another, everything else became collateral thoughts that fell away. The clarity left behind was worth chasing after.

And so I did.

The late afternoon sunlight bathed the stadium turf in a soft golden glow that glistened off the tall empty bleachers, but the cold air still pierced my lungs as I started down the home straight of my mile run.

The instant I crossed the white marking on the track, I stopped the timer on my watch. The 6:30 occupying the screen was typical for me when I wasn't pushing to the absolute limit. My heart was heavy in my chest as I inhaled a few steadying breaths and rotated my left foot in a small circle. The sharp cracking of my ankle joints relieved the tightness that always built up.

I returned to the long metal bench on the sidelines and uncapped my water bottle to take a sip. After dropping it into my drawstring bag, I directed my attention to the circle on the fifty-yard line, emblazoned with a large royal blue C outlined in white for the Cannondale School logo. The five freshman girls that had approached me when I'd first arrived at the stadium were still there practicing stickwork. I'd recognized them from the lacrosse program information session held during fall term, and it was painfully obvious that they'd recognized me. They'd all worn the same shy smiles, but only two of them spoke as they enquired about the fitness tests required at lacrosse tryouts.

Even though tryouts were still more than a month out, they loomed over the heads of varsity hopefuls like a dark storm cloud. I didn't mind answering their questions; after all, I'd been in their shoes two years ago. Also, I wasn't a total shark.

The two required fitness tests performed at tryouts were the mile in under seven minutes and the legendary Manchester United run. If you were a returning varsity player and didn't pass both tests, you wouldn't be able to start until you did.

Adrenaline and speed defined the mile. It was the best opportunity to prove just how fast you were when measured directly against your teammates. I'd led with five seconds on Kelsey and ten on a teammate who graduated.

Unlike the mile, the Man U was a test of endurance. The goal was to run twenty-two 120 yards in 20 seconds and then jog back to the start line in 30 seconds. That way you got a full 10 seconds to keep your head glued on straight before starting again. In the two years that I'd run the Man U at tryouts, I'd never come close to failing. I could easily be the fastest if I wanted to, but the real goal was to set a comfortable pace for everyone else. Last year, Delaney, Kelsey and I stayed together the entire time as we led the team. There were no dagger-like stitches beneath the rib cage or dry-heaving. It all came down to maintaining focus and rhythm.

Sliding the strings of my bag over my shoulders, I stepped off the turf and crossed over the track to where the nearest exit was.

As if the universe possessed otherworldly powers, Trip McKenna was approaching the stadium. Knowing Trip saw me, I made a show of leaning my forearms on the rounded railing of the fence beside the gate as he joined me on the other side.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're avoiding me," Trip said in lieu of a traditional greeting. His black Nike quarter-zip jacket had the Duke Blue Devils graphic on the left chest.

I hummed, pushing myself up off the fence and loosely folding my arms in front of me. "What makes you think you know any better?"

When the final bell had rung at the end of AP Gov, I'd swiftly packed up my backpack and exited the classroom before anyone could call out to me. Fifty minutes wedged between Grayson and Tony D was about as much as I could handle. Macallan and Gianna had met me outside the building, and we'd made our way back to Roosevelt Hall together.

Trip gave a humorless laugh, his brown eyes glittering with flecks of gold in the sunlight. "Yeah, you're right, I don't. Very egotistical of me to think otherwise."

Smoothing back some of my flyaways, I nodded at the lacrosse gear Trip was carrying in a navy Nike bag. "So, are you here to shoot or what?"

"Among other things," he shrugged. "Some of the other guys are on their way too."

By 'the other guys', I knew Trip meant Grayson and some of the other returning varsity players. A few freshmen might tag along if they received a coveted invite from one of the captains. But regardless of who else was on their way, I wasn't interested in sticking around to find out. The only guy I was partially inclined to talk to was standing right in front of me. 

I held Trip's gaze for a handful of moments before sighing and absentmindedly adjusting the cuffs of my white zip-up to cover my hands. "Shame. I might've stuck around."

He cocked his head to the side, ever so slightly narrowing his eyes. "That's hard to believe."

"Are you calling me a liar?" I challenged.

"Your words not mine."

I scoffed and threw a coy grin his way. "I'm a lot of things, but a liar isn't one of them."

I might've been flushed and dressed in athletic wear, but I knew by now that those things didn't detract from how I carried myself with preternatural confidence that would make anyone look and feel good. So, whoever said that you couldn't look good after running needed to amend their statement. The faint red splotches creeping up the column of Trip's neck were enough to support that.

"Look," Trip sighed, running a hand down the strap of his bag. "I was wondering if you'd want to go to brunch on Sunday."

"Like brunch at the dining hall?" I asked, needing clarification. If Cannondale had a center of gravity where gossip was most concentrated, it would be Sunday brunch at the dining hall. Together, Trip and I were anything but dark stars.

Trip glanced away for a moment, mussing his curls. "We don't have to get a table. Snagging a muffin and picking a rendezvous point isn't a bad option."

The little smile his words conjured quickly faded, knowing I couldn't accept his invitation.

"As thrilling as that sounds, I can't," I replied, and the brief display of disappointment on Trip's face initiated a whirlwind explanation that I didn't intend to provide him. "I've got plans with my Dad. We spend Sunday downtown once a month shopping and whatnot. He's got a hectic schedule, but he still shows up for school events and drives me to lacrosse showcases. Definitely parent of the year."

I didn't know it was possible to be more winded after a few sentences than running a 6:30 mile, but here I was, attempting to catch my breath as I waited for Trip's response.  

"That sounds fun," Trip said, a grin pulling at his lips. "Hands-down better than Cannondale's brunch food, but yeah, no problem. All good."

"Great." As I tried to shake the tension from my posture by stretching my quad, an unexpected sliver of impulsivity flickered inside me. "How about next weekend?"

His grin spread exponentially. "Sure," he replied. "Yeah, that works."

We held each other's gaze for a beat, the quiet of the stadium settling over us as we basked in a moment that felt as though it'd been a long time coming.

The last time it was just the two of us carrying a conversation, I'd ended up kissing him on the snowy curbside outside of Kelsey's house in Wellesley, Massachusetts. The ridiculously passive-aggressive text that I'd received from my mother had driven me outside in the first place with tears prickling in my eyes. It wasn't until I'd inadvertently dropped my phone, shattering its screen and unleashing a few artfully chosen curse words, had I realized that I wasn't, in fact, alone.

After proclaiming that he'd previously stepped outside to get some air, Trip had asked if I wanted to talk about it and hadn't looked dejected when I informed him that I'd rather not. It wasn't that I hadn't wanted to talk to him. There was just something that I'd wanted to do more.

Sometimes the moment seized you instead of the other way around.

The snowflakes woven into Trip's hair had gleamed like crystal droplets, and the pool of gold cast by the streetlamp was an enchanting spotlight I hadn't wanted to waste. So, I'd let that moment seize me and kissed him.

My lips had brushed against his in a featherlight touch. Soft, at first, but still purposeful. His hands, surprisingly warm given the freezing weather, had gently cupped either side of my face as he kissed me back.

It was delicate and quiet and the kind of moment I wished I could keep frozen inside of a snowglobe. It was one kiss and we were both stone-cold sober. It was a moment that we hadn't yet had an opportunity to repeat.

Movement in my peripheral severed our eye contact and the present moment we shared. On the grass field beside the stadium, a group of guys wielding lacrosse sticks was marching over to another gated entrance. The breeze carried their hoots and hollers, an obnoxious melody that prompted me to roll my eyes.

"Well, enjoy keeping Grayson's ego in check," I said, rocking back and forth on my heels, preparing for some variation of goodbye. Kissing wasn't a viable option.

Trip punctuated the sideways glare he gave me with a smirk. "That's a full-time job."

"Somebody has to do it."

Trip laughed, and the velvety sound ignited a little flame of warmth inside my chest. "And it's out of the goodness of my heart, I swear."

I felt the corners of my mouth tilt upwards involuntarily as I started to turn away. "Bye, Trip."

I didn't dare look back again. In the depths of my mind, maybe I was tempted to, but I couldn't risk giving into his gravitational pull. There was nothing to be gained by existing in a state of free-fall, even if that meant falling for someone who you knew would catch you.

✘ ✘ ✘

actually lost track of time this week after taking 4 final exams and ensuring that my sleeping schedule is no longer existent but HERE is a chapter that I've been holding hostage for some time.

on a chapter specific note, the AP Gov class will definitely be one of the stages for future Cannondale drama. It was *quite* the time for me in high school especially because of the 2016 US election (yeah we don't need to unpack that but we all know what's up).