Red was typically a very flattering color for my complexion, but not when it came in the form of an inflamed turf burn decorating my kneecap. I huffed, replacing the pathetic bandage that the trainer at St. John's Day School had given me during half-time with the one I'd found in my lacrosse backpack. Winning tonight's away game 17-5 made it hurt a little less, but I knew I would need to have bandages on it for the rest of the week.

"That's so hot," Kelsey said from across the aisle of the bus. She leaned her head against the seat in front of her, feigning admiration for my turf burn.

"Very. Trip will love it," I quipped, smoothing out the edges of my new bandage.

She snorted. "Who needs lingerie when you can have turf burns?"

"Oh, great," I grumbled, noticing tiny crimson droplets staining my white Nike crew sock. "I've got blood on my socks too."

Kelsey stuck her right leg out across the aisle and tapped the scrab on her kneecap. "I honestly think I blacked out for a second while cleaning this in the shower after Friday's Nod Hill game. It stung so bad."

I grimaced, knowing I had no choice but to endure that same stinging sensation later tonight. "Well, I can't wait to see the film. #2 literally bulldozed into me on that ground ball."

Gianna peered over the back of the seat in front of me. "She totally should've gotten a yellow card," she argued, shrugging on her black team jacket. "It looked really bad."

"It felt really bad too, believe me," I said, my gaze drifting out of the window as the bus turned down the road leading to Cannondale's campus. A moment later, we were passing through the tall iron gates.

"Last song before we're back!" Delaney announced, her voice carrying over the end of Bruno Mars's Just the Way You Are. "Everyone sing in the name of team bonding!"

I glanced backwards down the aisle. As always, the seniors occupied the last few rows, playing songs off our team's Spotify playlist from Delaney's speaker. Our captain was consistently on aux.

Macallan gave a delighted squeal from the seat behind Kelsey as Vanessa Carlton's A Thousand Miles started to play, and she wasn't the only one. All individual conversations ceased in a matter of seconds, and suddenly the entire team was ready to sing, kneeling on their seats to see everyone else.

Making my way downtown

Walking fast, faces pass and I'm homebound

I opted to sit on the edge of my seat, facing outward into the aisle as I partook in the song. Putting pressure on my maimed knee was not the move.

As our not-so-harmonious voices filled the bus, I couldn't prevent myself from smiling. Our team was objectively one of the best in the state, but being competitive and consistently fighting for championship titles wasn't what motivated me to give it my all every time I put on my jersey. It was my teammates. The girls who proudly repped the Blue Wave's colors and screamed out the lyrics to A Thousand Miles like it was their sole purpose in life. No matter where I committed for college, lacrosse wouldn't be the same without them.

And I still need you

And I still miss you

And now I wonder

Macallan held her lacrosse stick upside down, the end cap serving as her makeshift microphone. Leaning diagonally across the aisle, she snatched my hand with her free one, preparing to serenade me during the final chorus.

If I could fall into the sky

Do you think time would pass me by?

The song ended just as the bus slowed to a stop in front of the athletic facility. Delaney powered off the speaker, and everyone turned their attention to Coach Mayer at the front of the bus.

"Excellent work tonight, ladies," Coach Mayer commended as our assistant coach Lydia nodded along. "I'm assuming most of you are heading to the stadium to support the boys' team, but please rest up for tomorrow. We're going to keep running our backer defense until it's perfect."

As per our unspoken team rules, the seniors got off the bus first, and the rest of us followed in the order of our graduating class.

"So, are we gracing the boys' lacrosse game with our presence?" Gianna asked once the four of us started down the sidewalk.

"I'm gracing Trip specifically with mine," I told her, not bothering with a nonchalant attitude. I was admittedly excited to watch him play. "I haven't made it to a game this season, and besides, tonight is Silvermine."

Silvermine Academy was the Cannondale School's top rival in every sport, and both schools boasted lacrosse programs that consistently competed against each other for championship titles. Thus, tonight's game against Silvermine was arguably their biggest game of the regular season. We wouldn't face Silvermine until the end of our regular season, but the boys' schedule didn't align with ours. 

"We absolutely need to go," Macallan campaigned as she glanced up from her phone. "Jameson is already there with his baseball buddies, and saved us a spot. He said it's 6-6, and almost half-time."

"Well, I'm obviously down," Kelsey said before poking me in the hip with the end cap of her stick. "Can you make it to the stadium with that knee?"

"Quit being so dramatic," I scoffed, flicking her shoulder. "I'm perfectly fine. I popped an Advil as soon as we got on the bus."

"But if you weren't fine, I bet Trip would carry you back to Roosevelt bridal style," Macallan cooed, her smile giddy.

"I've said it before, but I'll say it again. Stop being so obsessed with me."

We arrived during half-time, the stadium lights shining brightly against the soft orange of the sunset. Students and family members occupied almost the entire middle section of Cannondale's home stands, an impressive turnout for a Tuesday night.

My knee throbbed as I scaled the metal steps up into the stands, following Macallan as she led us with purposeful strides, her long blonde ponytail swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

"He's in the middle section, second row." She shamelessly pointed at her boyfriend, who stood with three other seniors on the varsity baseball team. Despite the brisk March air, they each had one letter painted on their bare chests in thick, royal blue paint, spelling out WAVE.

"They're shirtless," Gianna huffed out the obvious. "Of course, they're shirtless."

I grimaced, unable to shake the memory of Grayson asking me to Winter Formal, the proposal painted onto the chests of his teammates.

"Babe, aren't you cold?" Macallan asked as she dodged the hug Jameson tried to give her. "Hey, be careful! I won't tolerate any paint on my jersey!"

"Idiots are built differently, Mac." Kelsey jabbed her lacrosse stick in Tony D's direction as we moved up a row. The A on his chest was lopsided.

"You're cruel, Kelsey," Tony D called out, feigning hurt with a hand over his heart. "But hey, did you guys win?"

I threw him a backward glance, twirling my lacrosse stick over my shoulder. "Obviously."

"Our boy is hot-as-hell tonight, England," Tony D said, his hazel gaze made brighter by the thick streaks of eye black on his tan skin.

"We don't have a boy. I don't do polygamous relationships," I informed him pointedly, stepping into the row behind of him and the other boys.

Tony D remained stupidly unfazed. "Trip got his hat trick in the first ten minutes of the game. There's no way Silvermine doesn't throw on a face-guard."

Nodding, I turned my gaze to the field. The scoreboard still read 6-6 with five minutes left before the start of the third quarter. On Cannondale's sideline, the team stood in a huddle around their soft-spoken yet monumental head coach, Jeff Pearsall. He was in his twentieth season with the Blue Wave, and had led the program to fourteen championship titles. From what I knew, the entire team looked up to him, and it wasn't difficult to understand why. 

And then there was Trip. That white jersey with #33 in royal blue detailing looked impossibly good on him. He'd removed his helmet and dragged a hand through his unruly hair while examining Coach Pearsall's clipboard alongside the two other starting midfielders. Even at a distance, his concentration and the sureness of his leadership were apparent.

As I turned away, my gaze snagged on my least favorite student journalist at Cannondale. Caroline Drake stood at the far end of the stands, overlooking the Blue Wave's sidelines with a notebook clutched to her chest. I automatically scowled, knowing she was here to report on the game for the Cannondale Weekly. She'd done such a phenomenal job with her last article. It was high time for me to tell her as much.

Gianna was the only one not wrapped up in conversation with a shirtless baseball player, so I caught her eye and tilted my head in Caroline's direction, knowing she'd catch onto what I intended to do. "Save my seat. I'll be back in a minute."

Her eyes briefly widened, but she offered me a knowing nod. "Do what you need to do, Chan."

I sent Gianna a thin smile as I slipped out of the row, the cold breeze tugging at the bottom hem of my uniform's black skirt. Trip was right to persuade me not to talk to Caroline last Sunday at the prospective students' day event. That wasn't the right time or place. But this was. Beneath the stadium lights, everyone and no one was watching.

"I have irrepressible diplomatic charm," I quietly assured myself as I strolled alongside the first row of bleachers, the railing on my right.

Caroline didn't see me coming. I cleared my throat as I balanced my forearms on the cold railing, and kept my smirk at bay when she flinched.

"It's great that you're trying out sports journalism," I told her and nodded towards the convoy of local journalists lurking near the sidelines, David Russell included. "It's still such a boys club, so kudos to you."

Caroline gave a squeaky laugh, running her palms down the front of her jeans as if to wipe away sweat. "I'm not really trying it out, though. It's what I would want to do journalism wise."

"Wow, that's so interesting," I nodded, my voice perfectly even. As I paused for good measure, my gaze skated over to Cannondale's sidelines in time for me to see Trip put on his helmet. "Anyway, I agree with what Trip told me about that last article you wrote. You're clearly still figuring it out, so I'm sure you didn't mean to disregard objectivity when writing about my yellow card."

At first, Caroline simply pressed her lips shut, seemingly unable to muster up a response. As her pause continued, color crept into her cheeks. "Thanks for your feedback, Chandler," she replied at last, but failed to hold my gaze for longer than a second.

The scoreboard blared, signaling the end of half-time. Following Grayson's count to three, the boys erupted into a unified, "Blue Wave!"

As the starting lineup took to the field, I pushed myself off the railing and tossed my ponytail over my shoulder. "Best of luck with your next article, Caroline."

I didn't bother sticking around for her response; I'd accomplished what I'd set out to do. If I couldn't stand up for myself, how could I continue to do the same for my friends?

✘ ✘ ✘

The scoreboard read 11 - 11 at the start of the fourth quarter.

Tony D had been right about Silvermine throwing a face-guard on Trip, but I wasn't surprised in the slightest. Face-guarding was a targeted defensive tactic in both boys and girls lacrosse, implemented with the intent of limiting a player's opportunities with the ball. Silvermine had attempted to face-guard me last season during our regular-season game against them, but switched to Kelsey when I kept winning the draw. It was truly a complement and a curse.

The curse aspect was currently taking effect as Silvermine's best defender - a senior Stanford recruit - had held Trip scoreless since the first half, which was far from an easy task. His best chance to score would be to come up with the ball off the face-off, and push the fast break. But despite his face-guard, his off-ball movement steered the offense, setting up his teammates with screens and picks.

My heart picked up its pace as Trip lined up with a Silvermine player on the near-side wing line. Cannondale's face-off specialist Elliot Alliegro met his match-up at the X in the middle of the field. They dropped into a crouching position as the referee went to place the ball on the center line between the heads of their sticks.

"#33 Trip McKenna had four goals and two assists last Friday night against Belmont, and a first-half hat trick tonight. Let's see if he can make something happen with this face-guard here in the fourth quarter."

"It's all you, Tripster!" Tony D bellowed out, his Boston accent as strong as ever. The rest of the baseball team echoed his sentiments.

Kelsey elbowed me in the ribs. "Tony D should quit football and join BC's cheer squad."

"Oh absolutely," I nodded, my eyes still glued to Trip.

The moment the referee's whistle sliced through the air, a scrap ensued. Midfielders from both teams fought for the ground ball, but it was Trip who ultimately controlled it.

"The Blue Wave's Duke-bound star and captain Trip McKenna gains possession!"

"He might be faster than you, Chan," Macallan called out teasingly as Trip blitzed into Cannondale's offensive end.

I laughed but still didn't dare to look away from Trip. He had that magical sort of playing style that was calculated yet seemingly effortless. "Not a chance."

As the offense settled in, Trip and Grayson started working a 2-man game from the wing, something that I'd seen them do before with great success. The attackers set picks to wreak havoc on Silvermine's match-ups, looking to free up sharp-shooters like Grayson and Trip.

Evading his face-guard, Trip positioned himself with the ball just below the restraining line. He showed off his fancy footwork as he danced with his defender, every flick of his wrists intentional. When he spun, looking to get inside as another defender crashed in on him, he swiftly passed the ball off to Grayson. His co-captain only took three steps to wind up.

"And there's a shot on the wing that finishes top shelf from #6 Grayson Kirby, the Blue Wave's Princeton commit and McKenna's co-captain!"

Grayson punched a triumphant fist in the air as he wheeled around, the Cannondale offense barreling towards him, but he drew Trip into a fierce, celebratory embrace. It was so picture perfect that I was almost positive it would show up in the Russell Report.

"What a snipe!" Tony D hollered, throwing an arm around Jameson as they both jumped up and down.

Lacrosse was a game of runs and momentum. Securing a one-goal lead had electrified Cannondale's sideline and our crowd, but both teams continued to capitalize on their possessions throughout the quarter. The scoreboard's clock had just dipped below the three-minute mark when Silvermine's goalie successfully cleared a shot that Jay Booker ripped while rolling the crease. It was 15 - 14, Cannondale.

"Silvermine knows this is a critical possession for them. They can't let this game run away from them in the final minutes of the fourth quarter."

Silvermine methodically swung the ball around the perimeter as though they had all the time in the world to score. They were a smart, disciplined team that wouldn't force the look while remaining wary of the shot clock. I folded my hands tightly in my lap as Silvermine continued running plays that our defense managed to withstand.

"Here we go, Wave!" Jameson shouted, now standing up at the front railing with Macallan and his three painted counterparts.

"There's barely two minutes left," Gianna groaned, temporarily burying her head in her hands. "This hurts to watch."

Kelsey heaved out a sigh, gripping the shaft of her lacrosse stick. "I know, I feel so helpless. Like put me in Pearsall, please."

"Now would be the perfect time for Trip to work a miracle," I said, locating him amidst the roaming defense.

It was as if I'd spoken the play into existence.

"The ball is stripped by #33 McKenna from Silvermine's #10 O'Neil, looking to return the momentum to Cannondale's offense!"

My heart jumped and I might've too, fired up on adrenaline that didn't have an immediate outlet. Cheers erupted from every direction as Trip sent a perfectly arched pass at midfield to Grayson, who proceeded to run it into the offensive end.

Trip didn't play like a hero, he played like a leader.

With the final minute of the game underway, I didn't bother masquerading my smile as Kelsey and Gianna simultaneously gripped me with excitement. As Grayson looked to drive from X, Silvermine sent the double-team that left their zone defense susceptible to Cannondale's biggest star. Grayson rolled out of trouble, and found his co-captain cutting through the inside with lightning-like precision.

I knew Trip McKenna was golden the moment he released his shot.

"And it's McKenna who ultimately cements the Blue Wave's win tonight over Silvermine in the last twenty seconds of the game! What a stunning assist from his co-captain Kirby!"

The team held off celebrating to play out the game's final seconds with the face-off, and the cheers nearly drowned out the sound of the scoreboard blaring. Kelsey was already pulling Gianna and me down to the railing as the team rallied around each other in a chaotic heap of white and royal blue. Tonight wasn't a playoff or championship game, but this win spoke volumes to every other team in the league: the Blue Wave remained the one to beat.

✘ ✘ ✘

Still locked into an interview, Trip didn't notice me walking over to the field with the girls and the baseball players-turned-cheerleaders. He made an effort to smooth down his curls, but his helmet had ensured that they remained as tousled as ever. I could pick out his bag from the few that still littered Cannondale's sideline, a plastic Blue Devils keychain dangling from one of the zippers.

"Just being patient with our offense and making sure we took the right shots, that definitely helped," Trip was saying to David Russell, the journalist holding up his phone. "We know what's expected of the Blue Wave as a team, and we show up to every game looking to demonstrate that and more."

Russell nodded towards Silvermine's abandoned sideline. "You and Kirby are every opponent's worst nightmare. Even with that second-half face-guard, you two connected. How did you navigate Silvermine's defense today?"

Trip's boyish yet charming smile made an appearance. "Silvermine plays a great invert zone. That faceguard in the second half kept me busy, but I knew I could count on my teammates to keep our momentum going. My goal at the end was a testament to how as captains, Grayson and I always have each other's back."

Those final words immediately danced around in my head, a cruel reminder of how I'd neglected to tell Trip about what Grayson had said about him at Winter Formal. It was like I was somehow betraying his integrity.

David Russell congratulated Trip on his game before letting him go. I felt the collective shift of attention towards Trip as he returned to Cannondale's bench, acknowledging the casual praise from his teammates. Grayson saluted his co-captain, diverting his focus from Caroline, who had finally forced him to give her the time of day thanks to her quasi journalism credentials.

"Chan has no choice but to duke it out with Marrissa Humphry during our Silvermine game."

My attention snapped away from Trip. I'd remained a silent participant in the conversation carrying on around me, opting to tune in to Trip's interview. Kelsey threw me a knowing glance, indicating that she knew my focus had been elsewhere.

"Marissa likes to think she poses a challenge," I remarked with a dismissive flick of my wrist.

As I prepared to scan the sidelines for #33, I realized I'd already been caught in Trip's line of sight. He wiped a sweaty curl from his forehead, his smile rivaling the brightness of the stadium lights as he made his way over to me. Another cold breeze swept across the field, but that smile was also a fire that would have kept me warm even if I was in Antarctica.

With my heart racing, I told him, "You're amazing."

"More like lucky." Trip swooped me into an embrace, the fabric of his jersey still damp with sweat, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I trailed my fingers down the length of his arms as we broke apart and beamed up at him.

A sudden camera flash in my peripheral severed our eye contact.

Macallan laughed, holding up her phone from where she stood beside Gianna and Kelsey. "Sorry, but you two just looked so cute."

"Understandable," I nodded, looping an arm around Trip's waist as I leaned into him. Before I could get too comfortable, Cannondale's athletic director intervened.

"McKenna, I've got one more interview lined up for you," Vale called out, summoning his big star with a beckoning wave.

"I'll find you later." Trip's words were warm against my temple. I nodded, knowing this was a promise.

As I watched Trip leave, Macallan waltzed over to me with a self-satisfied smile pulling at her lips. She placed her phone in my hand, the photo she'd just taken occupying the screen. "You can thank me later."

I'd literally just lived out this moment, and it felt odd to see it captured from a distance. I knew how Trip looked at me, but I'd never given much thought to how I looked at him - as if he was the radiant center of my 16-year-old universe. It was one look in one photo, but it said enough.