Cannondale was going to lose to Silvermine.

The scoreboard read 9 - 7 with less than a minute remaining in the game, and Silvermine was essentially playing keep-away. Coach Mayer called for us to send the double-team, but Silvermine's offence spread themselves out and kept their stickwork infuriatingly perfect.

Even as the clock continued to run out, I stayed glued to Marissa Humphry, predictably my match-up on our defensive end. I couldn't deny the fact that Marissa was playing an excellent game. In addition to scoring four goals, she'd won most of the draws during the first half when I was still serving my sentence on the sidelines.

It was clear that Silvermine knew that I wouldn't play until the second half of the game. I hadn't gone out of my way to broadcast my situation, but it was the kind of gossip-worthy news that effortlessly travelled outside of Cannondale, reaching the other schools in our athletic conference. Earlier in the week, Gianna showed me a post from Silvermine's anonymous message board on bostonspilledtea.com. According to the wildly eloquent post, Cannondale's Chandler England won't play the first half of next week's rivalry game because she missed practice to live the high life on Nantucket.

While I'd rolled my eyes in response, it required a gross amount of emotional effort for me to dismiss even the pettiest message board posts. I imagined it would take even more emotional effort if I kept up to date on the posts from bostonspilledtea.com the way Gianna seemed to do, and almost admired her for it. At least someone actively collected niche social intelligence that prevented me from being totally ignorant (even if that might've been for the best).

There was nothing wrong with being sensitive. I wholeheartedly believed that. But maybe I wasn't even being sensitive. Maybe the people who resorted to using the message boards on bostonspilledtea.com were just outright horrible and deserved to be called out for deriving validation from putting other people down. A girl could dream.

Finally, the buzzer on the scoreboard blared, and the head referee simultaneously blew her whistle. I loosened my grip on the shaft of my lacrosse stick and attempted to tune out the cheers erupting from the section of Silvermine's bleachers designated for the home team. The red and white of Silvermine Academy only slightly outnumbered the blue and black of the Cannondale School. Silvermine was Cannondale's chief rival in almost every sport, so even students who weren't athletes or passionate about lacrosse showed up, wearing Cannondale apparel and being nosier than necessary...until the result of the game became clear.

Marissa removed her mouthguard, slipping it beneath the front strap of her sports bra. Her smirk prefaced her snide remark, "Good game, Chan. I hope Nantucket was worth it."

I shot Marissa a seething glare but had the wisdom to keep my mouth shut. I recognized the merit of being a graceful loser and allowed myself to at least feel decent about choosing the moral high ground.

I met Macallan at mid-field as we jogged over to intercept Delaney and our defensive unit. Despite Macallan's flushed cheeks and the thin layer of sweat glistening on her tan arms, the Dutch braid I'd done for her in the locker room remained intact. She'd played the entire game, and got her first ever hat-trick.

"Win or lose, a hat-trick is still a hat-trick," I told her as we ceremoniously brought the shafts of our lacrosse sticks together.

"I know," Macallan's blue eyes crinkled as she gave the tiniest smile. "Thank you, Chan."

I managed to return a smile before casting my gaze over to the bleachers, bathed in the golden evening sunlight. Per usual, Dad sat alongside the Blakes, Jackmans, and the recently incorporated parents of Gianna Lash. And while that was almost always enough for me, today it wasn't.

Trip McKenna hadn't shown up.

I'd figured this out almost immediately, despite the bleachers being heavily populated with parents and students alike. Trip would've sat with the usual suspects, namely the other senior boys on the lacrosse team, who had occupied the front row of Cannondale's section. Grayson's sandy blond hair and swagger made him easy to clock, and his presence alongside Tony D and Jameson only seemed to make Trip's absence even more noticeable.

I failed to keep my mind off of Trip's absence as I returned to the sidelines, where Coach Mayer and Delaney brought the team together for a debrief. I nodded at all the appropriate moments, agreeing with Coach Mayer when she informed us that while we hadn't played sloppy, we hadn't played our best.

"We're keeping our heads held high," Delaney said, holding her goalie stick aloft. "One game doesn't define us or our season. Blue Wave on three. 1-2-3!"

"Blue Wave!"

After exchanging the traditional 'good game' remarks with Silvermine, I broke away from my teammates. My heart appeared to have found a megaphone, beating ridiculously loud as I took my phone out of my lacrosse backpack. I had to scroll through a few more recent notifications before finally swiping on the only one that mattered to me at the moment.

TRIP MCKENNA, 5:05 PM: sorry, I can't make it to your game :/ this AP LIT essay has been bothering me all week, and it's coming down to the wire...

The second I finished reading Trip's text, my mind started overthinking his punctuation use and the cryptic vintage emoji choice. I couldn't tell if he was genuine or if this was possibly him capitalizing on an opportunity to subtly extend the ominous distance between us.

I also had no tangible reason to believe there even was a distance between us, but I wasn't ready to accept that it could be all in my head. That would only exacerbate my mounting insecurities, revealing my true colors that I knew I wouldn't like.

I drew in an unsteady breath, desperate for the knot of emotion in my throat to unravel. It was ridiculously selfish of me to expect Trip to attend my lacrosse game when he had an essay that mattered far more than watching me play for 25 minutes. So, I wouldn't bring up whatever disappointment I felt to him, not when it risked doing more harm than good.

But still, Trip had said he would be here.

He'd even messaged me after the final bell, wishing me luck and saying that his team's practice should end before our game even started. That second part had proved to be true; Grayson Kirby and the other upperclassmen had settled into the bleachers during our warm-up drills.

I sighed and looked down at Trip's message again, really looked at it. It was just a text. It was one missed lacrosse game. It was easily nothing if I didn't voice my concerns to my friends or Trip, which I wasn't keen to do.

Therefore, I quickly typed up what I deemed a conciliatory response.

CHANDLER ENGLAND, 6:15 PM: no worries, I get it

CHANDLER ENGLAND, 6:15 PM: also 9-7, Silvermine :(

After pressing send on the second text, I stared at my phone for a moment with my breath held. I didn't know if immediately seeing that obnoxious typing bubble would have made me feel better or worse, but I didn't let my imagination start colluding with potential counterfactuals. The moment passed, and all I had to show for it was the little delivered below my texts. Trip wasn't responding, at least not now. Besides, I knew he liked to set his electronics to focus or do not disturb while studying.

I gave a sharp exhale, stuffing my phone into the side pocket of my backpack.

"Chandler, can the Cannondale Weekly borrow you for an interview?"

My gaze snapped toward the voice, irritation already coasting through my veins. Caroline Drake stood on the other side of the bench, her bronzer poorly blended and looking far too bubbly than necessary. After all, my team had just lost its most important game of the regular season.

If I lived in a world where my actions had no consequences, I wouldn't think twice before threatening to hit her with my lacrosse stick if she didn't leave me alone. I mean, honestly, what circle of hell had I stepped into?

"Wouldn't the Cannondale Weekly prefer to interview Coach Mayer or Delaney Xie?" I gathered my gear and rounded the bench to stand before Caroline and all her pent-up inadequacy. Aware that I did live in a world where my actions had consequences, I kept threats featuring my lacrosse stick to myself. "I only played for 25 minutes."

"Win is handling those interviews," Caroline chirped. Her honey-blonde curls bounced as she tilted her head to the left, and I begrudgingly turned my gaze in that direction.

Sure enough, Win Petrov stood talking with Coach Mayer.

I assumed Win embodied the suave yet professional aura that most high school journalists always seemed to crave. He wore a worn brown leather jacket, and he had a clipboard tucked beneath one arm. Even though he stood out of earshot, I could tell by his posture and expression that he delivered whatever questions he had in a refined and nonchalant manner. Even in my sour mood, I almost wanted him to interview me.

"Naturally." Reversing my gaze, I folded my arms and resigned myself to temporarily tolerating Caroline's presence. Even though she'd become a little bolder, a little less eager to please, she still seemed to have this doe-eyed look about her that I couldn't overlook. If I decided to give her the time of day, I was certain she'd revert to seeking approval with faux flattery. That's just who she was, and who she would always be at Cannondale. "Well, I suppose the Cannondale Weekly can borrow me before I head out."

I threw Caroline's words back at her, and she gave me a smile that I wouldn't ever believe was genuine, not even for a second. Her first few questions were predictable - boring even - but I wasn't about to tell her that when I could get away with providing the most mundane responses. The fewer brain cells I had to spend on her, the better.

"Silvermine is always a tough game, mentally and physically," I informed Caroline truthfully. "This is a hard loss, but I know we can overcome it together as a team."

"I'm sure you will." Caroline nodded and adjusted her grip on her phone, her thumb lightly tapping down on the screen. I clenched my jaw, my suspicion immediate. Although the screen itself wasn't entirely visible to me, and there was a slight glare, I was almost certain Caroline had pressed stop on whatever recording app she was using for the interview. "So, I have a few additional questions if you don't mind." 

I nodded, just once. A gust of wind swept across the turf, pulling at the hem of my black skirt, and I bit back a shiver. It was one of those chilly, late April evenings in Boston that gave Spring here a bad reputation. 

"As of today, Cannondale's boys' varsity lacrosse team has a better record. They're still undefeated. Does this influence the mentality of the girls' varsity team?"

If Caroline was going to play stupid manipulative games with me, I would do the same. I would also play better, and win whatever stupid prize was waiting for us at the end. My first move was to use Caroline perceiving me as ignorant to my advantage.

"Should it?" I lifted an eyebrow as I flipped the question back to Caroline. "All of Cannondale's varsity teams are competitive, but no one wants to create an illusion of favoritism between the boys and the girls, right?"

"Right," Caroline promptly echoed before softly clearing her throat. "Though in the age of social media and at a prestigious boarding school like Cannondale, sometimes it's hard not to make comparisons. Some students naturally emerge as stars; they make the high-honor roll, are named as captains, become recruits at top-tier universities, and even get on the shortlist for Valediction. I could go on, but I'm sure you get the point. Mentality plays a critical role in whether you're successful here and elsewhere."

Another gust of wind swept across the field, but this time shivering wasn't a concern. I wouldn't have been able to shiver even if I wanted to, not when unprecedented irritation for Caroline Drake burned inside me like a bonfire. Except, I refused to let it show. Not with Caroline standing in front of me, clearly intent on making me angry enough to lash out like a scorpion. It was a damn shame for her that I knew better. I didn't waste time with the whole kill them with kindness thing. That wasn't my style.

I offered Caroline a scathing smile. "You said you had additional questions."

"You know, I actually have everything I need," Caroline answered.

"Really? Are you sure?"

Caroline pocketed her phone. "Thanks for your time, Chandler."

"Anytime," I practically cooed. "I'm really looking forward to reading the article."

I was confident that the second Caroline turned away from me, she murmured something that sounded a lot like petty bitch. I exhaled a hard breath, almost impressed that I didn't breathe flames from the fire that still burned inside me. I knew I could have verbally torn her apart, but I also knew that I was better off holding my tongue. For now.

Despite being more than ready to meet up with Dad to head back to our Beacon Hill townhouse for the weekend, I had a second move that I wanted to make concerning Caroline, and that move involved Win Petrov.

Maybe one day I would express some sympathy for shoving him into the crosshairs, but today was not that day. Not even close.