Page 37 of Five Things I See in You

“Good luck today. You’re going to win.”

“You too, with that very unimportant formality.”

After she leaves, I clear away breakfast. When I put her mug in the sink, I realize she’s barely had any coffee.

It bothers me that she won’t tell me what’s going on, because I’m pretty sure something is. But sending her three texts before she gets to her meeting won’t solve anything. We’ll talk tonight.

Right now, I have a semifinal to focus on.

***

I pick up Callum shortly after noon. He’s waiting outside the building in his green jersey, a bag of chips in his hand. I steal one before pulling away.

When we arrive, he stares at the stadium.

“It looks smaller on TV.”

“Yeah. Everyone says that the first time they come.”

I explain which entrance to use and remind him he’ll be sitting with Mireya. I’ve already told him on the drive, but he seems to have forgotten everything except that Jordan will be arriving a little later.

I hug him before we go our separate ways, and he gives me two slightly awkward pats on the back.

“I won’t send you an analysis afterward.”

“You’re an idiot,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

In the locker room, Iris is looking for a sock she’s holding in her hand. According to Tina, that’s a good sign.

“Man, Brit, don’t laugh. I’m really focused today,” she protests. “Your brother’s here, right? Introduce me afterward.”

Everything feels much like any other game until we go out to warm up. Then I see the packed stands, hear my name, and feel a little tightness in my chest.

Not much. Enough to recognize it.

I wonder whether Jordan will make it and whether my father is watching on TV.

I find five things I can see. The goal net. The corner flag. Zoe, yelling something at Iris. The scoreboard, still at zero because we haven’t started. A water bottle beside the bench.

Then I feel the grass beneath my feet, my sock against my knee, the ball. I move on to what I can hear.

The tightness doesn’t disappear all at once, but it doesn’t get worse either.

“Everything okay?” Zoe asks as she passes.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Just eager to get started, that’s all,” I say, trying to sound casual.

She studies me for a moment, then points at Iris.

“Come on, then. She’s already calling for the ball.”

The game starts much worse than we’d like. They press high, put two players on my side, and every time I receive the ball, one of them is right on me. In the twentieth minute, we give up a goal from a corner after failing to clear the ball far enough.

Iris retrieves it from the net and carries it to midfield without a word. That’s enough to tell me she’s furious.

We try to tie it up before halftime, but we go into the locker room down 1–0, our jerseys clinging to us with sweat.

Hades lets us drink some water before she starts talking. It’s one of the worst dressing-downs of the season.