May’s snort tells me she’s not buying it. I flip her the bird, and she just bursts out laughing even harder.

‘You’re going to fall in,’ I warn her.

‘I won’t,’ she cracks up. ‘I swear. Anyway.’ With an exhale, the last of her laughter subsides. ‘Are you scared?’

‘Scared?’ The word is a double-edged sword for me. Am I scared? Perpetually. Does she want to hear me be honest, or does she want me to provide respite? I end up choosing honesty. ‘I guess … you could say so. I’m just scared I won’t have done my best in preparing you guys.’

The shadow of a smile quirks the corners of May’s mouth up briefly. ‘I understand that completely.’

The only sound for a moment is the splashing of water, and then I break the silence. ‘When did we become friends?’

May blinks. I think I see a hint of shock in her eyes, just barely. ‘When did we become friends?’ she repeats dubiously.

‘When we met up at Moonie’s,’ I recall. ‘You said something to me. You said we were two steers with our horns locked, all through high school. And that it was a rivalry.’ I turn to May. She raises her gaze to meet mine; the only eyes I could stare into from sun-up to sun-down, and then all night long. ‘Is this still just a rivalry?’

There’s a minute where I fully think she’s going to push me into the pool. It’s definitely something she’d do. Instead, she replies, ‘I think, maybe, that I was wrong back then, Colt. I don’t think that it was ever just a rivalry.’

‘Really?’

She smiles softly, and it’s nice, you know, to not go directly to May Velasco’s shit list for once since I met her. But there’s still some semblance of restraint in the smile. Something she’s holding back. ‘Guess it’s nice. To, you know, really be friends again.’

Friends.

But, for the record, I know I don’t just want to be her friend. I want to be the one who puts up her white picket fence and the house for the dog. I want to be the one at the barbecue in her backyard. I want to be at every single match she plays, and I want hers to be the first face I see at every single match I play. I want to tape up her bad wrist and give her a kiss for good luck. I want to wrangle Sav into making me ties to match every outfit she wears. I don’t just want to be her friend. I really don’t.

Matchday is the definition of fear.