Coach Dillon claps her hands. ‘I want a shot on goal from each and every one of you! Let’s see it!’

I watch as Maddie, in full Mad Dog mode, cradles the ball effortlessly, flicking around the net to land her shot easily. My hands feel slick against my crosse as our coach beckons me forward. I keep my ball steady in the mesh of my stick when I come up from behind the crease, eyes on nothing but the spot I want to shoot into. That exact spot. I won’t let my gaze stray.

And as much as I know it’s just practice, the satisfaction that fills my chest when the ball slaps the back of the net is nothing short of what I’d feel in a game. It’s got me dizzy. I whoop as the girls howl excitedly. Pre-season is in full swing.

We share a hearty scrimmage after the drill, followed by a slow cool-down session of conditioning. By the end of it all, we’re shucking off cleats like they’re work boots. We love the field, but after practice, it’s a relief to be off it.

‘God, I think I have civic duties tonight,’ Maddie groans, blowing a strand of perfect blonde hair from her face.

‘I think I’m scooping shit tonight,’ chirps Paige sarcastically, earning a grumble of agreement from many of us in the bleachers. She’s our strongest defender, but she, like the rest of us, has every right to be tired of the double life.

‘Don’t get me started on scooping …’

Jordan’s quip vanishes into thin air as she’s stunned into silence, her head swivelling towards the chain-link fence separating the fields from the parking lot way down ahead of us.

‘Jor.’ Maddie gives her a shake, but no response. We follow Jordan’s stare to the empty lot, where a dark blue Dodge Ram pickup truck has made itself at home. Its owner swings himself out of the cab. The hiss of air that escapes my lips, sneaking between my teeth in exasperation, is completely involuntary.

The girls are in a silent frenzy. Huge eyes meet one another as immediate recognition passes from teammate to teammate. Maddie’s the first one to look my way, and she says, in a voice as hushed as a rustle of wind through the tallgrass, ‘Bradley.’

Anyone who’s anyone in this state knows him, which is funny considering he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about this state. Anyone who plays lacrosse certainly knows him. Much of this team idolizes him, so Maddie’s reaction doesn’t surprise me. Jordan stabs an angular elbow into my ribs with a look of shock.

‘He’s back,’ she mouths.