‘Everyone who’s anyone in lax knows about you,’ he begins with a charming smile – the trademark Bradley smile, the smile that caused me all my problems to begin with. That’s how he gets you. It’s like one of those ridiculous fish with the dangling light in front of its face. ‘Can’t wait to see you play in person, May.’

‘I’d prefer Manmayi.’

Jordan elbows me, although Bradley seems to ignore it completely.

‘Well,’ he says, beaming in that blissfully indifferent way of his, ‘you sure you wouldn’t want to scrimmage together again sometime? Just once? For old times’ sake, y’know.’

‘I’d rather not,’ I reply tightly.

It’s true. If I were to get on the field with him again, I wouldn’t trust myself to overcome the uncontrollable urge to rip out his hair strand by strand.

With that deeply uncomfortable thought, I give him a courteous parting nod (too courteous, if you ask me). I tap Jordan’s hand, snapping her out of her stupor. ‘I gotta get going. I got chores to take care of,’ I tell him stiffly.

I clamber to my feet, duffel over my shoulder, and haul my ass out of the crime scene as quickly as I can with Jordan in tow, leaving Colt looking over his shoulder with a hint of something that might be regret in those normally unfaltering eyes.

‘Colton James Bradley,’ says Jordan once we’re well away from the field. The allegedly fierce attacker has a dazed quality to her voice, all starstruck.

‘Thank you so much for giving him a beat to open his big mouth.’

‘Oh?’ She turns her wide-eyed gaze to me. ‘What happened to junior year? When Manmayi Velasco said she was “grown up now”?’ Jordan throws air quotes around the final three words to ensure they hit their mark.

‘Doesn’t count when you’re dealing with him,’ I mutter, focusing on the airbrush strokes of the HOME OF THE RIDERS mural on the wall outside the field to distract myself from the conversation Jordan has boxed me into. ‘If he can’t grow the hell up, why should I?’

‘Yeah, that’ll happen when guys go pro like that.’ She tilts her head at me in that same spirit of curiosity.

I run my hand through my ponytail of straightened hair with a heavy sigh. The last time I had any contact with Colt was when he was leaving for New England, and I hadn’t heard from him since. The definition of a teenage boy who never grew up.

‘Y’all had your moments.’

‘Damn if we did,’ I snort. Moments is one word for it. Moments is the wrong word for it.

Chapter Five

Coach Cockamamie

Colt

Manmayi Corina Velasco.