Albuquerque has brought out cheerleaders and a full student section for this match. It’s never drawn too much of a crowd – after all, it’s a major rivalry game in a women’s sport, which means virtually no one makes an effort to learn about it, except maybe the lovesick Ronny Casamento – but I think I know the reason the school’s suddenly rolling out the red carpet. The reason, unfortunately, stands right beside me with eyes wide and arms flailing, a crowd of admirers behind him in the stands with phones out.

‘THROUGH!’ Colt and Coach yell in unison, pointing in the exact same direction. ‘RUN IT THROUGH!’

Maddie obliges, and in a split second, has made it through the defence to smack an absolute bullet of a goal into the net. She raises her crosse, and although the Albuquerque home crowd isn’t having it, our team cheers harder than anyone on the field.

Colt whoops, his wavy hair rustling about in the warm wind, as he claps loudly. ‘Go get ’em, Maddie!’

‘You make a good team player when you try,’ I can’t resist prodding him.

He smirks, getting one last clap in. ‘Maybe that’s something you didn’t notice back in high school.’

‘Oh.’ I cough awkwardly and raise an eyebrow. As if I’d buy that. ‘You were a ball hog. I watched enough of your games to figure it out.’

‘You watched my games?’ His incredulous tone is so obviously exaggerated, but it does its job, flushing my cheeks.

‘Only so Deena could see Michael play,’ I cover up my momentary slip cleverly. Those two were all over each other. The Romeo and Juliet of the Prosperity lacrosse programme, we called them. The girls and the guys didn’t get along for shit, but Deena and Michael would sneak little hushed conversations during practice, when we were supposed to rotate off the field. ‘We weren’t about to send her in alone.’

‘I see.’ Colt clicks his tongue, turning back to the game. ‘You know, Deena and Michael just got—’

‘Engaged. I heard from her,’ I finish before he can try and make a point. ‘That’s young.’

‘Yeah. But hey, they’re high school sweethearts.’

‘We are not high school sweethearts.’

‘Did …’ Colt does this awkward little choking cough that immediately alerts me to what he’s about to bring up. Oh, no. ‘Did you hear … any of the stuff I said … last night? I was out of it, I honestly didn’t mean to …’

‘What stuff?’

My poker face is exceptional. I grew up in a Texas Hold ’Em household, not to mention one that is half-South Asian, half-Mexican. He won’t get me to crack, I can promise that much. I keep an impassive expression and mirror his glances at the ongoing game.