I make scrambled eggs as Cressida and Anne both tramp downstairs. We all eat and then pile into Anne’s car to head to practice. Since we had a scrimmage yesterday, all we have is circuit training in the gym. Which is good, because I’m not the only one who is hungover. Most of the team greets me with bleary eyes and tired smiles.

Emma’s doing leg presses beside me when I finally voice the question that’s been percolating in my brain all morning. “When did you hook up again after Connor?” I ask her, referencing the frat boy she dated on and off most of junior year.

“Hello, left field,” she replies, glancing over at me.

“Forget it.” I shift my gaze back to the muscles of my thighs as they bunch and stretch.

“Oh my God! Did he ask you to find out?” she questions.

“Of course not,” I scoff. “Like I would tell him, even if he did. I was just wondering.”

“It was a month, I think. Jackson Smith. Oh wait, no, Colby Summers. I remember because he did this thing with his tongue where…”

“I don’t need details, Emma.”

“You asked.” I don’t reply. I sort of did. “Why did you ask?”

“Just wondering.” I feel Emma’s eyes on me, but she doesn’t say anything else. We move on to the pull-down bar, then the Ergometer, and then we’re done.

The whole team gathers around Coach Taylor. She talks through tomorrow’s itinerary and reminds us about the Canadian Football Organization Camp this weekend. Better known as CFOC, it’s become an annual tradition during the past three years at Lancaster to separate the end of our preseason and start of the regular season. Each team invited only has eleven slots—the starting squad. I know Cressida, Anne, and Emma will all be on the list alongside me before Coach Taylor finishes rattling off the names.

The prospect of leaving Lancaster for a few days is a welcome one. Maybe it will help me recalibrate.

Then again, leaving the country was how I ended up in this constant state of uncertainty and annoyance in the first place.

* * *

“I wonder if we’ll see a bear this year,” Emma speculates from her seat beside me on the bus as we chug toward CFOC.

“I hope not,” I reply, keeping my gaze trained on the Canadian wilderness. Leafy trees flash by, shadowed by craggy peaks.

“Come on, that moose was so cool!”

“The moose was cool,” I admit. “It was also an herbivore.”

“I could save you from a bear. We’d play it totally cool.”

“I wouldn’t trust you to save me from a squirrel,” I retort.

“Well, this is a low point in our friendship,” Emma replies, letting out an exaggerated sigh.