Finally, I can’t avoid it any longer. Azure eyes are already fixed on me as Beck stops about five feet away. He’s shed the light jacket he was wearing earlier, revealing the cotton jersey underneath that is the same shade of dark gray as the track pants he’s wearing. This is exactly why I wanted him to leave. I never get distracted on the field. But Beck? Less than five feet from me? I’m having trouble focusing.

We stare at each other. He’s looking at me like an opponent, and I’m finally able to do the same. Long after I should have started the drill on my own, Coach blows her whistle. I start to move, darting through the complicated pattern of footwork that shook off my past three defenders. Beck stays with me, just like I knew he would. Biologically, he’s both faster and stronger than I am. But this drill isn’t about speed or fitness; it’s about strategy. If this was any other top-tier male footballer, I probably still wouldn’t stand a chance. But it’s not. It’s Beck. Not only have I spent years watching him play and studying his technique, this is not the first time I’ve played with him. Against him.

Most importantly, I know how he thinks, how he moves. Because I’ve done a lot more than just play soccer with Adler Beck. My body is already attuned to his every shift. I can anticipate his movements before he makes them based on subtle tells most would miss. Thanks to his admission earlier, I know he has all the same advantages when it comes to me. We practically mirror the other’s movements. I spin; he turns to block me. I feint left; he goes right. I gain ground; he forces me back.

I’m so caught up in the complicated dance I startle when Coach Taylor blows her whistle. I drop Beck’s gaze as soon as we stop moving.

“Well, that was—that was something. Good work, you two. Hart, Thompson, you’re up next.”

I jog back to the end of the line, avoiding every gaze aimed at me.

Especially his.

* * *

Exhaustion and my dark mood keep questions at bay for the remainder of the day. Just because no one says anything to my face doesn’t mean I can’t hear the whispers, though. They grow exponentially more annoying when we head to dinner, mostly because it’s the first time all the CFOC attendees are in one place. Gossip contained to individual fields has its first chance to flow freely.