We head toward the fields as a team. This morning is starting with an hour-long scrimmage, followed by rotating between clinics. Unfortunately, I know this means I’ll have to interact with Beck at some point. There’s no sign of him when we reach our assigned field, though, and I let out a sigh of relief. I don’t regret last night, but it definitely didn’t clear anything up where he’s concerned.

Out of sight, out of mind hasn’t helped me much so far, but it ensures I’m paying close attention to Coach Taylor’s pregame talk. This game won’t count for anything, but it sets a tone for the type of team we are this season. We’ll play most of these teams, including our opponent today, Montclave College, during the regular season. Samantha gives me a brief grin as we meet with the ref, which I return.

“Looking forward to kicking your ass, Scott,” she comments.

“In your dreams, Cole,” I reply, before calling tails.

I choose correctly, and it sets off a domino effect of luck. Emma slides a kick behind their goalie when she thinks Emma is going to pass to me instead, and then Natalie manages a wicked header. Cressida lets one goal in, but we still emerge victorious.

Then, it’s onto the rotation of drills. Beck has arrived at the field and is talking with a few of the coaches. I force myself to focus.

Our first assignment is the station Mackenzie is responsible for, and she gives us all a condescending smile as we gather around. It seems especially patronizing when she spots me. I smirk back at her. If she wants to challenge me, soccer is not the way to do it. She hasn’t seen me play in two years, and I was the victor of our last match-up then.

The premise of the drill is similar to the one Coach Taylor had us running through yesterday. Except instead of starting from side-by-side cones, we’re facing a defender already in the penalty box, and a goalie in position.

“I’ll do one round to demonstrate,” Mackenzie announces. Her gaze roams across the group. I know she’s going to pick me before she says my name. “Saylor. You’re a striker, right?”

“Yup.” I keep my response short, and I hear Emma muffle a snort beside me.

“Are you willing to help me demonstrate?” Mackenzie asks sweetly.

I tighten my ponytail. “Sure.”

She passes me a ball, and I trap it neatly, waiting for her to get into position. As soon as she’s in place, I strike, racing forward. I don’t head straight toward her, jutting out to the edge of the box so she has to come to me. As soon as she leaves her position, I employ some of the footwork I can thank Christina Weber for. Mackenzie tries to copy me, but she slips.