Chapter Three

Animosity is an old friend by now. People, particularly girls, have often resented me. For my looks. For the attention boys give me. For my carefree attitude. Sometimes for my unerring ability to ensure the soccer ball ends up in the back of the net.

But girls who knew I’d spent time in bed with their now-boyfriends have given me warmer receptions than the majority of my fellow Scholenberg attendees.

I came in expecting it, to a certain extent. We’re some of the best athletes in the world.

All competitive.

All used to being the best.

All perfectionists.

Put a group of people like that together, then add the fact that we’ll likely be competing against each other on the world stage wearing our home country’s colors in the near future? Hardly a surprise you would need a sharpened steak knife to cut through the thick tension in the small room. Maybe a machete.

My temporary teammates have trickled in over the past few days, but this is the first time we’ve all gathered in one small space.

I’ve passed some girls in the hallway before or seen them preparing food in the kitchen. I even went out to dinner with a few last night. Ellie Anderson shoots me a small smile when I walk into the room, but the rest of the expressions are guarded.

There aren’t any jokes or quips being tossed around. Sporadic, polite chatter in a smorgasbord of languages is the only sound echoing against cinderblock. Or it was. Silence descends when I enter, and I realize I wasn’t imagining my reception around the shared house being frostier than everyone else’s.

I know it’s actually a compliment, in an underhanded way. There are a couple of familiar faces I recognize, but most I don’t.

They all know who I am already.

We don’t have to marinate in awkward silence for very long. I’ve barely taken a seat next to Ellie, my fellow countrywoman, when the door bangs open to reveal Christina Weber. Seeing her in person prompts that same surreal flash my encounter with Adler Beck did yesterday. I’ve watched her win championships, studied her playing style, and read articles about her all-around badassery. And now she’s standing ten feet from me, talking through today’s schedule in crisply accented English. As my coach. She provides an unnecessary introduction and then announces an endurance test is up first, which is hardly a surprise.

Although expected, the announcement still sends an icy chill through me that eradicates most of the thrill of being in Christina Weber’s presence. Normally, I’d be champing at the bit to show off my hard-fought-for fitness. At the current moment, I know it means I’ll be sitting most of the day’s activities out.