“Wait, you did? Then why…” Jason’s voice trails off as I wander over to where Anne is standing a few feet away, leaving him with Emma and Cressida. They’re probably speculating about my mood.

“Which one are you eyeing?” I ask Anne, giving her arm a soft nudge as I lean against the counter next to her. She glances over at me, abandoning her feeble attempt to look like she’s texting, not eyeing the baseball players who have set up a makeshift bowling alley on the kitchen table. I smirk as I watch one try to knock over an empty glass beer bottle with a ping pong ball. Yeah, good luck with that, bud.

Anne shoves her phone into the back pocket of her skinny jeans. “I’m not.”

“Convincing.” I take a sip of my drink. “If you just—”

“Hannah Mason.”

“Come on! That’s not—”

“Hannah Mason, Saylor!”

“I can’t believe you’re still bringing that up. It was three years ago!”

“And she still hasn’t returned for a single alumni game,” Anne replies.

“That is not my fault. She was interested in Trey, and I made it happen. Anything that happened after is not on me.”

“It’s the ‘made it happen’ part I’m worried about,” Anne remarks.

I roll my eyes. Freshman year, our team captain was obsessed with Trey Johnson, Lancaster’s quarterback. I shared that information with him. Like most college hook-ups, their relationship burned hot, fast, and out. I got none of the credit for instigating their short-lived romance and all of the blame when Trey ended their infatuation by trying to hook up with me instead.

“Saylor!” Natalie, a sophomore on the soccer team, bounces over to me.

“What’s up, Nat?” I ask, keeping an eye on Anne in my peripheral vision to see if I can figure out which guy she was looking at before.

“I heard you got into Scholenberg! That’s amazing! I mean, everyone knew you would, but…”

I laugh a little as I tune out her excited babbling. My badass soccer skills and series of flings with Lancaster’s hottest male specimens have cemented a form of hero worship among my soccer teammates even running together until we puke hasn’t tarnished. Mostly I find it entertaining, but there are certainly moments when I wouldn’t mind fewer starry eyes.

“…Visit at the end.”

“Wait, what?” I ask, fully aware that I sound like I wasn’t paying attention. Mostly because I wasn’t.

“I’m going to Amnerallons!” Based on Anne’s snort beside me, it’s not the first time I’ve been told that.

“That’s awesome, Natalie. Congrats,” I reply, finally giving her my full attention. Amnerallons isn’t of the same caliber as Scholenberg, but then again, no other program is. It’s still a camp most players would feel honored to attend.