Jules props her helmet on the bench and grips the stick in her left hand tugging experimentally at the net. Satisfied, she puts her gloves back on. I watch as her long fingers slip into them and disappear, then skim her face to brush away a loose strand of hair, and I wish I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.

"Watch out!"

A couple seconds later—I think it's just a couple seconds—I open my eyes on a dull sky and a helmeted head pops into my view.

"Hey Rogan, is everything ok?"

Still laying on my back, I probe the spot on my helmet where the ball hit me and moan subtly.

God, that girl is going to make me lose my head.

"Ok," I murmur to Vincent managing a thumb up.

I stand up, vision blurred and knees wobbling. The few minutes I take to steady myself are enough for the others to arrange themselves on the court. Luckily no one else has noticed my shameful—and potentially lethal—distraction.

Jules' gaze searches the field and when she spots me I beckon her to take my place. She looks confused, but shrugs and heads toward the midline. We're having a little scrimmage today to put into practice some new schemes and classic drills as well.

More than a week has already passed from the tryouts, and Jules is fitting perfectly into our ranks. She's never been part of a team before, but her antagonism and devotion to the game make up for it. Furthermore, the bare fact that we have a girl in our team will catch our opponents off-guard—at least at the beginning; and even when they'll have figured out how to confront her, she'll be a tough cookie for them. Her skills were impressive to begin with, but she's improving by the day. She's our secret weapon.

Jules joins Ben and Dante, our midfielders; Manfred and Aaron, the shooter subs, follow them in front of the goal. The opponents' team is formed by our starting backliners Balthazar, Hiram and Vincent, plus another sub, Angus. The two groups position themselves around the goal so that one attacker stands in front of the net surrounded by the four-men defense team as the other attackmen spread around them in circle. As soon as the whistle gives the signal, the ball starts moving. Ben passes swiftly to his left and Dante catches the ball sending it toward Aaron; he receives with dexterity but Balthazar is already moving out toward the ball carrier as to prevent him from getting to a good shooting position. Outsmarting Balthazar's mark is not easy, and Hiram exploits those precious seconds to run from the opposite direction to the middle and cover Jules, now standing open inside the crease.

This is a 5-on-4 Spider drill, perfect to teach everyone on the team defensive communication and footwork. Offensive players have to move the ball and keep their eyes up for open teammates in front of the goal, while defenders move out to challenge the ball carrier, then back in to the hole to help cover open attackers in front of the goal as the ball moves to the opposite side of the field. With all four guys moving from the middle out to the ball and back in to help, it creates the look of a spider in front of the goal and each defender acts as a leg of the spider.

Aaron is running out of time, and when Balthazar launches on him for a body-check, Aaron dodges and tosses the ball toward the opposite side, sending it flying over the heads of the opponents; the powerful passage is high and clearly intended for Ben, but Jules succeeds to escape her mark and scoops the ball from the air with an incredible leap, then twists her stick still midair and shoots into the corner of the goal.

I can't keep myself from exulting. 

We're going to crush the Cavaliers this year. 

۝

"I wonder what the Cavaliers will come up with. They're having midseason tryouts also this year."

I get past the voices of my teammates without stopping to join their conversation. I know well enough what they're talking about, though. Cavaliers' ruthless logic. The midseason tryouts are a tradition for Caldwell Hall's lacrosse team, as far as I know; it's yet another way to keep team members on their toes, to show that no one's really safe and each one of them is replaceable. But it's unlikely they'll make remarkable changes in their roster. I know my brother and his vagaries well, and he's too maniacally attached to his strategies to risk.

I scurry along the court and into the girls' locker room. When I get to unlatch my locker, my phone inside is already buzzing insistently.

"Hi mom," I breathe out as I pick up. Right on time. She had promised to call me this afternoon. "Yes, I'm fine—perfectly fine, actually. In fact I wanted to talk to you about some new developments."

I tell her how the coordinators of the course I'm taking have offered me the opportunity to prolong my stay and finish the year here, in the college she believes I am at the moment. I also add that they assured this will not interfere with my scholastic activities and that I'll be able to follow classes in this institute. My counterfeit enthusiasm leaves her perplex—I can feel her hesitation—so I toss in my displeasure for missing the tryouts, and ask her to give Preston my apologies. If a lie may do her grace, I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.

This definitely tips the balance. My mother declares herself happy that I've finally understood the right priorities and set aside my insane obsession for sport in favor of my education; she was starting to get seriously worried after Preston told her about my demands to play with the Cavaliers, but now that I've come back to my senses she's proud of me and gives me her permission to stay.

"Really? Oh, thank you mom!" I barely hang up before starting to gambol and whoop.

"Is there any reason to celebrate?"

I turn toward the showers at the back of the room and spot Roz, wrapped in a towel and dripping water on the floor.

Damn, I curse, I was not alone. I wonder how much she overheard.

She stares me down with that knowing look of hers, like she can see through all my lies, and I actually fear she's figured everything out. But then Roz simply dismisses me with a snort and goes back combing her copper mane.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Since my arrival that girl has taken a dislike to me, and has subtly tried to trip me up. I'm honestly growing tired of watching my back.

I take my time under the shower, enjoying the hot water loosening my worked-out muscles. I dab my wet hair with a towel and get dressed in a few minutes. As I make for the door I realize someone else's still in the locker room. It's Roz—and she's waiting for me. I open my mouth to speak, ready to pick a fight, but she shushes me with a single motion. Roz is a girl clearly used to getting what she wants without actually needing to ask.

"Listen—I don't know what you're up to, but I'm gonna find out. It's just a matter of time." Roz struts toward the exit, and, back turned to me and a hand on the handle of the door, she says something that knocks me dead, "In the meantime, I strongly suggest you stay away from Rogan—he's mine."