palmetto foxes

Instead, he looks miserable. She huffs out a breath, some of the fight bleeding out. "It's fine," Parker signs, slower now that she has to clumsily switch tracks, to try and be comforting. She hasn't been that for Charlie in years; it's harder to come up with those words. "They've already done their worst just bringing us here. They don't have time to process every single one of us over a stupid bar fight."

There's no obvious scapegoat, either. Parker knows how to spot that: she's been the scapegoat. Not the only one racing, but the one driving a car that wasn't hers, the one whose parents couldn't afford to lawyer up. And even Parker can admit that if the cops were going to choose one of them to shoulder the consequences? It wouldn't be Charlie.

"Wymack's totally gonna make the next couple practices hell, but it'll blow over," she adds, still signing. "So just...calm down, okay?"

Parker's right. They aren't going to individually process each of them over this. The officers probably have more important things to worry about, like muggings or car accidents, than a bunch of rowdy Exy players. Charlie takes a deep breath, then lets out a deep sigh, trying to calm his frayed nerves.

Calm down, Parker signs, like it's that easy. The closer Charlie gets to graduation, the harder it is to talk himself down. It's always felt like he's had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but that weight is only growing heavier now, crushing him. A few deep breaths isn't going to make that feeling go away.

Charlie is too tired to keep arguing about it, though, so he merely signs back, "Fine." He almost drops his hands into his lap, but then he remembers there's other important things to check on, too. "Did you get hurt during the fight?"

Technically, the Championships begin tonight. For Kent, it won't feel real until next week, when they actually play their first game. The TV's on in the lobby anyway, playing some random pre-game footage. Comparing all the teams in the odds bracket, making predictions about tonight.

Kent's sprawled out on the couch, halfway watching. Some of the games are obvious, no matter how hard the commentators work to make it sound exciting. The Ravens are going to destroy the Rebels, the Lions are going to destroy the Aggies, and the Trojans are going to nicely destroy the Jackrabbits. Boring.

And next week, the Bruins are probably going to wreck the Foxes. Kent's never been to Los Angeles. Hell, he's never been to California. He knows what he's seen on TV—beaches, celebrities, traffic. He also knows it's where Bianca's from, even if Palo Alto is hours away from Los Angeles. He knows; he Googled it.

As if that matters. She actually seems to be keeping her distance this year, just like she'd promised. Not so distant that he doesn't still see her in the periphery of his life, her orange pom-poms in hand, that sad expression on her face. Distant enough that he doesn't need to put in quite as much effort to ignore her, though.

The father he never met lived in California too, at least before he died. Which doesn't matter either—obviously, Bianca Shay's father never gave a shit about Kent. Alive or dead, he's nothing to Kent.

So Kent has no attachment to California. No special interest. They could be traveling anywhere—it's just exciting to travel somewhere new.

Although, he does hope the beaches are as good as they look on TV.

Kent's never played a Championship game either, but in that he isn't unique. With the exception of their higher ranked transplants, none of them have made it this far before.

Someone else enters the lobby, and Kent angles his head, trying to figure out who it is without giving up his comfortable spot on the couch. "Last chance to get your bets in before the Championships start," Kent says, waving his cell phone. He's put more effort into his betting spreadsheet than any school assignment. "Any interest?"

It doesn't help that Dayton is obviously rusty. He had an unplanned year long break, and despite being fully recovered, he still has a lot of days where he can barely get out of bed because he feels so bad. Those are a lot rarer than they were before, but they're still there. It's only January and he already missed a few classes.

Not only will this be Dayton's first game in over a year, he'll also be travelling for it, which is a little nerve wracking. He's not sure if his parents are flying in for it to support him or to be close in case he drops dead. Knowing them, it's probably both.

California isn't new territory for the Tans, but it might as well be for Dayton, because he doesn't actually remember living in Monterey. He was four? Maybe? Too long ago to remember, obviously. He's excited to go back and create some new memories—ones his brain will hopefully hold onto.

Finally done with classes for the day, Dayton makes his way back to the Tower and passes Kent lounging on the couch along the way. He stops pre-emptively in hopes that the older striker will talk to him, and he's a little more than pleased when he actually does.

"Oh, bets!" Dayton exclaims a little too loudly. "I heard you guys are into that. Who do you have your money on so far?" He isn't going to copy Kent; he can definitely form his own opinions, but he's still interested in the other's answer.

Mateo isn't at all threatened by the hypothetical old man. TK had plenty of opportunities to replace him and he hasn't yet. He doesn't count the time he disappeared on him, because that was to take care of his mom. It's not like he found a new best friend then.

Just like TK won't abandon him for Frank, Mateo knows that he doesn't really care where they go either. It's not even like his brother to suggest a vacation at all. If TK were anyone else, Mateo would take it as a sign that he's yet another person who wants him for his money. That's never been him, though. Actually, Mateo wishes he'd ask for more, because he's family and this family has too much money just sitting around.

Maybe Mateo's dad becoming TK's guardian was just to keep him from getting sent away, but he's considered him as his brother even before it was legally true. Mate would've paid off his tuition for a much better school than Palmetto and bought them a house near campus, but this is what his brother wanted, so here they are.

So if TK wants to go to the beach and just lay around, Mateo will still find a way to do it as luxuriously as possible. "Okay then, here's the plan. I'll find an all inclusive resort in Thailand, book a swim-up suite, and we'll order so many cocktails on the beach that we'll empty out their bar. And fuck your early morning run. Get Frank to do that with you."

And for all that he seems like the old man out of the two of them, the one that's serious, responsible, it's not like he'd ever really want to trade Mateo for someone like the hypothetical Frank—or anyone else. They might seem to be opposites, but that's why they work so well: he wants a best friend like Mateo that can draw him out of his shell, that can balance him. He can sit around being serious and responsible and worrying about things on his own, he doesn't need help with that.

But what does he have to worry about now? He spent so many years with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, trying to pick up all the things his mother could no longer carry as she got sicker and sicker. Trying to be the man that his father should have been, even if he was still just a kid. But he's not responsible for much of anything now—not much beyond his grades and his performance on the court.

That feeling of responsibility, of have the weight of the world on his shoulders, is hard to shake. So too are the feelings of betrayal, of resentment, that he brings to every summer and holiday he has to spend with his father and his family, no matter how many years it's been.

But, with Christmas in the rearview and the prospect of the Championships on the horizon, Mateo and the Foxes at his side, those feelings are easier to keep at bay, to leave somewhere across the country where they belong.

"You drive a hard bargain," he says, like he actually put up much of a fight. "But deal—and speaking of emptying out bars, I know one we could get started on right now."

He's been avoiding it. Why wouldn't he? He already knows how it's going to go. Claudia's going to win, because she's already won. She's Captain of the Foxes, and now she's going to the Championships, and Bryce left the team behind and doesn't even have anything to show for it. Just a family that probably doesn't give a shit that he's gone, just like they didn't care the first time. Just a set of pending charges hanging over his head.

But at least now feels like a pretty fucking funny time for it to happen: Bryce left the Foxes only to end up in jail—and here Claudia is, with a fucking choice that Bryce didn't have the second he entered that convenience store behind Beckett, dramatically declaring her intention to run right to jail behind her team. Like it makes her sound noble, responsible, instead of fucking stupid.

Though, on the other hand, why shouldn't she? There was a kind of invincibility that came with being a Fox: Wymack plucked them out of whatever bullshit situations they were in back home and let them play a game, pretend at a kind of normality they'd never had before. Palmetto wasn't the real world, not like the world that Bryce had been living in for the last year.

And the fucking kicker is that Bryce couldn't hack it in the real world just like he couldn't hack it as a Fox. He bailed on the Foxes just to come running back, wanting Wymack to wave a wand and make the problems he created for himself disappear, just like he will for whatever Foxes were unlucky to get rounded up in Eden's Twilight tonight—with or without Claudia doing a single fucking thing.

"You want to go—be my guest," he says. "Prove whatever the fuck it is you think to have to prove. Who knows, maybe they'll name you Captain of the Year."

Their former captain could have the best reason in the world to leave them behind, like a death in the family, but that doesn't excuse abandoning them without an explanation. All it takes is a text, but he couldn't even give them that.

Now Bryce is back without an explanation or an apology, not that Claudia expected either. She doesn't need it , because she's pretty sure she can put two and two together. Bryce is here because he has nowhere else to go, and he needs Wymack's help.

That means watching Claudia do what he couldn't and taking it out on her. Bryce acts like she should feel ashamed for it, but she doesn't, and she's not afraid to say it to his face. They didn't have a captain anymore, so Claudia took her chance and convinced Wymack to give her the title instead. It's not like they were going to wait around for someone who chose not to be there anymore.

"Maybe," Claudia retorts without hesitation. "Would that be so bad? I fought to get this position after you, and I worked even harder to help get us here. I don't know why you left, but you did leave, Bryce. You don't get to come back now and act like I'm in the wrong for taking over."

The Bahamas, Greece—truthfully, it makes little difference to him. Any destination that Mateo would consider worth going to is most likely one that he's never been to. And he already knows that, whatever he did choose, no matter far away or how expensive, it'd mean little to Mateo. He'd buy tickets without even blinking.

He knows that Mateo is a good judge of character, that he doesn't like very many people and doesn't let them in, that if TK grew up into just another asshole that looked at Mateo and saw a blank check or a bottomless bank account, they wouldn't be the kind of friends they are now. And he doesn't know how to explain to anyone that he just—doesn't care. That all the things that Mateo's money could buy, from luxury vacations to fancy cars to designer clothing, just don't really interest him that much.

He remembers what it felt like to want things, to be desperate and irrational with it: the way he wanted to stay in California with everything he had, enough to play fugitive in Mateo's house for as long as he could. But, sometimes that feels far away from him now—like he's just going through the motions, unsure of what he wants or what will make him happy.

Or, maybe that isn't quite true—there are plenty of things he wants, but none of them are things he can have, because they all involve things like turning back time. Or raising the dead.

Exy feels like something to cling to: he missed it when he quit, and getting back on the court again with Mateo by his side felt like coming home. He wanted the Foxes, and in a reversal of their typical roles he was the one who dragged Mateo behind him all the way here. Sometimes, though, he'll remember that his mother never lived to see him put on an orange jersey, will never see him play in front of a screaming crowd on the Foxhole court, and it feels like a blow straight to the chest. What's the point? He can't help but wonder sometimes. What's the point of anything?

He knows that feeling isn't true, and he does his best not to listen to it. Tonight, he's even having a pretty good time, back in Palmetto and drinking on a Friday night with his best friend by his side. "And, fuck, do we need an itinerary? Let's just pick a place with a beach and then our itinerary can be—beach. And then maybe, when you least expect it, I'll drag you on an early morning run."

Mateo isn't at all threatened by the hypothetical old man. TK had plenty of opportunities to replace him and he hasn't yet. He doesn't count the time he disappeared on him, because that was to take care of his mom. It's not like he found a new best friend then.

Just like TK won't abandon him for Frank, Mateo knows that he doesn't really care where they go either. It's not even like his brother to suggest a vacation at all. If TK were anyone else, Mateo would take it as a sign that he's yet another person who wants him for his money. That's never been him, though. Actually, Mateo wishes he'd ask for more, because he's family and this family has too much money just sitting around.

Maybe Mateo's dad becoming TK's guardian was just to keep him from getting sent away, but he's considered him as his brother even before it was legally true. Mate would've paid off his tuition for a much better school than Palmetto and bought them a house near campus, but this is what his brother wanted, so here they are.

So if TK wants to go to the beach and just lay around, Mateo will still find a way to do it as luxuriously as possible. "Okay then, here's the plan. I'll find an all inclusive resort in Thailand, book a swim-up suite, and we'll order so many cocktails on the beach that we'll empty out their bar. And fuck your early morning run. Get Frank to do that with you."

It's the exact opposite of what they wanted, back when it was them taking their first fumbling steps towards something that wasn't, like, high school party spin-the-bottle kissing with girls they didn't really want to be kissing and the much, much smaller number of boys they actually really did. They did that over the summer, in New York, away from Palmetto, away from an audience—whether they were literally watching from the other side of the dance floor or not.

And, when it was them, they didn't bother with any of the oh I don't know what I'm doing because they didn't want to be coddled. They didn't really want the other person to know.

But that doesn't feel right with Jasper. River does know Jasper, and Jasper confessed to them, first, that he had no idea what he was doing when it came to this and then, tonight, that he wanted to figure it out.

And River knows that they have sharp edges, that they hiss and snarl when they feel like people are being too nice or too mean, like either way it means the other person thinks they're weak—but that's not Jasper, either. Jasper fights hard on the court, but off of it he does seem softer than River. Nicer. River's snapped at him, and then wished that they hadn't, because he's never actually been someone that deserved it.

"Now's good. I like now—just with a few less people around." Now that they understand the score and see the play folding out in front of them, it comes out more confident. From there, it's easy to take Jasper by the hand and tug him off the dancefloor, keep holding it as they cut through the kitchen and its mess of cups and half-full bottles and out the Vixen Den's back door. They're sure some of the nosier fucks on the team might notice them leaving together, but at least they won't be able to see exactly what comes next.

It's January, cold enough that there's no one else in the backyard. River isn't worried: as they let go of Jasper's hand to take him by the hips again, gently back him up until his back is hitting the house's siding, they're sure that the two of them will warm up quickly. Pleased with themself, they lean in close—but leave one small, critical inch between them, waiting for Jasper's move. "How's this for a better idea?"

This talk already did a good job at sobering Jasper up, but then the walk and fresh air clears his head even more. It doesn't make him change his mind, though—especially when they grab him by the hips and back him against the side of the house. His breath hitches in his throat as he looks into River's eyes, wanting this just as bad now as he did on the dance floor.

Jasper forgets how to breathe entirely when there's barely an inch left between them. All he'd have to do is lean just a little closer and they'd be kissing. It's overwhelming, but he isn't going to chicken out no matter how nervous he is.

"Much better," Jasper whispers. Other than the muffled music come from inside, it's a lot quieter out here, and it furthers the illusion that it's just the two of them. Anyone could walk out and see, but for now it's private.

Since River did the work bringing them out here, Jasper figures this next part should be on him. He just...needs to take the leap. Letting out a shaky breath, he wraps his arms around River's shoulders and zeros in on their lips before closing the rest of the distance between them and clumsily pressing their lips together.

What is it like playing for the Championships? Intense. Amazing. Terrifying, in the end, when Casey found themself willing to do anything, to give anything, to keep themself afloat out there. All the Buckeyes were hungry, but that responsibility hung on Casey's shoulders most. They'd chosen the Buckeyes to be their star, and they couldn't disappoint.

But that, of course, leads right into Charlie's other question: will it feel different this time?

This is Casey's third time vying for the title. It won't be like their first Championships, when they were fresh but determined, their coaches' expecting results from the Buckeyes' new not-so-secret weapon. It definitely won't feel like their second—Casey collapsing on the court, unable to even see that season all the way through. There's no untangling Casey from their past as a Buckeye, from their suspension, from the drama of it all. It was all public knowledge—everything except where Casey got those drugs.

If they were on the Buckeyes again, Casey might feel more scared than excited for another Championship season. But Wymack, true to his word, hasn't thrust them into the spotlight. He only asks what he would from any of his players: the occasional press duty, regular drug tests, their meetings with Betsy.

"Everything is...amplified during the Championships," Casey says, carefully. "When you win, it's the best feeling in the world. If you lose, it's twice as devastating as it would be earlier in the season. With fewer teams to follow, the press picks up too." And even still, this was the only outcome Casey wanted tonight. "That doesn't make it sound good, but it really is," Casey adds, with a grin, "but I think this year will be better."

This—Charlie and Casey, that is—is is still new, even if they've danced around it before, but Casey doesn't let their own hesitations stop them from flirting. "Championships aside, I'm gonna be twice as motivated to guard the goal now when you're in it."

It's pretty fucking cool that they're the first group to play in the Championships in years, but it would be even cooler if they also won it, too. With their record, the idea is almost laughable, but the Foxes have won before. Who says they can't do it again?

Charlie wants it so badly that he can taste it—a Championship win right before he leaves Palmetto behind. Maybe he's just being greedy, though. Once the thought enters his mind, he realizes that he is being greedy. And selfish.

This is Casey's first Championships as a Fox. Without the pressure of being the star player or drugs in their system. Charlie doesn't know whether that's a relief for them or terrifying. Casey doesn't give too much away with their answer either. Considering they're in the middle of Eden, that's probably for the best.

"No, that makes sense," Charlie assures them. The small smile on his face grows bigger when Casey adds how determined they'll be to guard Charlie's goal. "My hero," he replies playfully, then grows more serious. "I'm really glad we're doing this together. When you first joined the team, I never thought we'd end up here. I was...I was worried I was just giving you empty promises."

Because Nico can imagine all the different ways Claudia might be viewing her new players. On the one hand, the Foxes have infamously struggled with a smaller roster before—at least once forfetting a game because of it. Nico and Dayton will be more bodies on the court if nothing else, able to step in to cover cards, fatigue, injuries.

But they're also new here, untested on the Foxes at a time when this team needs cohesion more than ever. If they win this upcoming match, the Foxes will be in the Championships for the first time in years. As captain, Claudia might not want two unknowns to contend with, especially one who has already proven disloyal to her team once.

Nico's already privately resolved to be a good decision, though, worth the risk of bringing her on this semester. Her transfer here was a selfish decision, but she can still be a team player.

"Perfect," Nico says, setting down her bag to dig in her pockets for her key card. "I can take it from here," she adds, nodding towards her other bag in Claudia's arms. "Thank you. Seriously, let me know if I can get you that coffee sometime."

Claudia wouldn't know from experience, but she always had the feeling it'd be harder to be a transfer than a brand new student. At least as a fresh-faced freshman, you come in with little to no expectations and learn as you go. As a transfer, you already got close to other teammates and got used to their play styles, and then you have to learn that all over again.

Maybe she's good at hiding it, but Nico doesn't look nervous or intimidated to Claudia. Hopefully, it'll be an easy transition for her, and a welcome once since it means being closer to her sister.

"Sure, I'll leave you to it then," Claudia says with a nod and a smile. "And I'll let you know if I ever want that coffee. We could always go after practice one day, but not because you owe me. I'll see you around?"

Kent, she gets. He's an asshole who doesn't take anything too seriously, which Indigo can relate to. Colin is a bit too earnest for her personal tastes, but he's good enough for a good time and always has alcohol on road trips, so he lands in the middle. And Sterling may be an asshole like Indigo, and like Kent, but he does take things seriously, way too seriously, and she has no time for that.

And, unfortunately, one of the things he's taking seriously is his goddamn birthday. Like his parents fucking in Utah twenty-something-years ago is some kind of great achievement, or like him being born in particular is something worth celebrating.

Indigo, too, has a December birthday. One that, thankfully, was early enough in the month for her not to have to spend it with her own family. For the past few years she's had Jen to share the birthday limelight with, outings to Eden's Twilight that weren't too different from what the Foxes did any other weekend without Exy games, but now next year she'll have to contend with the fact that that fucker's left her to spend their birthdays shoveling horse poop, or whatever happens at Grayson's middle-of-nowhere ranch. Indigo sure wouldn't know.

At least she and Sterling are far apart enough in the month for them to have to share.

"Can I, though?" She says with a hum, ignoring the fact that she now, very technically, has said the words Happy Birthday twice, though she maybe meant them neither time. "And if you're hoping for a repeat performance, you shouldn't be judging. In fact, you should be pouring me drinks yourself."

Sterling can't imagine a reality where he's friends with Indigo. They've always clashed. Like Kent, Indigo doesn't give a fuck enough for Sterling's liking, but they don't solve that by kissing and making up. The thought alone makes Sterling wrinkle his nose down at his red cup.

With only a few months left until graduation, he has no interest in changing things, but he also doesn't want to argue on his birthday. Instead of biting back, he raises his brows at her retort and takes a sip of his own drink.

Then, as if Sterling forgets his own desire not to argue on his birthday, he snorts. "I should?" he asks in a very similar tone as her can I, though? "I must've missed that memo. Besides, do you even have room left in your cup?"

But, back when he'd been a high school senior, it's not like any other team had wanted him. Not when he barely had a full year on any one team to his name, a record scattered in bits and pieces across the United States and not always under the same name. For him, it was the Foxes or no Exy at all.

If he had an offer from the Vandals back then, or from any other team, he would have taken it. If he lost it, he wouldn't be as cheerful about it as Dayton seems to be now. It doesn't matter that now he knows he would have been wrong to feel that way, that what he's gained from the Foxes is something that he wouldn't have gained anywhere else: not just Exy, but also himself.

His mother was a con artist, and she taught Colin to be a con artist too, to lie and cheat and steal to get what he wanted. It's just that he and his mother wanted different things: she wanted drugs, mostly, the money to pay for them; and Colin wanted to be liked, to matter. If he'd somehow been able to con his way onto another team, he would have kept living like a con artist. He would have kept the lie up, kept pretending to be normal, kept twisting and contorting himself to be the best, most likeable version of himself and never letting anyone too close to see all the decidedly not normal things about him underneath.

He knows he hasn't been wholly honest, wholly himself at Palmetto. He's tried to have it both ways: show a little bit of himself, but not too much, not enough to make it so his teammates don't like him.

Maybe if he had another five years here, he'd finally get it right. Get all the way there—wherever that is and whatever that means.

For now, though, he has the Championships. His one and only shot at them.

"Definitely," he says, though he wouldn't have always said so out loud—he usually wanted to hedge his bets, not want something too much, at least not out loud where other people could hear, could look back and remember when he didn't get it. But, fuck it, he does want to win. He wants to believe that they can.

"This is the best the team has ever been, and it's my only shot at the Championships. I'm not about to fuck it up, and Sterling and Charlie aren't either." At the mention of Sterling, he grins, his fondness showing through even as he gives Dayton a—mostly playful—warning: "And you haven't met Sterling yet, but he won't let anyone fuck it up—so you better be ready for that when you're up and it's your turn on the court."

Dayton lives with Charlie, so they'll have plenty of time to potentially bond, but he isn't so sure that Sterling will give him the time of day, which will suck since he's one of his favorite players on the team. With the way Colin talks about him, Sterling's reputation isn't an exaggeration, but Dayton probably won't be smiling like that when he sees it for himself.

Dayton had a feeling that the fifth year kept his inner circle to Kent and Colin based on his interviews and social media posts, but it would be nice to worm his way into it—even if it's just for a few months. Kent will need a friend after the other two graduate right?

He's getting ahead of himself, though. It's literally his first day here. He hasn't even met the full team yet. There's still plenty of time to worry about his social life at Palmetto. Dayton is here to play Exy, but it would, like, also be cool if he got invited to parties and shit.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure," Dayton replies like he understands the trials and tribulations of a fifth year when he's only a twenty-year-old freshman. "I, uh, I mean...I'll try not to get in the way of that."

Wow, very confident, Dayton.

"Sorry, I won't get in the way of that. I'm gonna pay attention so hard on that bench that I'll be able to rank you all on who sweats the most to least."

He’s used to people talking about it. About Grant. About Haskell. They usually dance around the subject though, as if he’d be happier reliving it in his thoughts if they use empty words like what happened to you. They refer to Haskell simply as he, as though Grant doesn’t remember his fucking name—which only has the unwanted effect of making Haskell feel like some fantastical villain, he who must not be named, or worse, almost biblical, the capital-H He who haunts Grant’s nightmares—and then they call Grant brave afterwards with that infuriatingly gentle expression.

But Mateo doesn’t do any of that. He doesn’t soften the blow, or change the subject. He goes straight for the thing that hurts the most—just like Grant dared him to. Hell, because Grant dared him to. They’ve traded plenty of insults over the past few months, but Mateo didn’t bother to drag Haskell into the light until Grant started it. For all the times Grant’s tested boundaries before, Mateo's the first one to hit back just as hard.

So even if Grant doesn’t want to be impressed that his roommate might be the biggest asshole he’s ever met, he is anyway.

Despite that, there’s still only one possible response. Grant won't be the one to flinch away this time. He doesn't know enough about Mateo's past to return the blow in the same manner, but Grant won't let Mateo think he can win with just a few ugly words.

When Grant shoves Mateo, he doesn't dodge him and he laughs as he stumbles back a few steps. Then Grant's fist connects with his eye, hard enough for Mateo's head to whip to the side and leave a bruise later. The pain makes his ears ring, muffling his words as he taunts Grant. "So I'm right, then? You are a Fox, just like the rest of us."

Mateo says "us," even though there's no actual incident that led him here. Most of his teammates are here because they had no other choice. Meanwhile, Mateo had plenty of choices. He could've bought his way into any school he wanted, he could've skipped the degree entirely and traveled the world, but he's in fuck ass Palmetto because it's what TK wanted.

Still, Mateo knows he fits the criteria. He has a tragic childhood that made him fierce enough to play Exy, but too vicious for the teams that want to play clean games. So he doesn't fight the fact that he belongs here—even if he did have choices—unlike Grant who'll never be accepted by another team.

It would've been a lovely break, comfortable and familiar, if it weren't for the fact that Christmas felt wrong without Katie. Everything does, but celebrations rank almost as high as Exy does for making Kai acutely aware of that empty space beside him. The house was too quiet once all the festivities were over, once they were all just drifting, and Kai was happier than he should've been to leave.

The music's rhythm is easy to find, and just like Jasper said, it's simple enough that he can let his motions be thoughtless. He should know how to dance, just like he should know how to play Exy. There's no reason he should feel clumsier these days, other than the fact that everything he does feels slower, like he's moving against some invisible current.

Kai doesn't want to talk about his break anymore. "How was yours?" he says, even though he knows he should probably have offered more. A fun anecodote. Maybe he should've talked about the waiter, how he'd held that signed napkin like it was something precious, and isn't that funny when it's Kai's mom.

Jasper's got a brother who plays Exy—who won the whole Championships last year. Class I doesn't offer as much fame as the pros, but still. Jasper might know a little about how strange it sometimes feels when there are people looking up to your family, especially when you know that your mom snores, and she's usually late for pickup after practice, and she has to bring her good luck charm to every talk show appearance. "Do you guys have a ban on Exy talk? Or is it kind of fun to be rivals with your brother?"

But maybe Kai's break really was fine. When he doesn't offer up any more, Jasper takes the hint and doesn't question him, simply smiling and nodding instead. He doubts he'd want to get into it on a crowded dance floor anyway. He shifts his focus to Kai's dancing. He found the rhythm, but he looks a little awkward. Still, it's better than nothing.

When Kai turns the question about break back on Jasper, it's instinctive to give him same answer. It was fine. It's on the tip of his tongue, but the answers dies there when Kai asks about Exy.

Jasper can't help but do a double take, wondering if he somehow let it slip that his parents banned Exy talk after Jasper told them what Derek did. But then he realizes it's a normal question to ask about brothers who are constantly pinned against each other in the media.

For so long, Jasper went along with it—smiling for the cameras and pretending like their rivalry didn't affect their brotherly bond. No more, he decided over break. He's not pretending anymore. So, he gives Kai the real answer instead of the media-approved one.

"Yeah, we do, but Derek never lets that stop him," Jasper answers, his voice solemn. "He's really good at putting on a good face for the cameras, but at home he just...sucks."

Sometimes, though, Charlie's version of love can feel suffocating. Judgemental. He gets under her skin without trying sometimes, and right now, it feels like he's trying to piss her off.

Because anyone can see this isn't going to end with Parker thrown behind bars. It's not like they can look at her and smell her priors, like they know to single her out from all the other bruised Exy players. The police broke up the brawl because they had to, but they're not going to process and punish everyone in here. And even if it did—well, Charlie's right here with her this time, isn't he? He's not better than her. Does he not see where he is right now?

Parker doesn't waste any time throwing the real issue back in his face, then. If Charlie's still spoiling for a fight, she can give him one. "Worry about yourself, Charlie," she replies, switching to sign even if it means any eavesdroppers won't understand her retort. The police station is quieter than Eden's, but exhaustion means she doesn't feel like straining to hear. "I'm not the one trying to attract recruitors this season."

It doesn't help when Parker points out the exact issue on his mind. The thing he's already doing—worrying about himself. If this doesn't end up on his record, then it'll definitely end up on Fox Watch, and news about the brawl will spread. Recruiters already don't want a former Fox on their team, so they definitely don't want one with a history of club fights.

Charlie hates how calm Parker right now, but he also wishes he could be more like her—with just about everything, actually. He wishes he cared less, he wishes he could focus on the present instead of the future and that he could turn off his brain long enough to just be. But he can't. That's just not him.

When his sister switches over to signing, he looks at her head on so he can follow along, sighing before fumbling with his own response. "I am worrying about myself. Why else would my hands be this sweaty?" To prove his point, he grabs one her hands with his clammy one, then quickly releases it so she can respond.

He remembers staring at the fucking phone when he got the chance to make a call, wondering if it was even worth it to call Wymack, if he'd even pick up—and, if he did pick up, if he'd bother to do anything for Bryce, because Bryce wasn't his problem anymore. He remembers being in holding after that: sitting, pacing, waiting to see if Wymack would come through for him, not quite believing he would until there was someone—a lawyer, a friend of Wymack's—sitting next to him at his arraignment, helping him find a way out of the mess that he created.

This night isn't like that night. This time, there's nothing in his hands, nothing in his pockets but his wallet, his phone, the keys to Wymack's apartment. There's no one chasing him. And instead of Beckett with him—or no one at all—it's Claudia.

He's avoided her since being back at Palmetto. It's not easy to look at her knowing that she has what Bryce gave up. It's even harder now, knowing that she's done more with it than Bryce ever had.

Does she think it's easy, being Captain of the Foxes? Maybe it is for her, maybe it was just Bryce that couldn't handle it. And what does she think of him, knowing that he couldn't? That he fucked off and left, leaving the door wide open for her. He'd say that maybe she should say thank you, but what the fuck is there to thank him for? If he hadn't left, if he'd come back for his fifth year and his last season as Captain, he'd be graduated and gone by now and Claudia could still be the Captain leading the Foxes into the Championships.

He didn't give her a fucking thing. He just fucked up his own life.

"And what if they are?" He says, and if he means it to be helpful, it doesn't come out that way: too flippant, almost mocking. The Captain of the Foxes, heavy with the responsibility he used to know so fucking well. He forces himself upright, but doesn't like that either, collapses back against the closest wall, the brick rough through the fabric of his shirt. "What are you going to do about it? You win one Exy game and you think you're a fucking lawyer now? You got money to pay bail?"

She doesn't expect more from Bryce. He doesn't seem to have any qualms with abandoning the team, and based off of what Claudia has heard, this isn't his first time running from the cops. Of course he'd choose self-preservation over his old team. It's not like he owes them anything.

Bryce's loss is Claudia's gain. Him leaving gave her the opportunity to take the position she always wanted. That doesn't mean she didn't still feel the sting of betrayal when he left—when her former captain gave up on them. It made it feel like everything the press always says about the Foxes is true, like they aren't worth the effort. Like they're a joke.

It made Claudia all that more determined to do the exact opposite when she took over. She believed in the Foxes loudly. She doesn't only stick by them during the wins like tonight, but also all the losses too. And she wants to stick by them when they're being carted off to jail too, even if there's nothing she can do about it.

Claudia levels Bryce with a flat look, barely blinking at him as he fires condescending questions at her. Maybe he's technically right, but she doesn't like his attitude and she doesn't have to put up with it. "No, but that doesn't mean I'm going to leave them behind either. I'd rather sit with them in jail than hide here with you."

Colin once lived for the excitement of the road—or convinced himself that he did— treating each new city and each new school like it was a new place for him to conquer. Told himself that it was okay that no one really knew him, that it was better when he could make everyone see him the way he wanted to be seen instead.

He'd traded some of that away even before Palmetto. Traded away the chaos of the road—and, mostly, the chaos of his mother—for being alone in the city he grew up in, because even if it was lonely and difficult and still uncertain, at least he was in control of it. And it was all worth it, because it led him to Palmetto.

He's lived five years with his life dictated by a Class I Exy schedule, school semesters, the regular rhythms of living in Fox Tower with his teammates and his friends. Now, at the end of it, uncertainty is creeping back in: he doesn't know where he'll be spending next New Year's, or what he'll be doing. If he'll be happy.

He knows what he wants, though. That hasn't really ever been a problem for him. If anything, he's always wanted too much.

He wants Exy, he always has. And now he wants Sterling and Kent, too, in a way that feels about just as intense. And it feels like only time will tell if that's all too much, if those are things that he can have—or, maybe more accurately, things that he can keep.

"I thought you liked it when I disrespected you," he says, leaning in to Sterling's side. "If you don't, then I'm going to have to rethink the present I was planning on giving you later. Maybe Kent will have a better one, he's always such a respectful guy."

But, despite this being his favorite part of his life these days, it's not the only good thing. There's the actual shot at playing in the Championships too, and the fact that Bianca finally seems to be leaving him alone—even if he can still feel her gaze burning the back of his neck, sometimes, when the Foxes and Vixens spend all that apparently mandatory time together.

It's good. He's happy. Especially right now.

It scares him a little, knowing that the high of this year is going to drop off immediately into his first year without Colin or Sterling on the Foxes. It's not like Kent is going to be alone—he can always drag Indigo out with him instead, or even enjoy just being another hot, faceless athlete at some frat party. He can convince Colin and Sterling to Facetime him despite their no doubt busy pro Exy schedules, and kick out whoever his new roommates will be for phone sex. It won't be the same, though.

He switches sides in this fake drama, just for the fun of it, taking advantage of their positions by dropping his voice and leaning even closer to Sterling—but not so quiet that Colin won't hear too, of course. "Now that you've reminded me, I do have some ideas." He steals a glance at the clock: still not quite midnight, but it's close. "Happy birthday. And since I said it first, I think you should kiss me at midnight, and make him watch."

What Sterling is going to miss the most is the familiarity and predictability of being a Fox. Ironic when the Foxes are the definition of an unpredictable team, but that in itself comes with a sense of predictability. Always expect the unexpected and all that.

When Sterling has no idea what’s going to happen next—whether he’ll keep playing or not, whether the three of them will stay together or not—he’s going to be missing the days when he use to yell at his teammates during practice.

It’ll only be January in a little bit, he reminds himself. It’s not over yet. But this semester is going to go so fast that this birthday party will feel like it just happened yesterday as he’s getting his diploma.

Sterling tears his gaze from his team and looks between Kent and Colin with a raised brow, smirking. “You have a good point, my dude. Let’s do it,” he tells Kent. It’ll most likely drive Colin a little crazy, which will make things more fun after they get back to their dorm. “What do you think?” he asks, grinning at Colin.

So far, it hasn't been true. Learning how to live with Dana, learning how to fight without going for the throat every time, or how to disagree without really fighting, was vulnerable. Playing for the Foxes their freshman year, where nothing went their way, was vulnerable. Growing, trying, is vulnerable.

But maybe, they've learned, there's a difference between being powerless and being vulnerable. That being powerless is actually the thing they don't want, while being vulnerable is something that can be okay sometimes, maybe, if it's in service of something else they do want.

Flirting, they've learned, is just another excruciating exercise in vulnerability.

It's different, though, that Jasper is a teammate. Somebody they already know, already trust from a year spent sharing the goal with him, living down the hall from him, sitting on buses and going to parties with him. So maybe that makes this easier, less vulnerable—but, then again, maybe that depends on how the rest of this goes, because unlike the random people River met over the summer, who were just one in a city of eight million strangers that River would never have to see again, River's going to have to keep doing all those things with Jasper for years after tonight.

But maybe River's getting ahead of themself. Is this just a continuation of their conversation from last year? Nothing Jasper's said so far has been about River, not really—but, then again, Jasper didn't ask anyone else to dance. Every step that River's moved closer, Jasper has been right there with them. So maybe they can take another one.

"You mean, like, now?" They say—and, wow, that was smoother in their head. "I mean—that is cool, but I'm thinking that you might not want an audience for that." And then, feeling like they've made a somewhat passable recovery, they raise an eyebrow and tease: "Unless the thought of our entire team watching us make out is what really gets you going."

When River clarifies what they meant, the realization hits Jasper that he was just about to have his first kiss in front of all his teammates, and...yeah, he doesn't want that. The Foxes are almost as much a Jasper's family as the one in West Virginia and he wouldn't want them to witness something like that either.

There's a reason that people rely on alcohol to get through so many social situations, because now Jasper at a loss of what to do next. His buzz isn't enough to turn his brain off or erase the fact that he cares about things too much.

Jasper wants to get his first kiss over with, but he also wants it to be a good experience, which is why he chose River to begin with. They're obviously attractive, but they also feel safe. Maybe Jasper joined the team first, but they still experienced so much of the Foxes together in and out of the goal.

Once again, Jasper trapped himself in a cycle of overthinking. This doesn't need to be so complicated. If Jasper trusts River, then he can ask them to lead the way. "I-I did mean now," he admits before looking around. "But you're right. I don't really want the others to see. Do you have a better idea?"