Holding On To Good

He grins, putting in effort so it’s not as halfhearted as it feels. “Saint Lukas. I like the sound of that.” It’s actually a stretch to him, but something about repeating her joke back to her makes him feel warm, comforted in a way he didn’t know he needed to be comforted. Even if she’s not completely into it, it’s like he needs to hear her joke, hear her tease. Lukas needs to know that in some capacity Jordan is still there. She won’t be for long. It feels dramatic for her impending graduation to feel so final, when they can easily keep in touch, but it won’t be the same.

Lukas is glad he’s sitting at the foot of her bed. It’s still too close for comfort, when emotions feel so raw and out in the open, but there’s at least some sense of distance between them. He relies too heavily on barriers, on banter and sarcasm and indifference because that’s easier than trying to process everything. Including whatever motivations pulled him here, to be there for her.

“I wouldn’t lay on the praise too thick,” he says with a small smile, grabbing hold of her foot and giving the bottom a slight tickle before letting go. “I’m here for me just as much as I am for you.” As soon as he says it, he realizes just how true it is. While there is a huge part of him here for empathic reasons, the need to comfort her, he’s also here for himself. He needs to get his fill, to be around her, to know that probably the most trusted person in his life is okay. Or at least sort of okay. “Scale of 1-10, how are you holding up?”

It feels a little silly, to be this bent out of shape over a game—but she grew up in a football family, cheering for a team that her father coached and all her brothers played in. In her family, there was no such thing as it’s only a game, to the point where it felt like football was the only thing her father and brothers even knew how to express emotion about, and she couldn’t help but bring that same intensity to Exy, whether she was playing or cheering.

She doesn’t even think she would trade it if she could. It’s been her self-proclaimed role on the squad: as Captain, she’s the Foxes’ biggest fan, and her job isn’t just to teach the Vixens cheers but also to teach them Exy, to make them love the sport even a fraction of the amount that she does—a fact that she’s guessing Lukas wouldn’t be thanking her for right now, because he too seems more muted than she’s used to seeing him, and part of that might be in deference to her mood, but she’s guessing that that isn’t all of it—something he pretty much confirms. 

“I’m not—I’m not trying to be dramatic, you know? Like, it’s great that the Foxes made it to the Championships my senior year. It’s the farthest they’ve gone since I’ve been here. And I’m proud of the team, and I’m proud of us, and that should be enough—but I guess it’s just not, because this kind of sucks.” She pauses, realizes she’s been picking at a loose thread in the hem of her sweatpants and frowns, before abandoning fidgeting in favor of more beer. “So, I don’t know, maybe like a seven?”

          She hadn’t expected the court to be unlocked. No, Vivian had only waltzed into the arena with the intent of picking up her last few things from her lock, of inhaling the mixture of sweat and bittersweetness that still lingered in the air when she left the locker room; that was supposed to be all there was to this little trip of her, but the glimpse of a familiar figure standing in the middle of the court was enough to beckon her closer.

          — She hadn’t expected to feel this sad.

          Vivian adjusted the strap of the large tote bag that hung off her right shoulder as she stepped closer, finding herself reverting to obedient and quiet self as she recognized their captain ( or … ex-captain in a couple of weeks ) standing in front of her. “You could say that,” was all the brunette could muster up to reply as her eyes glazed over her surroundings; memories of the games flashed before her: the bright scoreboard, the roaring screams of fans in the stands, the echo of plastic sneakers against the floorboards. ( She wasn’t supposed to miss it as much as she did. )

           Sure, the upcoming-junior had a busy summer ahead of her; she had already signed herself up for a couple of dance classes and booked a few sessions at her local gymnasium to continue her training for the next couple of months, and there was also a couple of cheer workshops she was looking into to bring up with the coach before they all packed up and left. But before all that, she still had a couple of things left on her plate to attend to: finals, moving out, graduation. She frowned; she forget about that.

          “You’ll come back … right?” she suddenly spoke up, her eyes focusing on the older female now. The two hadn’t exactly been the closest of friends, but Vivian looked up to Jordan ( despite her jealous and envious antics that may have made you think otherwise. ) “I mean, like visit or whatever. See how the team’s doing and all.”

There’s a part of her—(the perfectionist part, the stubborn part, the part that says I’m not ready yet)—that didn’t want to pass the torch, didn’t want to admit that she was leaving, didn’t want to relinquish her captaincy. It’s not that she doesn’t think the squad can go on without her, it’s not that she doubts that the other Vixens love it as much as she does, she just didn’t want her time as a Vixen to be over. Wanted to hold onto it just a little bit longer, even if it didn’t matter that much when the season was already over. 

But now, of course, she feels like she put it off too long, and now she doesn’t have enough time to say everything she wants to say, do everything she wants to do, make sure that Vivian is confident and prepared to take on the role of Captain next year, make it and the squad her own—not that Jordan doubts that she can, doesn’t doubt that she’s a force of nature that can accomplish anything she sets her mind to, but she wants to feel like she’s really leaving a legacy. Like she’s made a mark. Like, even if her four years at Palmetto and three on this squad are ending, she’ll still live on here somehow.

She knows there will be tearful goodbyes. She wants to put them off for as long as she can, wants to enjoy the time left as much as she can. But she can’t deny that it feels good to feel like Vivian will miss her, is missing her already—like she isn’t eager for Jordan to graduate, to leave, to get out of her way. “Of course I will.. I want the Foxes to win the Championships next year, and I want to be sitting in the stands when it happens,” she says, giving her best soothing smile, like if she focuses on Vivian’s seeming anxiety about Jordan leaving than she can ignore her own. “And, even when I’m not here I’m just a phone call away.”

Grant may not have expected to find the Court empty, even now, but he’s still slightlysurprised to see Jordan here instead of any of the Foxes. She strikes up a conversation easily too, although Grant supposes that’s part of being a Vixen. Being sociable, being friendly. “Never can,” Grantadmits, although he has no intentions of practicing for once. He has the wholesummer for that—stretching out ahead of him vast and empty, until the schoolyear starts up again and he’ll have another shot at the glory he knows the team deserves. 

Truth be told,Grant hates summers. Hates most breaks, really. It’s not just because theyrarely have enough players for a proper practice (although that is part of it, of course), but because the campus is always so empty without his team here. There are always a few Foxes who stick around, but it’s not the same. Hehas too much free time too; too much time alone with himself and no real goalto work towards. There’s no games, no official practices until June. Just Grant,attempting to rally whoever’s around, while the Foxes who actually have places to go vanish for the month.

That’s not something he canexpress to a Fox though, let alone to a Vixen. He doesn’t know how to explainthe sense of unease he feels—and yes, maybe even jealousy towardsthose who have a family to go to, even if he staunchly ignores that. He doesn’t need more variables; doesn’t need more distractions. He has Exy and hehas the Foxes. That’s enough for him. Of course it’s hard when those things aregone, but they’ll be back, come June. And it’s just one month. He’s being ridiculous.

Now is hardly the time or place to think about it anyway, especially with someone else standing in front of him. Vaguely, Grant remembers thatJordan is a senior. She must be, at least, because he’s seen her cheering histeam on for the past three years. Vixens don’t get a fifth year either. Grantis a senior too, but that means something different for an Exy player,thankfully. It means he still has another shot. He can’t imagine leaving now—if they’d won, maybe, he’d feelfulfilled, but with the way things stand he knows that he’s far from donewearing Fox orange. 

Jordan sounds happy though, so maybe shedoesn’t feel this same desperation to be a part of Palmetto’s legacy in the biggest way possible, this same sense that her time is running out.“Feeling ready for graduation?” Grant asks, because it seems like theappropriate thing to say. Even as he says it though, he sort of wishes hehadn’t brought it up. Grant’s not even the one graduating and he’s not readyfor it, and he knows that’s entirely because of one very specific person walkingaway from this Foxes—and from him—this year.

If she could have a fifth year, she’d take it. It’s hard to think about walking away from the team when everything still feels so unfinished—but at the same time, she can recognize that it would always feel like that, no matter when she graduated. The team is always going to keep going, keep moving forward, keep saying goodbye to players and Vixens and welcoming new ones in. Maybe at some point it will be comforting, when she’s gone and can still come back, still see the team playing, succeeding, winning, but right now it just makes her nervous, wondering if she’s made a mark during her time here.

Maybe it’ll feel real when she’s walking across a stage, diploma in hand, her father and brothers there clapping for her, all of them smiling stubbornly around the absence that still makes itself felt in milestones like that. Or maybe it won’t feel real until July rolls around again and she isn’t going back to Palmetto, is instead staring down the seemingly endless stretch of the rest of her life, college firmly behind her. Either way, it doesn’t seem to feel real yet—no matter how much she tells herself to drink the court in now, say her goodbyes, it’s hard to believe that she won’t be coming back here day after day after day for practices or for games or just for times like this, just to be here. 

Exy was a source of strength when she needed it in high school, a source of community when she came to college—but it isn’t everything to her, not in the way she can tell it is for some of the Foxes. The thing she’s most afraid of is letting it slip from her life, of finding a way to hold onto it, not let it be crowded out by whatever else it is she ends up doing with her life. “I guess,” she says with a shrug. “It’s what comes afterward that I’m not ready for. Right now the plan is to go home for the summer and—figure it out. Professional cheerleading, maybe. Applying to grad schools in a year.”

There’s something nervous in the way that she says it—more than he’d probably asked to know. She can’t seem to help but keep telling it to everyone whose paths she’s crossed, these past few weeks, repeating it to herself as to remind herself that, as nebulous as it is, she has a plan. Hoping for someone else to tell her that it’s a good one. Hoping for Grant to, even though they aren’t close friends. “What’re you doing for the summer?”

Truthfully, River isn’t exactly sure what it is that draws them to the court. Maybe it’s because they’ve been spending too much time cooped up in the tower, and need an excuse to go somewhere that isn’t the roof or the library. Maybe it’s because the school year is almost over, and they’ve spent so much of it here that it’d feel wrong to go home to New York without coming back at least once. It’s weird to see the place so quiet, empty of the energy of practice or the noise of game nights. At the same time, it’s still a place with a lot of good memories attached to it, at least for River, enough that the quiet isn’t unnerving.  They think of themself, over a year ago, when they first came to a Fox game, what simultaneously feels like forever ago and yesterday. Even if their season had ended prematurely, even though the Foxes didn’t go all the way like River had hoped they would, that didn’t change the fact that they’ve been given a chance that no other team would have given them, and with the privilege of four more years on this court to look forward to, they’re reminded of the certainty they had then, that this is where they want to be.

It doesn’t take River long to realize that they aren’t completely alone; the unlocked door and the lights being the first clues.  Hearing the Vixen captain’s voice only confirms it. They pull out their headphones before heading in her direction.  “I guess not,” they say, laughing slightly.  It occurs to them, not for the first time, that between an intense practice schedule and a work-intensive major, they’ve done relatively little in the way of socializing with anyone who’s not on the team this year.  A shame, when they know the Vixens work hard to support them.  “It’s just…weird, I guess, that I won’t really be playing again ‘till June.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Though, of course, she doesn’t have June that to look forward to. It’s hard to think of it, now, how summer practices will start without her, and then the season will, too. She knows it isn’t the end, per se, she knows that she’ll visit whenever she can, just as she’d spent the last four years taking weekends away from Palmetto to see her brothers play—even though, in the end, her brothers or her father hadn’t returned the favor. But even then, it won’t be the same. She’ll be just another spectator, instead of something integral. She’ll be watching from the stands, instead of from the Vixen bench. And she’ll be alone, without a squad surrounding her.

“It was a good season,” she offers, because she doesn’t think she’s gotten a chance to say it to any of the Foxes yet. And because it’s true. She’s been watching and cheering the Foxes for enough years to know that this one was something special, and it’s especially bittersweet to feel like she’s leaving just as something good is starting. But she still smiles, takes a seat in the front row and tucks her legs up underneath her, immediately comfortable in a pose she’s been in countless times before. “I’m sure that you guys will do even better next season—I’m just bummed that I won’t be here for it.”

Brayden didn’t like to think about his freshman year, when he took about a hundred steps back, but one good thing did come out of it. Having to redo a semester meant he had extra time until graduation. He didn’t love school by any means. His mind is barely there in classes. But he has nowhere to go once he leaves this place. He isn’t good enough for court and there’s no way in hell he’s going to try and stick around here to become assistant couch. 

“Past tense sounds about right,” He deadpans and moves to sit on one of the benches, adjusting the strap on his glove. Brayden can’t remember a time where he ever spoke to any of the vixens. If he did, it obviously wasn’t noteworthy. He didn’t really see the point of cheerleaders other than to give the crowd something to pay attention to when the team wasn’t there. 

“You aren’t going to stick around here like the others do? Become like the assistant to the assistant couch or whatever?” He taunts before getting up from his seat and dropping the ball in the net of his racket. With a hard swing, he shoots in to the goal with a grunt.

Okay, so—bringing the Foxes’ loss seems like a misstep. But it’s hard to avoid when it seems so oppressive. Harder still, considering they’re literally standing on the court right now, where Jordan had sat with the rest of the Vixens, clutching hands on either side of her and probably cutting off circulation, as the Foxes took it overtime, lost in the shootout. Lost.

But maybe there’s nothing she could say that would get him to crack a smile, or at least to sound like he isn’t offended by her very existence, because his next words have the same edge to them, too, making her reflexively cross her arms over her chest, defensive, before she notices and forces them to unfold. Luckily, he’s not even watching to see if his words land, turning away from her to take a shot on an empty goal, so if she’s lucky he won’t even notice.

If he were anyone else—Cameron, maybe, or Justin, or even Zia, she’d offer to grab a racquet, give him something more interesting to shoot at. But he isn’t, and so she bites her tongue.

“Nah, I’m not—not that I know what I am doing. Going back home for awhile, at least—Georgia. Thinking about maybe trying to cheer professionally for like a year before doing grad school.” It’s—probably more than he wanted to hear, but it’s been on her mind, and she can’t stop her mouth from running away from her.

Pretzel is, of course, a total traitor, immediately going to Jordan once he opens the door. She’s always nothing but affectionate with the girls on the squad, while himself and the other guys tend to have to deal with her mischief. He doesn’t say anything at first, instead coming in and shutting the door behind him and taking a moment to take in his surroundings. It doesn’t look like she was actually doing anything before he interrupted, which makes him feel really sad in a way he doesn’t fully understand.

“I’m always a lifesaver. A saint, really.” The joke doesn’t quite land with the same amount of sass it usually does and he feels awkward for a moment before setting the six pack on the bed in front of her, taking up the space that’s left at the foot of the bed with himself. “Knock yourself out, you’ve earned it.”

Now that he’s here, Lukas feels a bit out of his league. He feels like he has to go above what he normally does during the rare moments that Jordan is feeling down, which is really to do nothing but be himself. But this is a unique situation, one they haven’t been in before because there was always next year. He doesn’t have the words though, to suddenly make it better. He doesn’t know how to offer comfort. Only distractions. And he’s ridiculously worried that for once, that won’t be enough.

“It did suck.” Lukas means that. It was one of the harder games he’s had to watch over the years, if not the hardest. “Know what doesn’t suck? Calories. Regardless of what anyone says.” He grabs a bag of fun sized Milky Ways, opening it and passing her a handful. “Junk food is the only thing better than me, you know.” He pauses in unwrapping one, frowning a little. “We can talk about it though. If you want. I just know… well, I’m not really anyone’s first choice when they want to have an actual conversation.”

It’s probably some kind of cosmic rule that it’s difficult to be sad with a cat around—and, honestly, the same seems to apply to Lukas, who she associates most with Vixen parties and adventures like sneaking into hotel pools. With fun. But then, she’s pretty sure that most people would say that same about her, minus the rule breaking. She doesn’t like to be around people when she feels like she’ll only bring them down—and it’s easy to figure that Lukas is probably the same way. But, for Jordan, Lukas has become an exception to that rule.

And it’s not like she wants to stay sad, even if it feels like she doesn’t have much of a choice, for now, and so she welcomes the distraction. Welcomes the beer and candy, too, trading petting Pretzel for snagging one of each, chasing chocolate with beer with chocolate again before she lets herself say anything else, feeling her voice coming out a little bit more steady, though still just a little bit flatter than it would normally be—but she’s trying, mostly because she can tell that Lukas is. “I guess I can’t argue with that, Saint Lukas,”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she says, digging a socked foot into his thigh. It feels like something familiar, something she’s pretty sure she’s said to him before. Looking at Lukas, you wouldn’t think that’s something that you’d have to say to him ever, let alone more than just once, especially after he says something like junk food is the only thing better than me—but the more that Jordan’s spent time around Lukas, the more that she’s realized that he’s tricky like that. What you see isn’t always what you get, and letting him surprise you usually only means good things. “I let you in, didn’t I? I’m glad you came to check on me.”

Brayden felt just as uneasy as everyone else did about the year ending in such a shitty way, but he refused to let it show. Losing to the Trojans was a tough pill to swallow, and he wasn’t sure where he was going this summer. He couldn’t stay with Betsy forever. The last place he wanted to be these days was in the Fox Tower, surrounded by his teammates. With his racket balanced on his shoulder, he used his spare key to get in to the court, hoping that slamming the ball in to the goal over and over would be enough to ease the tension.

When he saw Jordan there, he raised a brow in greeting. He wasn’t in the mood for other people, and Wymack didn’t say anything about having to be civil with the Vixens. He simply shrugged in response as he balanced the ball in his hand. “It’s better than the tower, and I have the keys,” He explained. “I didn’t realize cheerleaders got them too.”

It’s like everywhere she looks there’s things left unfinished. The Foxes’ season, her efforts at integrating the Vixens with the Foxes—she’s a perfectionist, she knows there’s no world in which she’d feel ready to leave the squad in someone else’s hands, feel good about the Foxes starting another season in the fall without her there to stand and cheer, but she still feels like she should have more time. 

It’s funny, in a way—she’d come to college thinking that she’d made her peace with saying goodbye to Exy. She never thought that she’d be good enough to play Class I, and it had seemed easy at the time to leave her racquet at home. She hadn’t expected the Foxes to pull her into their orbit, hadn’t expected at all how much she’d miss Exy, and now that she’s staring down another transition, she knows better than to believe that she’s done with it this time—and, hey, professional teams need cheerleaders, too.

There’s something she could say—about how avoiding your teammates by going to the place where your team practices and plays seems counter-intuitive, but she doesn’t know Brayden well enough for that. And maybe he was right, because there are no other Foxes here—just her, a Vixen, who can’t help but feel more than she did before that she’s at least bending the rules. But she smiles through it anyway, as friendly as she can make it. “Perks of being a Captain—Vixens need to practice too, you know. Or—needed, I guess.”   

The season’s over. And soon the schoolyear will be, too. And then Jordan will walk across a stage and into—whatever comes next. That part she still doesn’t quite have figured out, too busy clinging onto the last few months she had here, assured that no matter what she’d have a safe place to land in Georgia, a father she worries about in an empty house.

Saying goodbye to the court doesn’t seem like it’ll be easier than saying goodbye to the people who’d passed the last three years in it with her, but at least with the court she knows it’ll be a one-sided conversation. The court keys she’d borrowed off of Wymack for Vixen practices he hadn’t asked back for, yet, so she hadn’t offered, just so she could hold onto this piece of Palmetto for a little while longer. So she lets herself in with only a small twinge of guilt—it’s not like there’s practice for her to interrupt.

It should feel bittersweet, and it does, but it also just feels peaceful, the court a place she’s gotten used to feeling happy, to spending some of the best times of her college career. The lights are dim, still warming up, when she hears the doors to the stadium open and shut—someone else with the same idea as her, apparently. She shouldn’t be surprised. “Can’t stay away, huh?” She calls, cheerful as she can be—obviously, she knows the feeling. 

cecil: if by some chance i could get tickets to go n see the finals

cecil: (bc for all i'm bitter about it i might go n support One Trobro anyway?? idk???)

cecil: who would come with me bc i'm sure as hell not going to that raven shitfest alone

“Good point - I can’t say no to that, right? After all, the captain always knows best,” he replied with a grin. Jordan’s presence was always welcomed around Noah, accepted with a big smile and wide-open arms. It was difficult to balance homework with Vixen duties (especially since Noah had intentions of using his degree out of college, unlike some of the Foxes), but Jordan seemed to make things a little less stressful, either with a kind word or the smell of baked goods drifting from the kitchen. Really, she made everything better with her presence, and Noah was more than grateful to have her as his captain, and more importantly, as his friend. “Okay, I definitely can’t say no to that. Thank you so much,” he replied, lifting the cup to feel how much lighter it had gotten. “Could you be any more amazing?”

“You got that right. No class—Captain’s orders,” she says with a grin and a wink, every inch the cool mom persona she’s tried to inhabit as Captain, toeing the line between responsible and fun. For the most part, it’s easy, nowhere near as hard as she presumes Grant and Claudia’s jobs are. The Vixens are less fractious, and they’re under less pressure. They do what they do for fun rather than glory, directing attention—which, unfortunately, includes both bad and good—the Foxes’ way. So she makes sure her squad comes to practices on time, and she doles out baked goods and advice like it’s her job. Right now, it makes her aware of the space she has to fill—her own space, someone to do everything that she does after she graduates, even if they don’t do it exactly like her. She still isn’t sure who that could be, or who’s even interested, and it adds a new layer of speculation to all her interactions.

She snags Noah’s cup and heads off for a refill, coming back with it and one for herself. “Probably—I live to outdo myself,” she says with a smile as she settles down across from him, sipping at her own drink. “What’s up with you? Besides work, which is—you know, terrible and boring.”

While he can feel the way negative energy is pulsing through the floor the Foxes and Vixens are on like electricity, no matter how much he’s started rooting for the team he probably should’ve been rooting for the whole time, it just can’t get to him. Part of it is a relief, but part of it also makes him feel disconnected from the people he’s around. When they’re celebrating, it’s easy. He can put words to wanting to party and dance and get drunk and make stupid decisions. When the team is mourning over a loss, and tonight, an injured teammate, he doesn’t know what to do with that. Empathetic doesn’t feel like one of his settings.

“Bribing me with food to get me to hang out with you? Must be desperate.” The joke doesn’t land quite the way he wants it to because although she’s smiling, it’s not her smile, and that’s not something he thinks he’s ever experienced. It makes him a little sad, though he’s not sure if it’s for her or for him, which also makes him feel… guilty seems like the right word.

“What kind of goodies do you have anyway? And are we hanging out in your room or mine?” He’s not sure if she’s rooming with anyone on this particular excursion. As per his usual, Lukas is rooming with Noah, and as per Noah’s usual, he’s sure he’ll be with Sebastian.

Belatedly, he acknowledges her comment about the game. “That was… something. The whole night just felt off.”

When it comes down to it, Jordan is always willing to extend the benefit of the doubt to Lukas. Whether that’s due to practice, of having to love three occasionally-asshole-ish brothers, or just a soft spot for Lukas in particular, she isn’t sure, but no matter what she stays convinced of two things: that Lukas really does care about the squad, and that Lukas is a good person at heart.

That he doesn’t seem as rattled as she does by the events of tonight don’t seem to be a mark against him in the slightest—if anything, it’s a relief, because it allows her to abdicate the responsibility of Captain, for once, lets her be the one that’s the most wrong-footed, most unsettled. 

“Like I need to bribe you,” she says, aiming for lofty, aiming for the kind of cocky tone that she hears more from Lukas than she does from herself. A joke for a joke—and though it still feels like she’s easing into lightness, it feels good. She knows she isn’t helping anybody—not Arlo, not any of the other Foxes, not herself—by wallowing. “Is your room closer? Let’s do that. I’ll show you my haul when we get there, but I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

And she might want to not wallow, but when she senses an opening, she can’t help but burst out: “It was the Trojans. Like, I’d maybe understand a little bit if It was the Ravens, but the Trojans are supposed to be nice.”

Reputation was something Zia knew better than many around her. From a young age, hers had been groomed, along with her brothers’, as the adorable children of a famous Exy player and cheerleader, and then faded into the background as the cuteness of childhood wore off and collegiate Exy was years away. When she was entering her late teens, she was the unstoppable star backliner of her high school’s team and grateful to accept a scholarship to Penn State University. A year ago, she was a victim when no one else would paint her in that light. It was the first time she’d lost control of her reputation, and now, she refused to let it slip.

Zia swore people would see her as she wanted them to, rarely changing her appearance for anyone and giving most of the world relatively similar glimpses. She wanted to portray strength, perseverance, determination, showing the world she wouldn’t let their negative opinions and biases along with the intentions of Penn State stop her from reaching the greatness she knew she could achieve. Of course, Zia became aware that coldness and intimidation also grew with the strength she displayed, but she didn’t mind it. She wasn’t mean, but she certainly wasn’t going to falter to save the feelings of anyone she didn’t care deeply about.

She barely knew of Jordan’s reputation, but it wasn’t hard to get the friendly vibe off the Vixen captain. She also appeared to be determined, as well, just in a different area than Zia was used to - she could, at the very least, give her the respect that was due. The idea of something from the stash Jordan held was tempting, after all. “Alright,” she answered with a soft sigh. “Honestly, my only plans were to go to bed early and ignore the textbook I told myself to read.”

It seems like it shouldn’t be true, she’s got the lung capacity to yell cheers over a screaming home crowd, but she often feels like she can’t make herself heard. Like she doesn’t say the right things. Like it’s easiest to be smiling, agreeable—like it’s what people expectfrom her, anyway.

She’d spread herself thin to cover up all the holes left in her family, to bridge the gulfs that opened up between each of them. No one had asked her to, but if she didn’t, no one else was going to, and she didn’t just watch them all drift apart. But that’s silent work, too. Things in her family often are, when I miss her seems like it should be such an easy thing to say, but she doesn’t think she ever has. Not to her father, not to her brothers. They haven’t said it to her, either.

She admires a lot of the Foxes because they don’t seem like that. No one expects the Foxes to be sweet, or anything of the things that Jordan is expected to be. Anything of the things that, to be perfectly fair, a lot of the time, Jordan is. But sometimes it feels like there’s such a small difference between being seen as being sweet and being seen as—a pushover, or something equally bad. And that’s what she doesn’t want, what she wished she could have taken from Exy, or from proximity to the Foxes, that kind of grit that they have that says they won’t be pushed around. Zia has that in spades.  

She grins, and it’s properly bright this time—she’d ended up holed up in her hotel room alone, but it’s not her natural habitat, and some company seems like the best thing she could ask for right now. “It’s definitely too late for textbooks,” she says, sliding to sit down against the wall with her legs tucked underneath her, spreading out her vending machine spoils for Zia to choose from. “Take your pick—I’ve got Pop Tarts, fruit snacks, chocolate, more chocolate.”

                   It was weir to Pax being in hotels like this. Eventhough they’d been in hotels like this for two years now. Their parents tendedto have very specific vacation spots and very specific—five stars or they didn’tstay—types of places they stayed at. As a child, Pax didn’t think much of it,preferring the adventures outside the hotel rather than their actual room.Places like this weren’t bad, especially surrounded by people that they liked,but it was different. Even if it wasn’t as fancy, it was much better than thestuffy places their parents always made them stay in. But Pax couldn’t helpfeeling like there was tension in the air. Usually after a game, things were light.People laughing and drinking and celebrating a win. But tonight, it was silentand uncomfortable and a person could cut through the tension with a knife.Paxton wished they were back in their own room, in a comfortable place withhomework to pretend to focus on. It would be good to get back to Palmetto tomorrow.Back to the Foxes own court and the familiar campus.

                  Most sports weren’t really a Ridley thing to getinvolved with. Emma had done various things throughout her life, but she nevergot involved with many sports. There had been a short cheerleading stint andthe ice skating and so many years of dance, but other than that, Emma stuck tomore political things—like debate and model UN. Pax thought they were the oddone out. The violence of Exy had always entertained them. Maybe becausearguments at the Ridley house were with words rather than with fists. Paxtonhad only ever played Exy, though they followed soccer, football, and hockey closelywhen they weren’t busy with training. Which… was not often anymore, but Paxstill liked the sports. They loved Exy more than anything though and even ifthey were busy with training, they still watched every single game they could,even keeping up with the scores of their old high school team—that hadn’t wonsince Pax’s junior year.

                  “Ah well,I’ll pass then. I really just came for ice anyway,” Pax smiled. Though they didn’t often talk to the Vixens, theywere trying to change that. Now that they felt they were playing better thanthey had since their injury, Pax was going to start focusing on having a sociallife. Not that they’d have much luck in that department, but still it wasbetter than focusing every second on Exy. “Idon’t really eat junk food, actually. My parents told me that junk food wasonly for poor people that needed food stamps. Which I know is completebullshit, but I never got a taste for it even after moving out. What are youwatching on Netflix? I was thinking about trying to pick up a few new showswhen I get some spare time and I need suggestions.” Pax smiled at Jordan. “Sorry!I’m Pax. Do you need help carrying anything back? I have… to get my ice, but I still have a free hand.”

It’s not that Jordan’s not grateful for her parents—on the contrary, she still feels like she misses her mother every day, stillfeels guilty every time she wishes that her relationship with her father was just a little bit different, a little bit better—but sometimes it feels like she doesn’t appreciate them enough. How her mother had always treated pageants as something fun for them to do together, because she’d done them too when she was young, had never yelled at her or been disappointed in her if she lost. How, no matter what else, her father had always been proud of her, her brothers protective. How even graduating isn’t as scary as it could be, because she has them as a safety net.   

One comment, and it’s another reminder. She can’t keep her nose from wrinkling, even though it’s just one statement nestled in among many. In some ways, that makes it stand out even more. “That’s—wow. I feel like I’d eat all the Doritos, or whatever, in sight out of pure rebellion. My whole family’s athletes, but cheat days exist for a reason.” 

Wyatt always tried to be in the best spirit possible when it came to the hurdles life tended to throw, but that rarely happened. He had a habit of getting sucked up into emotions and lose himself. Not to mention, he had a short temper. With the lose of the Foxes, Wyatt wasn’t in the best of spirits. He might not be a Fox, but as a Vixen, he felt the lose too. He fully believed that the Foxes would win, that this was a small lose, but he couldn’t help but feel frustrated.

“Wyatt, you idiot. It’s not even a big deal for you, just get over yourself…” he mumbled as he rolled across the hotel bed and stood up. He headed to the bathroom, grabbing his shirt along the way and throwing it over his head. After splashing some water on his face, he decided to grab something to drink from a vending machine and pull up Netflix on his laptop that he’d thankfully brought with him. There wasn’t anything else he could do, too rattled to sleep.

Wyatt tended to get too invested in things he shouldn’t. Grabbing his key card, phone, and wallet, he made his way out of this room and toward the vending machines where he’d last remembered seeing them. Surprise, surprise, Wyatt spotted a familiar face when he got there. “You do have half the vending machine there, damn Jordan,” Wyatt chuckled. He moved over to the drink vending machine, getting a one dollar bill to put in and take his pick of the sodas. “I’d totally be up for sharing some of the snacks if you’re really offering. I was about to pull up a movie or something on Netflix if you want to join me? I was gonna try to sleep but fuck that.”

For the first time she can remember, save for when she’s practicing Exy and doesn’t want to embarrass herself in front of the players she admires, Jordan doesn’t think she wants to run into a Fox. What would she even say? Sorry your teammate’s in the hospital is true but it doesn’t seem like it would be enough, like she’d just be intruding. Though she knows that, were she to run into a Fox, she woudn’t be able to help it. Fixing things is in her nature, to always want to help, to always want to be useful.

But if there’s a situation she wouldn’t want to be around her squad, she hasn’t found it yet, so it’s easy to brighten when it’s Wyatt. Better still, in a solidarity kind of way, when he seems to be as rattled and as sleepless as she is, even if it’s not as personal for them as it is for the Foxes. Even better still when he’s offering the company that Jordan would have offered up herself, what she would have been doing if she had gone back to her room, only alone.