"I need that dark, in a little more light."

I'm head of costumes for the musical! which is great but it also means I have to make room in my schedule to boss around a dozen people. So there's that!

Also, the weather is so up and down I wore a jacket today and wanted shorts by the afternoon.

He'd been tagged in the most recent picture of their mutual friend Remus Lupin, and here she was, her curiosity having led her to a picture of the pre-transition boy and Sirius Black with the caption “More than friends? Never – we're both too gay.”

She lingered a little too long, and froze when the familiar heart was filled in with red.

“Oh, no,” whispered Lily. “No, no, no no no.”

It was bad enough that she'd been stalking him.

Now, she'd liked a picture from – what was that date? - March 24, 2013.

Four and a half years ago.

As if that wasn't bad enough, it was of him pre-transition: she'd look like a jerk.

Mary and Marlene would either be asleep or out drinking if she texted them at this hour: thus, asking her friends for advice was out of the question.

Should she like every picture so she didn't look like a bitch? Or would that seem too stalkerish?

Would he even notice?

She scrolled up to the top of the screen: @deerestjamie had 254 followers, and was following 409.

Cool, cool, cool cool cool cool. He wouldn't notice one like out of more than three hundred photos, would he?

Obviously, the best solution was just to leave it be and stop stressing, she resolved, putting her phone on the charger and flipping around to turn away from it.

(And yet all twenty minutes it took her to get to sleep, she couldn't stop thinking about it.)

Light streamed in through the narrow opening between the curtains, a bird chirped outside, the fall day just barely cool enough that one could wear a sweater or a t-shirt – of course, none of this mattered to the iPhone whose alarm was about as welcome to its owner as a sheep in heat would have been that morning.

“Oh my God,” murmured Lily, blindly fumbling for her phone and begrudgingly opening her eyes, her relief at managing to turn it off eclipsed by the Instagram notification – a DM from @siriuslyy.

She opened it, and was met with nothing more than “(ง'̀-'́)ง".

“Yeah, real eloquent, Black,” murmured Lily, before realizing there was also a screenshot that seemed to be taken from James's account of her having liked his picture, the only notification for the entire day.

Well, shit.

“Wait, why does Black have access to Potter's account?” murmured Lily, before shaking her head and rolling begrudgingly out of bed, deciding to address it after she got ready for work.

Sirius glared at his phone screen as he sat back on his chair during lunch, feet up on the break table even if he technically wasn't supposed to be lounging as such.

'I know you've seen this message Evans' he tapped out, sending the message, his lip curling when it registered as read almost immediately.

'Is it usual to have access to your best friend's Instagram?' came the sarcastic reply.

'There's nothing usual about us' Sirius answered, then adding, 'Is it usual to like a picture from over four years ago?'

A pause.

'Okay, listen.'

'Listening.'

Grabbing his water bottle off the table, Sirius easily opened it and started to drink, watching with slight amusement as she hesitated.

'I'll explain, but you can't tell James about this.'

'I can't control what the man does and doesn't notice.'

Not that James really would notice, considering almost a third of the pictures were posted by Sirius and he had turned notifications off so as to focus more on his work.

However, it wasn't as if anything would stop Sirius from standing up for James.

'Okay listen I stg I don't have a problem with his being trans – that's not why I was on his profile. Liking that photo was an accident.'

'Was being 3 years back on his profile an accident?'

Another pause, longer than the first.

'No?'

'Look, I have to go.'

And with that, he knew he'd lost her.

Damn.

He’d been having such fun.

“Hey, Lily,” greeted Remus, looking up from the book he was absorbed in when the bell at the door rung.

“Remus, your boyfriend is kind of an asshole.”

“Sirius? We know that by now, but since when do you know him?”

“You know he helps run James's Instagram?”

He blinked. “Since when do you know James? I mean, we all know by now that they're co-conspirators on about everything, but-”

“He was in your most recent picture. James, that is.”

Remus tilted his head to the side, as if trying to gauge what exactly Lily was on about, before realizing.

“You thought he was cute, didn't you?”

She flushed red.

“N-no, that's not what I – not that he isn't, but-” Remus smirked, which did nothing for her comprehensibility.

“I can't blame you, he's always been fairly attractive. Not my type, of course, but you wouldn't be the first who's fallen for him.”

“I did not fall for James Potter!” exclaimed Lily, flailing her arms and flinching when her hand hit one of the bookshelves in the small store. “Ow. Ow. What was I saying? Oh, right, I'm not falling for James Potter! Please. I don't even know the man.”

“Sure, sure, that's what they all say. You know, he's single?”

“He is?” asked Lily, before smacking herself internally when she realized by the way in which he only smiled wider that she'd managed to play herself. “Not that I care. That's great. Lots of people are single these days. Being single is the new being taken.”

“Played yourself, Evans. Now, what were you saying about Sirius? Wait, don't tell me.”

He put down his book on the counter, before walking around to the other side to examine her more closely. “You mentioned Instagram, and the fact that he's cute-”

“I did not-”

“Oh, please. What would Sirius have noticed, then? You know they both run his account, maybe you left a comment on a photo? No, you're that desperate… but stalking him?” Her involuntary twinge was all he needed. “You were stalking him and accidentally liked an old photo. Classic.”

“That's not fair,” murmured Lily, crossing her arms. “You're not allowed to come in here and smart-ass me-”

“Actually, you're the one who came in here, might I remind you. Not that you're unwelcome – it's been a while, hasn't it? And besides, you wear shame so well.”

“Remus!”

“Fine, fine. What do you want me to do about it?”

Her bottom lip jutted out. “I don't know. What am I supposed to do? Is he going to be upset?”

“Who?”

She raised her eyebrows as if it was obvious. “James?”

“Over… your liking one of his old pictures?” Lily nodded furiously. “James?”

“I don't know him!”

“Okay. Think of it this way. James is like the old man who sits in his chair reading the newspaper, and Sirius is like the overactive dog who barks at every disturbance.”

“So…?”

Remus shook his head with a laugh. “He's unlikely to even notice, and if he does he won't care, Lily. It's not a big deal. But – whatever you do – don't let him find out.”

“Because…?”

“Pretty girl like you stalking his Instagram? The man's ego is already big enough that it's a wonder he can fit through a door.”

She sighed in relief. “Oh, thank God. Thanks, Remus.”

“For?”

“For being the smart-ass you are.”

“Me? A smart-ass?” he asked in a bad impression of offense, subtly pulling out his phone and snapping a picture of her in the doorway, looking askance with a smile. “Why, I never.”

“Hey, Moon!” called out James as he entered the shared apartment, throwing his keys on the table and wincing when they fell short.

“James. Good day?”

He nodded, bending down to pick them up. “Great. Actually, work was pretty boring. Paperwork. Buuuut, I saw a cute girl today.”

“She work with you?” asked Remus conversationally.

“Nope!” answered James. “Actually, I didn't see her. Wait, no, that's not even true. I saw her, but like, not in person? I saw a picture of her, that is, taken in… what's your bookstore called again?”

“Lily?”

“No, no, that's not what it's – wait, is that her name?”

His friend smirked. “You know, I have her number.”

“You do?” asked James eagerly, wincing as his voice cracked on the last word. “Wait, seriously? You're not joking?”

“Do you want me to call her?”

“No!” He froze. “Wait, no. I mean, yes. I mean, maybe – you don't just call someone up. Aren't calls outdated? She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Then again, being single's on the up-and-up again. It's like being single is the new being taken. What was I saying? Oh, right, Lily. Pretty name. Pretty girl. Okay, I'll call her.”

James pulled out his phone confidently, before stopping. “I don't have her number.”

“I know, James.”

“I'm sorry, I'm just nervous.”

“I know, James.” Remus held out the phone with a grin. “Here. It's ringing.”

“What?!” squeaked James, hurriedly taking it from him. “Remus, you don't just-”

“Hey Remus, called to torment me?”

Even her voice had him in love.

“This isn't Remus.”

“Is this Sirius? I swear to God going through your boyfriend to get to me is just low.”

“What? No! You know Sirius?”

“Wait, if it's not Sirius, then who is this?”

He grinned. “It's James.”

A dramatic pause, then, “I hate you, Remus.”

“Oi! I'm not Remus! That's offensive, he has no taste in men.”

“I'm right here,” piped up the man in question, but was quickly shushed.

“Aren't you friends with Sirius?”

“Doesn't mean I want to date the man. Anyway, Lily, Lily Lily Lily, what're you doing this Friday night?”

If Remus had been drinking tea, he might have spit it out.

“This Friday night? No plans.”

“Great. Want to go out with me?”

A high pitched squeak resounded on the other end of the line, making it hard for James to discern whether or not it was from the technology itself or from his contact.

“Er, Lily?”

“That depends. Does Sirius have access to your phone too?”

“Not too often.”

“Give me your number and I'll be ready at eight.”

Waggling his eyebrows at Remus, he quickly gave her the number, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from spreading.

“I have no clue when I became your wingman.”

“Oh, shut up, Remus, you know you love me.”

“And?”

“And I love you too, Remy-poo.”

James sloppily kissed Remus on the cheek with a wet smack, nothing able to dull his mood.

Not even when he walked into his own door and found it closed, hitting it head-on.

“Adoorable.”

Despite it all, you felt a little bit bad – no matter how many people she had been responsible for having kicked off the team, nobody deserved to be a social outcast among the students with more money than sense of Bolton Prep.

Not to mention how you'd found Sarah the other day.

“I'm… fine, Claybourne.”

You narrowed your eyes down at her. “You're the ground outside the pitch holding – is that the jersey that Lee-?”

“What? No, of course not!” she responded, awkwardly shoving it behind her back and making it almost too obvious.

“Are… are you crying?” you asked awkwardly.

“If I was crying, I'd be crying tears of pain at seeing your face.”

In spite of her attitude, you crouched by her, putting a hand on her leg. “Mind sharing?”

“I don't want to talk about this, especially not with you-” Sarah tried to get up but your grip only tightened.

“Why did you like her?”

“Oh, don't pretend I was in love with the bitch for any rational reason,” she retorted, before sobering. “I guess I'm even more pathetic than that.”

“It doesn't make you pathetic.”

She glared. “What makes someone pathetic? Because news flash, Claybourne – if I found anyone crying over their unrequited love who hurt so many people, I'd tell them to get up and stop being pathetic.”

Sarah looked up at the sky, falling back and lying now on the grass, taking long brown hair out of the hair tie that had held it up in a fluid motion and letting it splay around her head.

“You wouldn't know what it's like. You've crushed on, what, one actually decent guy ever, and now you've been dating him for years.”

“Sarah, I-”

“Fuck off, Claybourne.”

Shaking your head to clear it of your thoughts, you grabbed your bag, glancing around to see if Chance was nearby before throwing it down the stairs and sliding down the banister after it.

(There were, most definitely, perks to living in such a large mansion).

When you got to the bottom, he was holding your bag with a disapproving look.

“You're going to break your neck.”

“In my defense, I didn't think you would catch me.”

“Not the right answer.”

“Um… I didn't break my neck?”

“Get in the car, Y/N.”

“Yes, sir.”

He followed you out the door, locking it behind him, before putting the keys in the ignition and asking conversationally, “You still suspended?”

“No, not anymore,” you answered, shaking your head with a slight smile as you realized that Chance didn't know about your recent promotion yet.

“Oh, really?” he asked, turning out of the driveway. “Did he lift it early, then? Or was there another game I didn't know about?”

“Well, the new team captain got her suspension lifted after the old one was kicked off the team,” you answered, smirking as he slammed the brakes at a stop sign he'd almost missed.

Breathing heavily, Chance asked, “You're team captain? Since when?”

“Oh, I don't know, two, three days ago? When I made a case against Delilah and the coach finally saw reason?”

“And you didn't tell me?”

“Must've slipped my mind.”

Your brother nodded slowly, before reaching into his bag and pulling out an envelope. “This came for you yesterday, by the way.”

You took the offered letter as he parked the car in front of the school, staring at the handwriting that, though you'd so rarely seen it, you'd recognize anywhere.

Opening the door and getting out with your bag, you ripped it open and took out one of the sheets, folded in three, feeling a tidal wave seem to rise in you as your emotions struggled to get the better of you.

Y/N,

Captain of the softball team even though I never saw you with a glove in your hand. If it's not from the Claybourne side, perhaps it's from your mothers – both the athleticism and your determination to succeed. She always was a driven one.

I've never been so glad that you have the Claybourne name.

He hadn't signed it, perhaps because signing it off with his name made him seem so distant and yet the two of you were never close enough that he would have felt comfortable referring to himself as your father… and yet, even if he'd never been your father, not really, you'd always wanted him to notice you.

It was always Chance this, Chance that, the eldest son capturing your father's attention.

Now, you were receiving the same affection and you didn't know how to deal with it.

The words blurred together as tears came to your eyes.

You'd done it.

You'd finally made him proud.

So why didn't it feel better?

Because Chance pushed you to it, you realized. Even when you could finally make him proud, it was always him behind the scenes.

When would you make a choice, alone, that he might be willing to put the Claybourne name on?

As your emotions overwhelmed you, you felt the switch inside of you flip.

Great. Flaring in public. This is a great day.

“Y/N!” called out Ben, falling into step beside you, black t-shirt and jeans making him stand out amongst the uniforms that the students were wearing.

“Ben? What're you doing here? Did you forget you'd graduated?”

He shook his head, before scrutinizing you more closely. “Are you okay?”

“What? Of course I am.” Managing to snuff out the flare, you continued, “Never been better. Morning, Lily.”

“Morning!” she greeted cheerfully as you walked past her on the way to your locker.

“See? I'm great.”

“Saying good morning to someone doesn't make you okay,” he responded, before adding, “I'd know” under his breath.

Coming to your locker, you put down your bag and turned to him. “What're you doing here?”

“I came to congratulate you on the captaincy, but now I see that I need to talk to you about whatever's in that letter. Who's it from, Y/N?”

“My dad,” you answered reluctantly.

“And?”

“And he's proud of me.”

Ben held up your backpack as you zipped it shut, asking, “Well, who wouldn't be?”

“You don't get it, Ben, he's… he's never like this. Not when it comes to me.”

“Why are you feeling like this, then?”

“You're one to talk about feelings, Benjamin Blue.”

“That doesn't answer the question.”

“No, it doesn't,” you acknowledged begrudgingly. “It's just… he's always been proud of Chance, you know? And Chance made me do this. In a way, it's just like he's proud of Chance all over again. I – I know it seems silly-”

“Chance didn't get Delilah Lee kicked off, now, did he? Or was it him that set up the cameras in the supply room, him that spoke to the former pitcher who was doomed from the start, him that never gave up even when suspended?”

“You… know about all that?”

“Oh, please, just because I'm graduated doesn't mean that those three don't constantly talk about you. Speaking of which, text me sometime, would you?”

He ruffled your hair and squeezed your shoulder, and you smiled as he walked away, going to replace the sheet in the envelope but finding another paper in there.

A clipping from the school newspaper, the headline reading 'With Lee Defected, A Team Resurrected?'; a picture that you didn't remember being taken of you at bat.

Underneath the picture, where the caption identified you, there was no writing – only a double underline under the name “Claybourne”.

And in spite of yourself, you clutched the letter and the clipping a little closer to your chest before putting them away.

“Having a social life is exhausting,” you bemoaned, letting your face fall onto the cafeteria table.

Tory poked your arm, moving an exaggerated foot back when you growled. “By God, the woman's an animal!”

“Aren't we all?” asked Hi, causing you to kick him under the table. “A wolf on the streets and a wolf in the sheets!”

“Hi.”

“Please remove me from this place if you exist, Jesus-”

“Some of us are Jewish, Shelton-”

“Jewish or not, you're all a mess,” cut in Jason, putting his tray on the table. “Losers. Tory.”

“I'm included in losers now?” You glanced up, adding, “I could destroy you. At least, that's what my new social status seems to say. Hit me up with a fry, Taylor, and I might forgive you.”

He rolled his eyes but nonetheless held the cup out to you, adding, “I believe you're too tired from upholding your social life to destroy me.”

“I'm never too tired for vengeance,” you retorted, taking two fries instead of the promised one and almost laughing at his mock outrage. “Oh, sit down.”

You hadn't lied – all the talking to people that you'd done since they talked to you and you didn't want to be mean, the fact that you had to pretend to care when one of the girls had asked you for relationship advice and your answer was largely bullshit considering the fact that you hadn't really been listening probably evident, but apparently not to her.

The day finished, you finally walked into the house after both the long school day and the softball practice that had run for two hours, sighing with relief as you threw down your-

“Don't leave your bag in the middle of the foyer again.”

Thanks a lot, Chance. You begrudgingly moved into the dining room, freezing as you noticed the smell in the room coming from what was in the center of the table.

“Chance?” you asked hesitantly, dropping your bag in the middle of the dining room – it wasn't the foyer, after all. “Why did you buy roses?”

“What?” His shadow shifted in the kitchen as he added, “I didn't.”

“Then… what are these doing here?”

“Oh, those? They're from Jason.”

Wait, Jason Taylor?

“Hold on a minute, what?”

Your half-brother entered the room, leaning against the wall as he ate a banana. “They're from Jason. Taylor, that is.”

You blinked.

“What the holy fuck?”

Since when does he buy you roses? Are you dating? Since when?

You realized it should have been obvious – hell, Jason had almost said just a short while ago that he and Jason were more than friends, quickly catching himself and correcting it to “more than you know”.

“I was under the impression that you knew,” he added. “There was that one time the other month when you asked where I was going and I said on a date?”

“I – I thought you were being sarcastic!”

“Two weeks ago, you asked why I was smiling and I said I was back from a date.”

“Again, thought you were joking.”

“When I texted you and said I was staying the night at Jason's house?”

“I thought you were friends-” You blanched. “You mean that you were having sex? That's nasty! Weren't his parents home?”

Oh, wait. He'd hosted a party that day because his parents were out of town.

Of course.

“Oh, my god. You're… dating Jason. He's gay. You're gay!” You walked back and forth, trying to make sense of it all.

“Bisexual, actually.”

“The two of you had sex! You said I couldn't stay the night on Morris the other day because you were afraid Hi and I would have sex!” you cried, turning on him.

“I'm allowed to have sex, for God's sake, I'm a consenting adult!” He turned into the kitchen, shaking his head.

“You can't control who I sleep with.”

“I don't want you to end up like your mother!”

“Don't you dare insult my mother, at least my mother is alive!”

Anger rose in you, a spark igniting as you eyes changed color, but your blood chilled when he turned around, dark blue eyes meeting.

His expression shifted and tone dropped as he murmured, “You too?”

The silence took over the room, tension having been cut through by the realization that both of your flares had returned, and a sob rose in your throat as you moved quickly across the room, finally falling apart in his arms.

“It didn't work,” he murmured. “I thought it might just have been me, but-”

“It's everyone.”

“Including Cole and Ella?”

“I wouldn't know, I don't talk to them. Then again, sometimes I don't know things about people I do talk to.”

“I'm not sure if you're referring to the flare or my relationship status.”

“Does dad know?”

He froze.

“I sure as hell hope he doesn't.”

“And if he did?”

He sighed deeply, his chest dropping with a shudder. “I'd probably be rewritten out of the will, to be honest.”

“What, it's not like he has any other heirs.”

“He has you, Y/N.”

Oh, right. “You think he'd choose me over you?”

“Knowing him? Probably.”

“You think I wouldn't cover you?”

Chance laughed. “I can't answer that, honestly.”

You hit his chest. “Asshole.”

“Is that a no?”

“Of course not.”

“It's the bottom of the ninth inning, and the Griffins are on their winning streak – if they win this game, they take home the championship! We are at a tie right now, Claybourne's up to bat, the team captain hits it, it's off, she's off! She's putting a lot of faith in her bat right now considering no man's on base and we have two strikes – she's at first and the ball is into the stands! It's a home run! She's not taking her time as she slides onto second, takes off for third – off third, and she's home! The championship is ours!”

Rolling your eyes at Sarah's commentary, you slid onto the home plate, hopping up while the team flooded onto the field, being hugged by eight different girls at once as the crowd cheered loudly.

During your tenure, your home runs were something of a habit… though, admittedly, you were prone to the accidental flare or two on the field, and this victory had come of one.

“I can't believe you're leaving us,” yelled Lily in your ear, standing on tiptoes in order to be heard. “Do you have to go and graduate? You're brilliant!”

Sarah held her arms open with a smirk. “Look at that, loser.”

You hugged her without a moment's hesitance, grinning. “You're the best commentator. Real career for you there, you know.

“Please. You’re the one who makes the game interesting enough to want to talk about.”

Surrounded by your girl, you realized that the team was about more than victory.

It was about the experiences you had.

Though winning never hurt.

“Wow, babe, you got dirty out there,” laughed Hi, waggling his eyebrows at the dirt along the side of your uniform and yelping “Assault!” when you smacked him, pulling you close and-

“Did you just whack my butt?” you asked, somewhat bewildered.

“Hashtag no regrets.”

Rolling your eyes, you retorted, “Stop using hashtags in verbal conversations!” “Hashtag can't stop won't stop.”

“Hi.”

“Fine, fine, I'll stop. But only for the beautiful girlfriend that I'm entirely too lucky to have, who is smart, strong and I can't think of a word that starts with 's' for kind but if I could I'd say it!”

“You're a dork.”

“Your dork,” he corrected, before whacking your butt again.

“Hi!”

“It looks so good in that uniform, though!”

“Oh, shut up.”

He leaned down, grabbing you around the waist.

Your arms flew around his neck by instinct as he kissed you insistently, yet slowly – passionately, yet sweetly – quickly, yet seeming to last forever.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, lips leaving yours to trail kisses on your exposed neck.

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

Were you embarrassed? Of course.

After all, you'd finally stood up to the person who had been tyrannizing your entire team, and been shut down, with her receiving no repercussions.

It was humiliating, and the way your coach had talked down to you afterward certainly didn't help.

Blaming it on female hormones? Coward's way out.

While Delilah had suffered a broken nose, you had suffered a broken image – a blow to your pride, and a severe detriment to your respect from the team.

Or, at least, so it would seem, considering none of them – not even Sarah – had reached out to you after the incident, mysteriously silent and, if choosing any side, staying on hers.

Of course, that wasn't to say that you weren't infuriated – why did she get to go off scot-free? Why was everyone pretending she didn't say anything?

What had Delilah done to make everyone so scared of her?

“Y/N? You okay?” asked Shelton, glancing over at you concernedly. “You've been awfully quiet.”

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, tossing the ball in the air and yelping as it came down and hit you in the nose.

Cautiously coming closer, the older boy nudged you. “Hey. Have you eaten anything today?”

You tried to think back. “I… think so?”

“Y/N.”

“No, no I haven't.”

Grabbing his bag, he reached into one of the pockets despite your (admittedly feeble) protests, pulling out a granola bar. “Eat.”

“But-”

“Listen, I know you're upset about being suspended.” Shelton's eyes met yours, and you weren't quite certain whether his expression was sympathetic or scrutinizing. “It's ridiculous and entirely unfair that because you responded with physical violence, her verbal abuse is being ignored. I know you're sick and tired of being lectured on it. But it's not the end of the world, I promise.”

“I didn't say it was the end of the world,” you argued, begrudgingly taking a bite of the proffered snack. “I didn't even say anything.”

“Oh, please, we've known each other, what, four years now? I think I have a slight idea of what's on your mind by now.”

You huffed.”Am I expected to know what you're thinking now?”

“What? No, of course not. Nobody's allowed to know what I'm thinking. That's what makes me so interesting.”

He slid away, leaving you with a granola bar in your hand and, despite your upset, a smile on your face.

You shouldn't have let her get to you. That you knew.

You've already been suspended. Why isn't that enough for you to learn your lesson?

And yet, here you were, flaring in public during lunch on the day of an important game which you wouldn't be a part of.

Even your common sense was currently being drowned out by the screaming of every nerve in your body – screams of how good it felt to finally let go, the relief now sung by the same veins pumping you full of adrenaline.

“I can't lose this,” hissed a feminine voice, piercing the conversational buzz of the cafeteria yet unrecognizable, even with the range you could pick up. “You know without it I'm nothing.”

“So, this is your plan? Sabotage everyone and make it seem like you're the only one who can play so that you're captain and the team fears you?”

Sabotage? It sounded for certain like a certain someone, but… “Look. If I'm not on top here, I'm vulnerable. And if I can't keep this, there's no telling what they'll do to me. After the first time I did it, I became something to be feared. And speaking of which… Reyes has been getting cozy with Claybourne lately.”

“What're you planning, Lee?”

Lee.

Delilah Lee.

You choked on your lunch as you heard the two girls converse. No wonder so many people are off the team so suddenly. This way no one could get in her way in being the next captain. One decent player after another mysteriously quitting or getting kicked off the team.

Ignoring the activity at the table around you, you listened further to attempt to hear what she was planning.

“How are you going to sabotage a catcher?”

“Easy. Loosen a few screws, mess around a little, suddenly the face mask won't stay down... and one can't exactly play if their face is crushed by a ball, now, can they?”

“What makes you think she'll get hit?”

“A little distraction. It's about the message, not the impact. I'll see if I can get in the supply shed before practice tomorrow.”

Did she really just share her plans in the middle of the cafeteria? you thought to yourself as Tory snapped her fingers in front of your face.

“As I was saying, Y/N, we should really...”

You were nodding, but you weren't listening, wondering how you could convince your coach of what would transpire.

“Sarah,” you called out, jogging a little to catch up with her.

She didn't appear to have heard, walking faster.

“Sarah! Get back here!” Was she ignoring you? “Sarah Reyes!”

Finally, she stopped, letting you fall into step beside her. “Claybourne. You're not gonna punch me?”

“What? No, of course not. Why would I do that? I like you. You're a good person.”

“So's a lot of folks who've received worse.”

“What's gotten into you?” You quickened your pace to walk in front of her, before stopping as the taller girl tried to get around you. “Why're you being so… frigid?”

“Frigid. Seems artistic. Smart words. Smart person. Guess you're brains and brawn.”

“What did I do wrong?”

She glanced around, before pulling you into a classroom. “You want to know what you did wrong? You went against everything I told you. You got on her bad side, even though I told you to stay neutral. You went and made her look bad, and then, like an idiot, you decided to punch her. Now the goddamn girl has a broken nose, and she's never been so volatile!”

“What does it matter to you?”

“What's it matter? It's not like I'm on the team or anything.”

“Sarah, I… She's going to try and sabotage you. Next game. She doesn't like-”

“That I talk to you.” Sarah smiled, what was supposed to be a gesture of happiness instead coming off so ironic it was almost humorous. “Thanks for the warning, Claybourne.”

She left, ignoring your calls and slamming the door behind herself with a slam that seemed to shake the whole room.

What have I done?

“Hey, coach,” you spoke, leaning against the doorframe of his office.

He glanced up. “Ah, Claybourne. Last I checked you were suspended. Unless for some reason I should put you back on the team?”

“I… I need to tell you something.”

“Oh? What? That it wasn't your fault? That you didn't mean to? Or that-”

“Delilah Lee has been sabotaging girls on this team since the beginning. I have names, I know that-”

His laugh cut you off.

“Of course, of course. Delilah Lee – the team's captain – who just happens to be the reason you're suspended right now, has been singlehandedly tearing the team apart. She's been doing, what? Making anyone who gets on her bad side leave the team?”

“Y/N, even if I had kicked anyone off the team, I assure you, it has nothing to do with her.”

“But-”

“Is that all? A false accusation without proof?”

“But I can-”

“Come back to me when you have something worthwhile to talk about, Claybourne.”

Lily Aquino – former pitcher, quit the team under mysterious circumstances after having been suspended five consecutive times.

Around the same time, rumors had been spreading around the school that she had slept with Delilah Lee's man.

After ardently denying the incident, however, it had never been proven – or disproven – that anything had actually transpired between the two.

Rumor has it the very person who started up the story was the supposed girlfriend of one of the perpetrators. But at the moment, you weren't focusing on the past.

Now, you were focusing on the present – the person who owned the locker in front of which you stood, who should be getting here about-

“Hi! Can I get to my locker?” The short Filipina girl smiled widely, the picture of innocence in a stark contrast to what she was accused of.

You moved to the side, and her eyes lit up. “Oh, you're Y/N! The new girl on the team, right? I hear you did really good this season. Did you need something?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” you answered simply.

Her eyes widened. “Me? Are you sure? If you've been listening to Delilah I assure you-”

“She sabotaged you, didn't she? Led to your suspensions, despite how hard you tried to keep up your resolve and stick to the team, convinced if you just kept your head down she would leave you alone?”

Pushing up her glasses as she tugged open her locker, Lily murmured quietly, “I don't know what you heard, but-”

“Lily, I'm suspended right now because of her,” you interrupted, and she nodded slowly.

“What do you need? Do you need proof? I don't have any, but I have accounts – she threatened me, said if I didn't back off from her boyfriend she'd have me kicked off, and that I should stop being such a candidate for captain because the position was hers – I'll do anything, just give me the word.”

All of a sudden, she shifted so easily from being on the defensive to on the offensive, slightly chilling considering her size and just how much resentment could be packed into someone so small.

“Will you help me make a case against her in front of the coach?”

Determinedly, she nodded. “Anything.”

Two cameras set up in the supply room surely served as evidence, didn't they?

At least, that was what you thought when you did so, and after having returned to remove them, you grinned.

Thanks to your warning – or at least, so you'd like to believe – Sarah had stayed cautious, and when her mask flew open paid enough attention to be able to immediately close it before anything could happen.

And these cameras, surely, would hold the proof.

An account. A video.

Would it be enough?

You fit the SD card into your computer, double-clicking one of the videos once it loaded and quickly adjusting settings so it would play at twice the speed.

And there she was.

You sat back a moment in amazement, still somewhat disbelieving of the fact that you'd managed to catch this on video.

Of course, the best person you could get to testify against Delilah was the only major candidate for captain – who'd been on the team for just as long a time, and whose word was almost as credible, considering she'd never been sabotaged.

“I won't do it.”

You stared in shock at Sarah, books almost falling out of your hand. “I'm sorry, what?”

“I won't do it. I mean what I said, Y/N.”

“But she's been-”

“You have enough of a case without me stepping in. I don't need to be a part of the reason she gets kicked off the team.”

You stepped closer, trying to discern her expression even as she looked pointedly away from you. “But if she's off the team, you won't need to be afraid any more of her sabotaging you-”

“Sabotage.” She laughed mirthlessly. “That's not what I'm concerned about, Claybourne. Forget it. Carry out your vendetta on your own.”

“What happened to teamwork?” you demanded, as she turned to start walking away.

Sarah froze, slowly rotating to face you again, before hissing, “It's not about the team, Claybourne. If it were, this wouldn't be happening in the first place.”

“Then why won't you testify?”

“Because I love her, damn it!” she shouted, causing you to jump. “Because I'm the damn idiot who's fallen in love with the bad girl, the stupid catcher who honestly thought she had a chance with such a beautiful girl, who looks over her flaws and doesn't want to cause her to lose the only good thing she's got going on!”

“Sarah, I-”

“You know we slept together? Junior year, we got wasted. I don't remember the first time I've slept with anyone, and it was the only time she'd look at me without disgust, contempt, and it's ruined any chance I ever had with her! I'm in love with the villain, okay? So call me a villain myself, sure. I won't do it.”

She stalked off without another word, refusing to turn back, as if hoping you wouldn't notice the fact that she'd started to cry, eyeliner starting to streak her face as she crumbled, the resolve of such a seemingly powerful girl now shed and making her seem like something you'd never have thought of Sarah Reyes as.

Helpless.

“I'm planning on getting Delilah Lee kicked off the team,” you announced, less than a week after what you had overheard, at lunch with Tory, Shelton, Hi and Jason.

The four paused, Jason being the first to speak. “I'm sorry, you're sinking down to her level for your revenge?”

“No, that's not it at all,” you answered, shaking your head with a slight smile. “I've found evidence that she's the reason the team is failing. I'm going to confront the coach with it today.”

“What kind of evidence?” asked Shelton interestedly, leaning forward on his hands.

“Well, let's just say… sometimes people don't check for cameras in the supply rooms when they go and play with helmets.”

Tory grinned. “You're picking up some stuff from us. I like it. Is that why you were talking to Lily the other day?”

“Yep.” Nodding, you turned to Hi, who'd been silent this whole time. “Hi?”

He shook himself. “My girlfriend is beautiful, kind, and a genius.”

Flushing under his praise, you shook your head. “We'll see how well that works out.”

“Videos don't lie.”

“Videos don't lie,” repeated the coach, nodding slowly. “And… she's the reason?”

“She's the reason.”

He looked up at you and Lily, before shaking his head. “She's off the team. You're back on, Aquino. Pitcher. Current pitcher will return to out-field – she was always better there, anyway.”

“And me?” you asked quietly.

He smiled sardonically. “Well, Claybourne, how do you feel about being short stop?”

This was real.

This was happening.

And you'd broken Sarah's heart to do it.

“I can try it.”

All's fair in love and war – and yet love was a battlefield.

“Excellent. I'll tell her the news.”

Was it worth it?

“Now,” called out Sarah as the team flooded the locker rooms after the first practice without Lee, “that Ms Lee is gone, we seem to be in need of a new captain.”

How easily she shifted from falling apart to her newfound composure.

“I nominate Claybourne.”

You froze, shirt over your head, quickly pulling it back down to cover you as all seven of the girls in the room turned to you.

“Wh-what? No, I can't take that on,” you gushed quickly, as Sarah quietly started chanting 'Claybourne, Claybourne.'

“Let's have a vote with what remains of our team!” called out Young. “Ready? All in favor of Claybourne, say aye.”

A resounding 'aye' filled the room, causing you to flush.

“Guys, I joined the team two months ago.”

“You got Lee kicked off the team, that took some will power,” argued Lily.

“You helped! You should be captain, all in favor of Lily-”

“I don't want to be captain,” she laughed. “I'd rather have the very person who broke Lee's nose in charge.”

You shook your head. “How about you, Reyes? You've been playing since freshman year – you're team captain.”

She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just accept the offer.”

Looking around at the eager faces, you finally relented. “Fine. I'll be team captain.”

“Yes! No take backs, you're team captain until your death or graduation. You can take your shirt off now, love.”

“Oh, thanks, I was waiting for your permission.”

Even with the sarcasm, there was no denying the excitement beneath the surface – at the support that your team offered, and at the new future for you under a new leadership.

A fair one, this time.

Now alone in the empty locker room, you pulled out your phone, tapping in Hi's number and almost buzzing with energy as the ring reached you.

"Well, guess who got kicked off the team?" "No babe, did he really... that coach is such a bastard..." "Yeah. I guess it's a good thing that there's a new team captain now." "But I thought Lee was - wait, did she get kicked off? Is Reyes the new captain?" "Lee's off, Sarah's not the captain, though." *dramatic gasp* "You're captain! I'm so proud!"

“Hey, sexy.”

You smirked as you feigned a sad voice. “Well, guess who got kicked off the team?”

The line went silent for a moment before his voice came back on. “No babe, did he really... that coach is such a bastard...”

“Yeah, I guess it's a good thing that there's a new team captain now.”

“But I thought Lee was-” He stopped. “Wait, did she get kicked off? Is Reyes the new captain?”

“Lee's off,” you replied, twisting your sleeve in your free hand, “but Sarah's not the captain.”

A crash seemed to only say that he'd dropped the phone – the very reason why Hi had such a protective case – before a gasp sounded when he picked it back up. “You're captain! I'm so proud!” “It's not a-”

“What're you doing for dinner tonight? No, not important, because now you're coming over to my house. Pizza. Your choice.”

“Are you finally giving me the recipe?”

“What? Never. That, my love, is something I'll tell no one. Not even you. I love you, babe! See you tonight!”

“See you,” you replied, a smile breaking out across your face as you ended the call, before packing up your bag and leaving the locker rooms, turning off the lights and closing the door on the past of the team, looking forward to your new beginnings.

“Ahhh, my little rookie, how are you doing? I hope the fact that we’re miserably losing this match hasn’t brought down your adorable, naive little spirits too much.”

Sarah took a seat beside you on the bench. “Your brother been coming to these games?”

“He picks me up sometimes,” you answered, nonchalant. “I don’t tend to go to his lacrosse games, he usually doesn’t show up to mine. He’s working right now.”

“Still playing lacrosse?” She whistled low as the game resumed.

“Yep.”

It was as you started walking back to your field position that you heard it.

“Claybournes. Freaks, the lot of them.”

Whipping around to find, not surprisingly, Delilah herself, you hissed, “What did you just say about my family?”

She shrugged nonapologetically. “I said y'all are freaks.”

Flare just begging to take over, to pound her into the ground, to show her just how much of a freak you really were, you dug your nails into your palm to attempt to quell the anger starting to boil.

You’re in the middle of a game, Y/N.

Ninth inning.

Though it took an immense deal of restraint to not engage her and simply walk away, you certainly wouldn’t be forgetting what she had said any time soon.

It was after the game that you finally snapped, the rage under your skin at last boiling over.

That bitch has no right to say such a thing, the wolf within you seemed to scream.

On the way off the pitch, you turned to Delilah. “Dick move out there, Lee.”

“What?” she asked, feigning confusion.

“Insulting my family during the game.”

She scoffed. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. Your brother’s a scoundrel, and-”

“If anyone gets to insult Chance,” you hissed, cutting her off, “it’ll be me.”

Behind dark sunglasses, your eyes flashed dark blue as your fist collided with her nose, a crunch distinctly audible under your knuckles.

“Ow!” Hand flying to her face, Delilah called out, “The bitch hit me! Did anyone see that?”

“You had it coming, Lee. Walk it off,” advised Sarah.

However, your coach wasn’t near as dismissive.

“Meet me inside.”

Refusing to bow your head in shame even as your pride seemed to flounder and take a bullet to the head, you followed him into his office nonetheless.

“Listen,” he started as soon as you had shut the door behind you, taking a pen from the cup on his desk. “I know you girls can be… sensitive, but you can’t just go around punching folks whenever you feel like it.”

Whenever you feel like it? “But coach, I-”

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to you,” he – ironically enough – cut you off. “Now, knowing your violent history-”

“Violent history?” you repeated. Since when did you have a violent history? What the hell was this man talking about?

He seemed to ignore you. “-it was really quite generous of me to even let you try out, let alone become a member of the team, which prides itself on being considerably more level-headed than you were, such as in your… altercation with Mr Deacon. Now, knowing how hormonal and emotional you ladies can be, I’m going to let you off with a two game suspension and a phone call home.

Hormonal?

Did he just seriously attempt to blame your actions on PMS?

“Are you serious?”

Your coach glared warningly. “Go home, Y/N. That’s an order from your coach.”

Resisting the urge to sulk or to punch him in the face, you left, holding your head high and pretending not to notice the fact that you were being laughed at, making your way out to where you had parked and starting the engine, only allowing your feelings to catch up after you were safely shielded behind the tinted windows.

Sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal while struggling not to let your head fall into the bowl was how Chance found you a couple of hours later.

“Y/N?”

He flicked on a light, causing you to screech and cover your eyes. “It burns!”

“What are you doing in the dark?”

You held up a spoon with one of the now soggy flakes, raising an eyebrow. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks to me like both you and the cereal you’re eating have seen better days.”

He grabbed a chair, pulling it up to sit beside you and leaning forward, forearms rested on spread thighs. “What happened today with you and Delilah Lee?”

“Oh. You heard about that.”

“Yeah, they called while I was at work. Which was odd, because I didn’t know they had my cell number. Since when am I listed as your contact again?”

Casting a dejected glance up at him, you droned, “The house’s voicemail message has your cell phone number.”

“Oh.” Chance nodded slowly. “I should have realized that. Now, tell me what happened.”

“What’s there to tell?” you asked, stirring around the cereal, appetite lost. “I punched her. I think she was bleeding. It’s obviously because of my female hormones.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. What did she say?”

“Probably something like ‘Ow, I’m bleeding’.”

“No. What did she say to provoke you? You wouldn’t have just punched a random person.”

“Of course I would have. I have a violent history.”

Your half brother forcibly took the spoon from your hand, shoved it and the bowl away, and turned you to face him without even batting an eye – dramatic, even for Chance Claybourne.

“Was that really necessary?”

“What? Stop trying to change the subject, Y/N, we’re talking about you right now. And until you tell me exactly what happened today, I’m not answering any of your questions, okay?”

“Why don’t I just go?” You made to get up, but his hands firmly pressed you back down by the shoulders.

“What. Happened?”

Sighing, you finally obliged him. “Okay, so she said some stupid shit. Wow, that’s a tongue twister.  Are my answers to your satisfaction?”

“Y/N. Please, I really don’t ask that much of you. Can you tell me what she said?”

“She said we were freaks.”

Dark brown eyebrows knitting together, Chance nodded slowly. “What’s it with that word? 'Freak’? Every time you get in a fight with someone, it seems to come up. You shouldn’t let it get to you like that.”

“If I’d have wanted a lecture, I might have visited our father in prison and told him I’m still dating Hi,” you bit out. “That’s not what got to me.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but – wait, what got to you, if not that?”

“What do you think?” You smiled wryly. “Look, I’m only gonna say this once. You’re insufferable, but as the person who deals with your bullshit the most, I’m the only one entitled to make fun of it.”

He swallowed thickly. “That’s the closest to even an 'I like you’ that you’ve ever gotten.”

“Huh. Mark it on your calendar it’ll never happen again. Celebrate the anniversary every year. Make it a birthday cake and blow out the candles alone.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“I’m proud of you.”

“What? I’m suspended for two games right now. You need to set your priorities straight.”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes at you. “That’s not what I meant, idiot. I mean that… here I go, and I will say this only once… it was a good thing of you to stick up for yourself and your family. You’re a good person, Y/N.”

“Wow, get me in touch with your dealer, that’s some pretty strong shit,” you murmured teasingly, before hugging him.

“No. Stop this. This is not what I asked for.”

“Too bad.”

“I hate you.”

“Hate you, too, you big softie.”

“I could crush you.”

“You can’t. You’re too soft.”

He awkwardly patted you on the back. “Okay, okay, can we stop now?”

“Fine.”

Believe it or not, the trio of girls that Tory “fondly” referred to as the Tripod of Skank weren’t the only bitches in Bolton Prep.

This you learned, of course, after the fact that you insulted the reasonably popular Delilah Lee by punching her in the face and, apparently, breaking her nose.

She’s just milking this for all it’s worth, now, isn’t she? you thought to yourself, feeling even further alienated from these girls who all seemed to have either a glare for you or nothing at all.

Nobody, not one person, dared to say you had done the right thing.

What kind of control does this girl have over the school? Coming to your locker, you almost yelped as a hand touched your shoulder.

“Y/N, relax, it’s just me.”

“Oh. Hey, Jason. What’s up?”

“Honestly?” He stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning his back against the locker next to yours. “Chance asked me to look out for you today.”

“Wow. I keep forgetting that the two of you are friends, for whatever reason.”

“More than-” he paused “-most people realize, yeah. Mostly because he knows that almost everyone in this place has more money than sense. I don’t blame him.”

“Oh?” you repeated, even feigning interest seeming an effort.

Something about Jason could just be so… boring.

Laid-back, you tried to correct yourself – there was a reason he was only really good friends with one of the Claybournes.

“Yep. So, how’s it going with you, little Claybourne?”

“Could be better,” you answered, closing your locker and leaning back against the metal door in an imitation of the boy next to you. “How about you? Get that homework done?”

“Wait, there was homework?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Nah, there was no homework. I’m just messing with you. How’s the lacrosse team doing?”

“Considerably better than the girls’ softball team,” he teased lightly. “I hear their short stop just got her nose broken.”

“Broken?” you repeated.

“Oh, please, don’t act surprised. With who you associate with, it seems as though invisible strength is common.” The bell rang, and he righted himself. “Try not to get killed.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Pacing back and forth, you struggled to keep yourself in check and not allow the anxiety to overwhelm you, the line you walked slowly wearing a path in the grass.

“Loosen up, Y/N,” advised Sarah, her character bubble gum still being chewed as the first pitch became ever nearer. “You can't go in your first time dry.”

“What?”

“All I'm saying is, relax and you'll enjoy it. It's not all about winning, God knows we ain't won in ages. Good news is, our pitcher hasn't been suspended yet for the mysteriously recurring spitballs that nobody ever finds 'er doing.”

You tilted your head to the side a moment while attempting to comprehend what she had just said. “Spitballs?”

“Listen, dovey. You didn't hear it here, but there's sabotage that goes on with this team.” Pausing, her gum popped dramatically and she didn't even blink. “Watch your back. You're on outfield today. Whatever you do, don't throw for short stop.”

She looked up as a whistle blew loudly. “Time to go.”

Even more uncomfortable than you had been before, you reluctantly followed her to the huddle.

“It's our first game of the season, eighth inning, and our Griffins are down three to six, not that anyone is surprised at this point,” narrated Sarah sarcastically from behind you as the pitcher nervously experimented with the ball. “Ready to bat, Claybourne?”

“As I'll ever be,” you answered nervously.

“Remember. We got a lady on second and one on third. Heads up.”

She signalled the pitcher, whose pitch landed right where you needed it – you hit, and quickly dropped the bat and started running.

Without fully comprehending, you managed to just barely slide onto third base, your two runners safe.

Sarah flashed you a thumbs up from where she was crouched behind the next batter.

5-6.

You could do this.

The next girl – number 48, whose name you couldn't quite remember – stepped up, rotating the bat over her shoulder confidently, before hitting it low, giving you just enough time to run home as she stepped onto first base.

“That's what I'm talking about!” Sarah clapped. “Tied. One inning left. Let's see if we can win this shindig.”

You frowned at her sudden turn around from the earlier pessimism. “But I thought you said-”

“Shhhh. Don't sour this rare moment.”

Taking a seat on the bench, your eyes searched out a familiar face in the crowd, landing on Hi.

When he realized you had seen him, your boyfriend held up a hand and waved eagerly, the other offering a thumbs-up.

Idiot. You'd told him not to come – that it was only your first game of the season, that you probably wouldn't even be playing that much, and that there was a good chance that you would lose – but you should have known he'd come anyway.

Smiling even as the next batter struck out and the inning ended, you set out with a new sense of hope.

You wouldn't let Hi down.

“Aaaaand she's in!” Number 30, whose last name you were about certain was Young, barely managed to get the last point you needed, finishing up the game during the bottom of the ninth at 7-6. “And there we have it! Our fabulous Griffins pull out victorious! It's all Claybourne's fault!”

You blushed at Sarah's praise. “No it's not.”

“Fine. Half of our points are Claybourne's fault!” She ruffled your hair, easily falling into step with you as the team made for the change rooms. “Not bad out there, especially not for your first game. Your running? God speed. Not to mention that fly ball you managed to catch to get Dearborn out on what otherwise would've been a home run. Amazing, even if now she'll bitch about it on Friday.”

“Friday?” you repeated.

“Yep. She doesn't know it yet, but we're going out again. Two months running.” She grinned, before casting you a stern look. “I may like you so far but I will shove that bat so far down your throat if you have a problem.”

“No, no, I'm good with it.”

“There's my pro!” exclaimed Hi, hugging you tightly as you walked out of the change room.

“Even athletes need to breathe.”

“Right, sorry.” He released you with a wide smile. “I don't know too much about softball but based on Wikipedia and my rich history in childhood Wii Sports I'd say your triple saved the game.”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you not to come.”

“Since when do I listen? No regrets. You were awesome out there. You got a ride home?”

“Yeah, Chance will be waiting.”

“Ahh, wouldn't want to keep him waiting. I'll text you. Love you!” He kissed your cheek with a loud, wet smack before jogging off as you repeated the last words back to him.

You walked slowly back to where you Chance had said he'd wait for you in the parking lot.

Curiously enough, he was nowhere to be found when you arrived – only a tall girl leaning against one of the columns, texting.

“Well, I've no clue where you got it from, but you're pretty damn good, kiddo.”

It took you a moment to place the voice.

“Mom.”

The same woman who'd raised you, sent you out to Charleston to stay with your father when she started going through college, and you hadn't seen since.

The same woman who'd had you young because of a drunken one night stand but still raised you, working several jobs and never accepting the help that Hollis Claybourne had offered until you insisted that you wouldn't think any less of her if she finally got her college education and had you stay with your half-brother and father.

The same woman you hadn't seen in almost four years.

Here.

You ran into her arms, feeling yourself begin to tear up. “How did you-?”

“You're so tall. Is that makeup I see? Honey, you've changed so much.”

“You're still taller than me,” you retorted, crossing your arms for just a moment before throwing them around her again. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming out here? I would've, I dunno, made plans?”

“Oh, come on. I wasn't about to miss my favorite daughter's first softball game.”

“I'm your only daughter.”

She pulled you tighter into her chest. “And thank Jesus for that. What's new, honey? We haven't talked in so long. How's the infamous boyfriend? That still going on? Any hormonal changes?” You felt her chest rise in a small gasp. “You hadn't even had your period yet when I sent you out here. Oh, no, you had your first period with nobody but your father and your brother, you poor thing-”

“Mom.”

“Right, right.” Your mom pulled back, holding you at arm's length and looking you over. “I've got my car, I'm driving you home. Don't worry, Chance knows, it's not like I'm abducting you or anything. We'll spend so much time together you'll grow sick of me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Please. As if that's going to happen.”

Holding up a list you had just printed, you carefully stuck wink-eyed stickers onto the calendar in the hallway just outside the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

Without turning, you answered, “Softball practice schedule for the month of April.”

“Seems busy. What do all the other stickers mean?”

You took a step back. “Let's see. We have the little ones with the crossed out eyes and tongue out – the dead ones – for nights on which Chance is supposed to cook. The heart eyed faces are for date nights, happy faces for study sessions.”

“Happy faces?”

“I only have so many emoji stickers!” you huffed in mock exasperation.

“So, you already have dates planned. When do I get to meet this boyfriend of yours?”

You stopped, almost dropping the sticker roll. “You... want to meet him?”

“Honey, how long have you been dating? Since, what, sophomore year? It's been two years and I have no clue what your boyfriend even looks like. Invite him to dinner. Chance knows him, why don't I get to?”

You nodded slowly. “I mean. I guess I have met his parents.” And that was... interesting.

But it would be different if it was with your mother.

Namely because they both love me and they both seem inclined to embarrass me no matter the circumstances.

“I'll cook,” she offered.

“Okay. Fine.”

Grinning, your mom hugged you tight. “Love you, honey. He's Jewish, right?”

“How do you know?”

“I know these things.”

She drifted past, plucking the sticker roll from your hand despite your protests. “What're you doing?”

“Me? I'm taking these away until you, young missy, call up that Hi of yours and invite him to dinner Thursday night.”

“Thursday? That's tomorrow.”

“Want these stickers back?”

You sighed, grabbing your phone off the counter and flipping through your contacts, hesitating over Hi's contact name.

“Don't you dare try and get out of this by calling someone else. Don't make me look over your shoulder.”

Laughing, you finally dialled the number, feeling your heart race as you heard the ringing. “Put it on speaker,” your mother asked, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Do I have to?”

“I don't ask so much, now, do I?” You relented, wincing as Hi's voice came on the phone.

“What's up, daddy?”

“Hi!” Cheeks flushing red, you hissed, “You're on speaker!”

“So? Chance won't kinkshame me.”

“Hi, my mother's in the room.”

The line went silent for a moment.

Then, “I'm sorry, I must have heard you wrong. You mean to say your brother is in the room, right?”

“No, Hi. My mother.”

“Since when is your mother in town?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Cool! Hi Y/N's mom! I'm sure you're a lovely person with a bad taste in men!”

Alarmed, you glanced up to see your mom laughing. “I mean, he's not wrong. Go on, ask him.”

“Hi, do you wanna come to dinner tomorrow?”

“Dinner? You know the way to my heart, babe. And the artist who created my masterpiece will be there?”

Rolling your eyes, you answered, “Yes, my mom will be there. She wants to meet you.”

“Oh.”

You frowned, leaning your head to the side. “You still there, Hi?”

“Yeah, still here, still here. Always here. Always watching, always waiting. You know, we haven't gone to the park in a while. Wanna walk with me tomorrow?”

“Sure,” you answered.

“Great. I'll see you then. Love, you babe!”

“Love you,” you responded almost instinctively, confused. “Wait, are you going to-?”

The call ended.

“Ooooooh, trouble in paradise?”

Taking the sticker roll back, you didn't answer, confused.

What's up with him?

“Hey, babe, how's it going?” asked Hi, kissing you on the cheek as he met with you at your locker.

“Good,” you answered, grabbing your bag and stuffing your textbooks in. “How about you?”

“To be quite honest, I'm rather scared.”

You whipped around so fast that your bag swung and nearly hit him in the face. “You? Scared? And admitting it? What's wrong? Are you okay? Are you running a fever? Where was our first date?”

He laughed. “I'm fine, on our first date you broke up with me, and I'm nervous, really.”

“About what? Something happen?”

“About meeting your mother.”

You surveyed him for a moment. “You're serious.”

“Actually, I'm Hi.”

“You're nervous about meeting my mom.” You almost laughed at the thought. “Why?”

“Why?” Holding open the door to the school, your boyfriend cast you a bewildered look. “Because the girl whom I love and have been dating for over two years just invited me to dinner with the woman who raised her, who I know essentially nothing about.”

“What, and you think meeting your mother wasn't worse?”

“You'd met her before, though!”

“Yeah, once or twice,” you scoffed, glancing around as you crossed the parking lot. “She's really a lot to get used to. My mom, on the other hand, will do whatever it takes to embarrass me. The two of you will get along just fine. She already loves you.”

Hi shook his head. “Okay, look, Y/N, consider it this way. This-” he held his hands about a foot apart “-represents the spectrum of awesome. Let's say this is 1-” he waved his right hand “-and this is 10. Now, Chance lies about here. I'm not giving negative numbers out, but if I was, he'd have earned one. Ben's probably around the middle, Tory a little higher. I give Shelton a solid seven. Coop's probably an eight.”

“Wow. Coop ranks higher than your closest friends. He must be a good boy.”

“He is definitely a good boy.” Hi nodded, before shaking himself to refocus. “Anyway, you sit at a solid ten, only because there's no higher number. Now, I'm probably about a nine. Your mom? Raised you up to a ten, therefore she must also be a ten. Do you see where I'm going with this?”

“No, not at all. Unless you're saying my mom is too awesome for you.”

“That's exactly what I'm saying!” exclaimed Hi, almost walking into a stop sign. “She intimidates me. I made a joke about her taste in men. She's gonna hate me.”

“Hi, my dad was a one night stand. She laughed at your joke, and she's gonna love you, okay? You two have a... similar sense of humor. Do it? For me?”

He grinned reluctantly. “Anything for you, Y/N.”

“Y/N, honey, what took you so long?”

“It's the same walk home as always, mom,” you answered with a laugh. “Mom. This is Hiram Stolowitski.”

“Hi,” he interjected, sticking out a hand. “I go by Hi, that is. And the greeting too, I guess. Hi, Y/N's mom.”

She smiled. “I've heard a lot about you. I'd say 'come in' but you're already inside and this isn't even my house. Y/N, take over the pasta, stir occasionally. I'm going to talk to your first crush-”

“Mom, shut up!” you interrupted, flushing red as she continued to talk.

Let's hope she doesn't irreversibly ruin me in his eyes.

“Your mom is so tall,” commented Hi, the three of you sat around a table that you hadn't even known existed.

Apparently, your mother knew this house pretty well, even if its owner was only a one night stand.

“And you're so short... do you get it from your dad's side? Did he have a short-”

“Hi! You're in front of my mother!” you hissed, feeling your face heat up.

She only laughed, which made the situation worse. “I won't say, but he sure didn't know how to use-”

“Mom,” you whispered, putting your head in your hands. “My ears are bleeding.”

Your mother leaned over to stage-whisper to Hi. “It's no wonder the condom broke.”

Covering your eyes, between the gaps of your fingers you saw him look to you. “Ah, well, happy accident.”

“You two combined,” you murmured, “are less mature than I am.”

“Oh, honey, if I'm even remotely insane it's your fault,” argued your mother, ruffling your hair.

Hi snickered behind his hand as you groaned.

“I can't believe you were worried about this, Hi. I'm obviously the only one who's being embarrassed here.”

He shook his head. “Nah, you take after her.”

“Oh no. Such an insult, I am wounded in my heart.”

“You don't have one,” quipped your mom.

“Nah, you really do,” insisted Hi. “You're both super nice.”

You didn't have to look at your mom to know she was flattered.

“I see why my daughter here likes you.”

“Please. Who couldn't like me?”

“Stop making my mom like you more than me.”

“That was so fun,” gushed Hi with a smile as you drove him home. “I can totally see the resemblance, aside from your height and your eyes and your facial structure and-.”

“I thought she was too awesome for you?” you teased, amused.

“Oh, she is. But in a good way. Like you. I love you even though I don't deserve you.”

Thrumming your fingers on the steering wheel, you fought the urge to roll your eyes at his cheesiness, adding, “I'm glad you got to meet her. And you didn't mess up as badly as you thought you would, so that's a plus, isn’t it?”

“For sure.” He gazed out the window, watching the river as you crossed it, the calm waters only lit by the moon. “You'd be good at it, you know.”

“At what? Meeting my mom?”

“No, no! At being a mom.” You turned to him, and almost immediately, your boyfriend blushed. “N-not to say that we should have one – I mean, like, we're still in high school – I mean, we could always do the – not to pressure you, I mean – why did I even start talking? Oh, look, it's my stop.”

You laughed. “Dork. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“If I haven't died yet of embarrassment,” he answered, pointing finger guns at you before unbuckling his seatbelt. “Thanks for driving me home, Y/N. I love you.”

“Love you too,” you responded, smiling as he cupped your cheek and quickly pressed his lips to yours.

He got out, and you watched his figure retreat, a hand resting over the gear shift but not changing it just yet, musing to yourself.

Would we be good parents?

There was absolutely no denying that you had considered, well, sex – after all, the two of you had been in a relationship for longer than two years, and had already dropped the 'l' bomb.

But actually going through with it? Another story entirely.

Not to mention, what if Chance heard us or something happened?

You were an accident, and you didn't want to be stuck with one, either.

Finally, you shifted into drive, letting the moonlit road take over your thoughts.

“Can it be knife throwing at my half brother? That seems like a great way to take off the stress.”

“I meant a sport.” He sighed, shaking his head.

“Technically, it is a sport. Did you know that-”

“I would prefer-” Chance interrupted, causing you to glare, “-one without implaement. Like lacrosse. You ever played lacrosse? Great game. There's probably some extra sticks in the-”

“Overrated.”

“You know, Tory and Ella play soccer.”

“Boring.”

“Basketball?”

“Just how tall do I look?”

“Volleyball?”

“Intense game of keep-up.”

“Track?”

“Yeah, sure, I'll just relive the good ol' Viral days and sprint-”

“Are you always this difficult?”

You shrugged half-apologetically. “No. Sometimes, I'm worse.”

Your brother's head hit the table in front of him. “Is there any sport you would play?”

Summoning the control over your flare that you had recently gained, you quickly used it to aim and fire the knife in your hand, dousing the rush before Chance could notice.

“Does that count?”

“No.” Then, “Just how much have you practiced – wait, no, don't answer that. Would you play any other sport?”

“Yeah, sure, loads.”

“Such as...?”

Dislodging the knife from the dartboard in which it had been embedded, you shrugged. “If you want me to do a sport that badly, you find that out.”

“I'm going out!” called Chance as he pushed open the front door.

You looked up from the homework you were somewhat buried in. “Where?”

“Country club.”

“You're... going to play golf?” The almost unanimously agreed upon most boring sport on the planet?

“I need a grant, and this is what rich men like to do best.” He frowned. “You want to come?” “Oh yes, I would love to spend my afternoon surrounded by boring, rich, old white men!”

Chance's brow furrowed at your sarcasm. “Watch the attitude, Y/N. You might be good at it.”

“I'm not sure if you've ever met a teenager that wasn't uptight like you, but that's generally not what clubbing means for us.”

“Fine, fine. No parties, and no being alone with Stolowitski.”

You smirked. “I can be alone with anyone else, though?”

“Sure.” He shrugged, spinning his keys on his finger. “The day you cheat on him is the day I marry my cousin in drag. See you.”

It wasn't until after he left that you realized what he was trying to do.

If you want to get me to try a sport, at least make it an interesting one.

“Hey, Y/N, you like the impalement arts, right?”

“What do you mean?” you asked cautiously, stepping into the car and adjusting your bag to put it at your feet.

“You enjoy impalement arts. Knife throwing, axe throwing-”

“Axes?” The corner of your mouth turned up. “Never tried that. Sounds interesting. Is it legal? Wait, no, don't answer that.”

Chance sighed, and you almost laughed at his exasperation. “You know what else is an impalement art? Archery”

You snorted. “Archers are so high strung.” Best way to annoy Chance, you had learned, was with puns. “Plus, they're all straight as an arrow. How can I find you a boyfriend there?”

“A boyfriend?” he repeated. “Y/N, I don't need you to find me a boyfriend.”

“Why? Are you suddenly in a relationship I don't know about? Is there a reason you didn't say you weren't gay?”

Turning to you with a thousand years' worth of exhaustion on his twenty-year old face, Chance sighed deeply. “With the establishment that I – one time – had gay thoughts, I was under the impression that you would start singing that one song from The Book of Mormon if I denied it.”

“Guilty as charged. But I'm still not doing archery.”

“Fair enough.”

It had been one week of relief from Chance's efforts to get you to try a sport, and while it had been quiet and less stressful, you couldn't believe you were currently on Bolton Prep's website, flipping through on your phone the, admittedly, well put-together pages of sports teams.

You were so absorbed, you almost didn't notice the front door close until your brother entered your peripheral vision. “Y/N, how do you feel about dogs?”

“Dogs?” Lowering your mobile to your lap, you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “I mean, technically, I'm dating one. Why do you ask?”

“I found an old canister in the shed of tennis balls and it made me think of dogs.”

“Really? That's not what it makes me think of.” The way he subtly perked up almost caused you to laugh, knowing the words to follow would only deflate him. “It makes me think of a really funny video Hi sent me earlier on Snapchat involving a tennis ball shooter and a bouncy castle.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“I mean, we could always get a dog if you want to walk it and bathe it and feed it-”

With every word, he only drifted further away.

“Ever been to Folly Beach?” asked Chance when you walked into the kitchen the next morning, again channelling his character very-old-man-in-a-young-body vibes as he flipped through the paper.

“Yeah. With Ben, Shelton, and them.”

“Oh? You like swimming?”

“Not really. It's fun enough when you're all trying to drown Ben, but not so much without them.”

He groaned, putting down the paper and throwing an orange from the table beside him at you. “You're so insufferable.”

Almost instinctively, you shot a hand up to catch the fruit before it could break your nose.

Judging by how Chance's eyes lit up, it was almost certainly a move you would later regret. “Softball! Why didn't I think of it earlier?”

“I really don't think-”

“Give it an honest try, okay? If you don't like it I won't pressure you any further.”

“Fine.”

“Come on! It'll be fun.”

You frowned. “I don't think I've ever heard you say that word.”

“Of course you haven't. We've literally never done anything remotely fun in the other's presence. The most amusement I've gotten with you is laughing at you.”

“Gee, thanks,” you drawled sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “I feel so motivated to let you throw a ball at my head.”

Chance leaned against the door frame to the backyard, gesturing you out. “I'm going to throw a ball at your head either way. You're welcome to catch it or you can let it hit you.”

Sighing, you stepped outside after him, taking the glove he held out to you. “Where did all of this come from?”

“The Claybourne legacy spans hundreds of years, entirely based in Charleston, South Carolina, from before the United States were even a country,” droned your brother. “There's so much sports equipment in the shed. It's crazy.”

He reached a hand up absently to the back of his neck, where he'd been hit by a lacrosse stick upon just opening the door.

Pulling on the glove, you frowned at how much room was left, yelping as a ball shot towards your face and putting the gloved hand up instinctively so it wouldn't crush your chest.

Blinking, you carefully moved the hand away from your chest, dumbfounded.

How had you caught that?

“The trick is hand eye coordination. You just have to watch the ball, and your hand will follow. Don't think about catching it. Clear your mind. And be aware of only the softball.”

“Since when do you play softball?” you asked, rearing back your arm to throw.

“I played some,” he answered, reaching out to the side so fluidly it was like he wasn't really trying and seizing the ball. “Good throw. Fast and accurate. Next time, aim for my chest and not my head.”

“How'd you-?”

“Common mistake. My face moves when I talk. My chest? Not so much. Obviously it'd be different if I was running, but it's the best place to aim.”

When he pitched back to you, it was, again, straight at your chest.

“Who taught you?” you asked, eyes zeroed in on his chest as he had advised before throwing again.

“Who do you think?” Chance nodded as he caught the ball again. “Excellent. Pop fly.”

“What's a-” You stopped as he threw the ball high, struggling to move under it. “What the fuck?”

“Catch it and the batter's out. So's any runners who've left their bases and not returned. One of the most important things an infielder can learn. Atta girl.”

You raised an eyebrow, knelt to the ground with the glove out and the ball in said glove. “Did you just say 'atta girl'?”

“You decide.”

Pausing midway in standing up, you realized why it seemed so odd.

The only person who'd ever said that to you was your father.

Confused, you didn't realized how hard you whipped the ball until Chance yelped, the glove right in front of his face.

“What did I say about aiming for the chest?”

“Sorry!”

Not sorry.

Just conflicted.

“I can't do this.”

“If I hear that one more time today I'm going to shove a bomb in your book bag.”

“Wow. I see what Hi meant when he said you could have an explosive temper.”

Chance's head hit the steering wheel. “Are bad puns your plan to anger me enough that I won't take you to the softball tryouts, Y/N?”

“I don't know. Why? Is my punishment working?”

“Y/N.”

“Do you wanna go and make a home run?”

“Y/N.”

“Are you regretting the idea you pitched?”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“We're here.”

You looked out the window, surprised and somewhat disappointed. “Oh.”

“Listen. You're going to do this. You're going to do your best. You're probably going to get at least one strike, and you'll fumble. More than once.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But,” he continued, “you're also going to crush this. Don't let your nerves get the best of you.”

“I think,” you murmured, looking around the sleek black sedan, “that we need a minivan.”

“Why?”

“You're being a soccer mom and you know what all soccer moms have? Minivans and over pressured children.”

Chance groaned. “I'm not a soccer mom. I'm a softball half brother and, speaking of which, you're being kicked out of this car so go get them. Or else.”

“Or else what?” you started to ask, but the moment you'd gotten yourself and your bag out of the car he started the engine.

“Rude.”

You spent a moment staring at the wide arc that the ball you had just hit made, awed by how high you'd managed to hit it, before the girl crouching as catcher from behind you hit you with a gloved hand and hissed, “Run, moron!”

And run you did, all the way to first base.

A quick glance to your right and you noticed a girl still running to try and position herself under where the ball would land.

Your feet thudded onto second base as the ball hit the ground, before you continued to third and nervously looked back.

Hesitating for a moment, glancing at the same catcher that had ushered you away now eagerly waving you over, you finally left the base, sliding over home plate a couple of moments before the ball hit the pitcher's glove.

Safe.

“Damn, love, how long you been playing?” asked the catcher behind you, crossing her arms over her chest.

Looking askance, you answered honestly. “Three weeks.”

“Some teacher you got... Claybourne, is it?” When you nodded, she raised an eyebrow. “He was a good lacrosse player. Good looker, too. Shame Wythe positively owned him.”

“Do I know you?”

“Nah. I just catch balls and kick lovely amateurs who don't run soon as they've hit. Name's Sarah Reyes. Been on the team a couple'a years. Here's a hint. They love the ones who can hit and the ones who can catch. Throwing's not such a big deal. Don't worry if you throw it over their head, but fumble it, girl, and you'll be dead.”

“Rhyming?” you asked with a raised eyebrow, trying to analyze this Sarah.

“One of my many talents.” She shrugged. “Tryouts are done, by the way. Unless you want to try and seduce your man in that uniform, I'd suggest you join the others in the change room before they lock it.”

“They lock the change room?” you asked concernedly.

“After five minutes. Found out the hard way. Changing in the boys' room isn't so bad... that is, until the soccer practice ends and suddenly you're standin' in front of about twenty hot-ass athletes with only a sports bra on your upper half.”

Good... to know, you thought idly, nodding along with her words. “I'll just... go now.”

“You do that! And look out for me at practice. I've a feelin' we'll be seeing you again.”

Some people have an odd sense of fashion.

Certain people, an odd way of talking.

Other people possess an odd mindset.

In rare cases, there exist few people with all three.

And, as you were learning, Sarah was most definitely the latter.

“So. You made the team,” she stated, leaning against the wall outside of the posted list, chewing bubblegum while wearing a leather jacket over the Bolton Prep uniform, multicolored socks visible at her ankles. “Who's surprised?”

Your tryout number wasn't even on the callback list.

You had made it straight onto the team.

Hell.

“Do you generally camp around here?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed. “Nah. I saw you coming by and I wanted to offer you some advice.

“You see that girl right there? Blond hair, cute ass?” Before you could ask why exactly she was commenting on the other girl's derrière, she had continued. “Plays short stop. Hates y'all new girls.”

“And you're telling me this... why?”

Sarah's gum popped violently. “Because you're either going to want to do badly or be prepared to fight her if you do well. Chances are-” here she winked, alerting you to the pun she had made “-it'll be on the field. Suspension or toss up, your choice.”

When you looked to the side again, the catcher was gone.

Odd.

“Y/N!” called out Hi, jogging up to you with a grin. “Good morning, my lovely, beautiful girlfriend, light of my life, only good thing that lives on a Claybourne property. Whatever are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet up at your locker.”

“Oh,” you responded half-heartedly. “Sorry. I was... talking to someone.”

Trying to adjust to make it less obvious that the list was behind you was little use – it was about the only thing of note in the entire hallway. “She play ball?”

“Yeah.”

He took in the list, a hand stroking an imaginary beard on his chin, before gasping. “Claybourne. 69. Final cut.” Hi turned to you, eyes wide. “Either you're cheating on me with a member of the girls' softball team, or you're on it. Because I doubt any of those admittedly very nice ladies could be better than this, since when do you play?”

“Since Chance forced me to,” you replied sheepishly, “when he found out I was good at catching.”

“No way! How'd that happen?”

“He threw an orange at me.” Your boyfriend snickered, and you crossed your arms over your chest defensively. “Come on! What would you do if balls were flying at your face?”

“I don't know, say 'no homo'?”

“Hi!”

He laughed, pulling you into his arms. “I'm joking, babe. I'm actually super jazzed. You're gonna be great at this.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Y/N. Don't be silly. I would never agree with your brother if I didn't have to. I'm only a little upset that you didn't tell me sooner that I'm dating a softball pro.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Hi.”

“And plus, I bet you look super hot in that uniform.”

“I'm doing softball, not cheerleading.”

“It's not about the uniform. It's about the person in it.”