Page 31 of End Game

Sam gives me a cheery smile. “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

“I’m sure you’re hungry,” Barrett says. “Do you want to go to the ASC, or do you want to go into town?”

I lift a shoulder in an apathetic shrug. “You decide. I don’t have the mental energy.”

He nods. “To town it is.” He grabs my bag from my loose grip and throws it over his shoulder, then tosses his arm around my shoulder. “All right, guys. We’re heading to Avila’s. It’s been decided.”

Wes grunts. His light green eyes are fixated on Barrett’s arm around me.

“Yes, you’re all invited, too. Sorry. I thought I made that clear,” he adds.

Miles gives a tight smile. “Sounds like fun.”

“I could eat,” Amir says.

Greg grins and scratches at his beard. “Count me in.”

Wes nods and tucks his book into his backpack.

So we head into town for dinner. Barrett keeps his arm around me, steering me into unfamiliar territory. He doesn’t push me to talk about the game—he knows I’m not in the mood to recap the single worst game I’ve ever played in, and that includes losing 0-5 in the conference finals two years ago. This was infinitely worse.

The customize your own burrito bar is bright and cheery and, at eight o’clock on a Tuesday night in the second week of classes, still fairly crowded. Barrett maneuvers into the line ahead of me. I spy him handing his credit card over to the cashier and roll my eyes. He thinks he’s being stealthy, buying my dinner. If he wants to throw his money at me, I won’t object: I don’t have that much spare cash, and especially now, I can’t ask my parents for money.

The intense demands of my soccer schedule mean I can’t balance a job, school, and sports, especially not during my fifth and final year of a double major. Am I a bad person if I let my best friend—whose family is loaded—pay for me every once in a while? I wouldn’t hesitate to return the favor if the situation was reversed. I’m not best friends with the guy because he has money. We’re friends in spite of his family’s wealth.

The guys push two tables together so the ten of us can sit together. Naturally, they all gravitate into the same positions they take in the dining hall: Wes and Mack on the end, Barrett and me next to her and Amir and Greg across from them. To Barrett’s right are Tucker and Mason, and across from them are Miles and Sam, who looks content sandwiched between her boyfriend and Greg.

Mack gives me a small smile. “Thank you for inviting me. I had a lot of fun.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You enjoyed the game?”

“Well, no,” she laughs nervously. “But the guys made it fun. I’m just glad to be included. My new roommate is… well, I’m happy not to be in my dorm right now.”

This makes me laugh. “I’m right there with you. My roommates are the worst. If you ever want to hang out, I’m game.”

I don’t care that she’s a freshman and I’m a fifth-year senior. She’s Miles’s sister and, more than that, she’s new to school in the same way I am, and the same way Mason was last year. Us new girls have to stick together.

And I have the benefit of my friendship with Barrett to fall back on. She doesn’t. She has her brother and a bad roommate and, presumably, her teammates.

Across the table, Wes is reading his book, though I can’t be the only person who notices how often his eyes travel off the page and onto the woman sitting across from him. She doesn’t seem to notice, playing on her phone. With a jolt, I realize she’s reading—they’re both reading.

I set my hand on Barrett’s leg to get his attention and his whole body goes tense. He practically jumps out of his seat. Quickly, I remove my hand. Note to self: not a good idea.

He turns to look at me. “Yeah?”

Half the table is looking at us now. “Never mind,” I say, shaking my head.

“Dee.”

“Tell you later.” I take a giant bite out of my burrito.

He frowns, his eyes wary as he scoops a chip and guac into his mouth.

“It’s not important.”

“It is.”

“It’s really not.”