With my duffel bag slung over one shoulder, I wrangled my thick hair into a high ponytail and pulled tight. That one simple adjustment was a signal to the rest of my body, to my brain.
It meant it was time for business.
Summer was still thick in the air, though there were whispers of fall on the soft breeze rolling through the North Boston University campus. I savored its touch as I walked the short distance from my temporary dorm room over to the stadium, cracking my neck in eager anticipation of the first day of fall camp.
It was a different kind of nervous than my first day on campus in May. That day was filled with nerves I imagined any college freshman might experience — the thrill of being on my own, the terror of figuring out what that meant, the pressure of figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
May meant the start of summer term, of getting two of my tougher courses out of the way before fall — and thus, football — came. Summer meant hot conditioning workouts in the sun with my new coaches, lifting weights, and “voluntary” kicking drills. It was hard work, but it was just practice, just something to do while we waited for this day.
For fall camp.
Today kicked off the real season. Today, I’d work with my coaches on the game, get my install packet, and start competing for my spot on the field.
Clouds spread across the sky in lazy, cotton-like waves, the sun’s glow peering through them. A million shades of blue and gold danced in a way that made me think of one of my favorite artists — Charles Harold Davis.
How strange that just two years ago, that was all I could think about, all I was consumed with. Outside of soccer, my life consisted of planning my next museum trip, curating my own little assortment of art, dreaming about an internship that would lead to a career where I was in charge of a museum’s entire collection.
One pinky promise had shifted my priorities, had steered me in a new direction.
And though it wasn’t the same, I was surprised to find how much football lit me up in the same way, how much passion I had for the sport that always felt off-limits to me.
Now that I had it, I’d do everything to fight to keep it.
Anticipation buzzed through me like an ever-present electric shock as I scanned my badge at the stadium and disappeared into the hallway, sneakers already carrying me toward the locker room like it was second nature. My muscles were larger than when I entered this facility the first time, my head clearer, my heart steadier.
The past couple of months — no, the past couple of years — had prepared me for this.
I was ready.
When I pushed through the locker room door, I was pleased to find I was one of the earliest to show up. I nodded at Holden Moore, a redshirt freshman whom I wagered would be our QB1. He was wrapping his ankle, and he gave me a nod that told me he was half impressed, half suspicious. He didn’t trust me yet, which was fine.
I didn’t trust anyone, either.
A few other guys were in the locker room, too — a defensive end I recognized from the weight room, a receiver known for his impressive work on the team last year, and of course, the coaches and athletic training staff.
Their eyes followed me as I made my way over to the temporary locker assigned to me, one I would have to work hard over the next month to keep for the season. I’d been offered a scholarship, sure — but that didn’t mean my spot on the team was guaranteed.
As I got situated, some of them watched carefully, their eyes drifting up to me before quickly snapping back to whatever they were doing before. Others stared blatantly, something between confusion and a sneer marking their features. I seemed to get more and more of those as boys filed in, but I ignored them, focusing on getting myself ready for my first shot in front of Coach Sanders.
When you’re the only girl on the football team, you get used to the stares.
You have to.
Fortunately, I had plenty of practice in high school.
It didn’t take long for me to have not only the stares of my teammates, but of every student, teacher, administrator, and parent alike at Hollis High. Add on the story of what happened to my brother, and it was a media frenzy at that first game I played — one that never died down.
It wasn’t all negative. In fact, a lot of the news outlets praised Coach for having a female kicker, like it was him who earned the right to be out there in those pads. The better ones highlighted my talent — regardless of my sex — and asked respectful questions in the interviews Coach set up for me week after week. And of course, there were girls at school who thought it was awesome, who praised me for fighting the patriarchy and made t-shirts with my number and wore them every Friday night.
Still, I knew the difference between those who were genuine and those who surveyed me with that look — the one that told me they were secretly hoping I failed.
I felt that exact sentiment burning into my skin as I got dressed in my shorts and practice jersey. The admin team had been adamant about asking about my comfort when it came to the locker room, offering me a private, unused office if I’d like it instead. But I didn’t want to alienate myself any more than my tits already did for me, so I elected to be in the locker room just like all the guys.
The team guidance counselor, Mrs. Pierson, had been particularly concerned with that decision, and only signed off on it after thoroughly analyzing me in multiple sessions. After making me promise to alert her at the first sign of anything she should be aware of, she reluctantly agreed, seeming to understand where I was coming from when I pointed out how tough it would be already without adding on special treatment like a separate locker room or shower.
I wouldn’t be getting naked in there, of course. And honestly, my underwear and sports bra covered more than any swimsuit I’d seen in the past decade, so I wasn’t worried.
And if any of the guys on the team had a problem with it?
That was on them.
As I dressed, more and more of the team filed into the locker room without a single one saying a word to me.
I didn’t mind. I didn’t feel like talking, either.
Tucking my helmet under my arm and hustling out onto the field once I was ready, I joined those who were already warming up as we all waited for Coach to greet the team. We had about ten minutes until report time, and I’d always had the philosophy that if you weren’t early, you were late.
“Fall camp day one, baby! We out here!”
I glanced up from where I was doing pushups to find Kyle Robbins holding his phone high and doing a little spin, showing off the field behind him as he kissed his helmet.
“Number one, baby. We going number one. You heard it here first. Get your autographs while you can, fam, because this season is going to blow me up to the top.”
I rolled my eyes, getting back to my reps and doing my best to ignore his sad explanation of what fall camp was to his live stream audience tuning in on social media.
Kyle was a talented tight end with a head so big I was surprised he didn’t need to drag it behind him on a stretcher when he ran down the field for a reception. He was one of those guys who took advantage of the new Name, Image and Likeness policy as soon as it was indoctrinated, and I was fairly certain he made more than both my parents combined off all the deals he’d managed to secure last year alone.
I didn’t blame him for getting his money. He should.
I just didn’t want that distraction around me.
“And look, we even got a girl kicker,” I heard him say, and I inwardly groaned, finishing my reps before I hopped up to my feet.
Just in time to have his already sweaty arm thrown around my shoulders and see my pissed-off frown mirrored on his phone screen.
“Get off me,” I grunted, shrugging him off.
“Oh, come on. Say hi to our fans! They’re the ones who will be cheering us on all season.” He paused. “Well, if you make the chart, that is.”
I ground my teeth at his insinuation, at the fact that he — like many others on the team — thought I got my scholarship only because I had a vagina instead of a penis. They thought it was a publicity stunt.
Anyone stupid enough to think a college football coach would care about that over talent was not worth my energy to explain otherwise.
Ignoring him, I started doing jumping jacks, but Kyle wouldn’t quit.
“I have to say, I was quite impressed with this little lady’s efforts over the summer. She shows up early, stays late, gets her reps in.” He paused, lowering his voice a little. “But can she kick? Can she keep up with the big boys?” He clicked his tongue. “That remains to be seen.”
I transitioned from my jumping jacks straight into high knees — less because I still needed to get warm, and more because I needed something to do other than ram my fist right into Kyle’s nose.
That wouldn’t be a good look on the first day.
“Come on, cutie,” he pleaded. “Just give me a statement. You think you’re going to make the team?”
Without a word, I started in on arm swings, loosening up my shoulders and trying to lock in. It was clear Kyle wasn’t going to leave me alone, so I decided there was no time like the present to practice ignoring the noise and focusing on the job at hand. I’d have to do it soon enough with a crowd roaring against me, hoping I muffed a kick.
He muttered a few more things before finally sucking his teeth and waving a hand at me. I breathed a sigh of relief that he’d finally given up.
Until he turned back to his phone with a smirk and said, “Must be that time of the month.”
I froze, arms falling to my sides as he yucked it up, elbowing another player I didn’t recognize who laughed right along with him. I cracked my neck, ready to lay into that little brat, but didn’t get my chance before he was shoved from behind.
Kyle stumbled forward, shocked for only a moment before he turned, pissed off and ready to fight.
And found Zeke Collins standing behind him.
Zeke was shorter than Kyle by at least two inches, but that didn’t stop him from puffing his chest and making Kyle shrink away from his murderous gaze. I’d seen that stare pinned on his victims more times than I could count, and even when it wasn’t aimed at me, it sent a shiver down my spine.
Zeke was a freshman, just like me, but he had a reputation that far preceded him — and not the way I did.
I was known because I was a girl in a male-dominated sport. He was known because he was the number one special teams recruit in the nation.
It infuriated me, the kind of respect he got compared to what I was afforded.
In the months since we’d graduated from high school, Zeke had filled out, transitioning from a boy into a young man in what felt like overnight. He was stacked, his shoulders wide, brown arms rippled in muscles, legs like tree stumps where they held him strong and tall. His black hair that used to be worn short was longer now, styled in a tight fade with sharp designs etched into the side, and one to match sliced right over his right eyebrow.
And I remembered why I avoided him at all cost — not just because I hated him, but because no amount of hate could stop my eyes from drinking in everything about him, or my traitorous body from warming at his nearness.
“What the fuck, bro?” Kyle said, still recording as he went chest to chest with Zeke. “You got a problem?”
“No, but I will if you don’t have some respect and listen when someone tells you they don’t want to be on your pathetic show.”
“It’s not a show,” Kyle sneered. “It’s an Instagram Live. And I can put whoever I goddamn please on it.”
“That so?”
What happened next was so fast I couldn’t catalog all of it, but somehow, Kyle’s phone ended up in Zeke’s hand, and then it was thrown halfway down the field.
Kyle cried out like it was his first born and not a mobile device in a highly protective case. Then, he immediately turned and shoved Zeke, who must have braced for it, because he barely moved from the force I knew was brutal.
Zeke didn’t knock Kyle back. He just stepped into him, looking up at him like he wasn’t even a little intimidated by an established player who was taller and bigger than he was.
“She’s a girl. We get it. You think you’re fucking funny for cracking jokes about it? You think that makes you big and bad?” He shook his head. “Grow up, man. This is college football. And she,” he said, pointing to me. “Is your teammate.”
Kyle swallowed, his eyes flicking to me and back to Zeke.
He didn’t apologize, but he also didn’t argue further. Instead, he eyed Zeke up and down with a look that promised he would pay for what he did, then Kyle jogged off toward where his phone was thrown.
I realized then how much we were being watched when a sudden return to movement happened, silence being filled by people talking or continuing their stretching. I noticed, too, that Zeke got a respectful nod from Holden, a nod that said Holden had his back.
I narrowed my gaze.
“I can handle myself.”
Zeke arched a brow, tucking his helmet between his hip and forearm as he turned to face me. “You say that like I don’t already know.”
“Then don’t fight my battles for me.”
“I wasn’t fighting anything. He was acting like a dick, and I made sure he knew it. It’s camp, and the only thing anyone should be focused on is football.”
“Exactly. It’s camp. And this is my one shot to prove I deserve a spot on this team just as much as anyone else.” I stepped into his space, poking him hard in the chest. “The last thing I need is another team joking about you being my protective older brother.”
“They’re not saying that.”
I arched a brow with pursed lips.
“They’re saying I’m your protective boyfriend.”
His cocky smirk pissed me off almost as much as what he’d just said, and I growled, glancing around to make sure Coach still wasn’t on the field before I shoved him.
“That’s even worse!” I hissed.
“Don’t worry,” he said on a laugh. “I shut it down. The last thing I need is any of these college hotties thinking I’m tied down by the likes of you.”
His eyes crawled over me then, and the curl of his lips ignited my rage. I wound up to punch him in the arm, but he caught my fist easily, lowering his voice and stepping closer.
“This isn’t Hollis High anymore, Novo,” he said, calling me by my last name like he and the rest of our previous team did. “This is college ball. You’re going to need a friend.”
His voice was so low, his eyes so sincere that for a split second I saw the boy I grew up with. I saw summer days in our backyard and winter nights around our fireplace. I saw the boy who protected me at all odds, just like Gavin, who went from just my brother’s friend to my friend and then… to something else.
But one blink, and I saw my brother in that hospital bed, Zeke’s head hanging low as he told me everything that had happened on the night he gambled with my twin’s life.
“You’re not my friend,” I spat. “You’re my brother’s friend — and why you’re even still that is beyond me.”
He swallowed, and I didn’t miss the flinch from my words, but I also didn’t care if they hurt.
I meant them.
Ripping my arm from his grasp, I picked up my helmet. “Stay out of my way unless you’re catching the ball I’m kicking,” I warned.
Then I jogged across the field to where Coach had just blown the whistle.
