Apparently they had practiced the good cop, bad cop routine.
“Or was it pretty…drafty down there?” Becca asked, yanking the covers back to expose my blue tank top and matching pair of boxers—the pair Freddie had given me. They were loose around my hips, but I liked the feel of them and, SUE ME, I didn’t see the point of taking them off before going to bed.
“Planning on wearing those things to practice as well?” Kinsley asked, eyeing the boxers like they were contagious.
A quick glance at the bedside clock revealed I’d slept right through breakfast. I felt like total shit, but I wouldn’t let them know that. They wanted me to suffer after what I’d put them through the night before, but I wouldn’t.
I shooed them out of my room and changed into my soccer gear, taking care to shove Freddie’s boxers safely into my suitcase. I dragged my shin guards and cleats out into the living room and tossed them near the door before rifling through the cupboards for something of substance. The food court would have been my first choice, but I didn’t have time to go down before practice.
“Finding anything, Andie?” Becca asked.
The committee had filled the cupboard with snacks and food prior to our arrival. I reached in and grabbed the first thing my hand touched…a bag of kale chips, salt and vinegar flavored. “Yup. Mmmmmmm. I love the taste of vinegar in the morning.”
Kinsley held a granola bar between her thumb and pointer finger. I snatched it without a second thought. It was a peace offering of sorts, and as I trailed them to the bus waiting on the first floor of the condo complex, I decided to push the subject.
“You guys can’t be mad at me forever. I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“You went off by yourself!” Kinsley said.
“Fraternizing with the enemy!” Becca added. “When you were supposed to be pooping!”
All right, they were being ridiculous, so I had to take extreme measures. I took my seat at the back of the bus beside Kinsley and dialed her husband’s number. Most people knew Liam Wilder as the rowdy ex-professional soccer player who’d been forced to retire due to a knee injury, but I knew him as Kinsley’s husband, the man who donned a chef’s apron on Sunday mornings to whip up enough eggs and bacon to feed a small village.
He answered on the third ring and sounded genuinely happy to get my call. “Andie!? What’s up? Are you guys headed to the practice field? I’m already here.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah we’re on our way LIAM.”
“What?” Kinsley tried to reach for the phone, but I pulled it out of her reach. “LIAM—don’t talk to her, she’s a traitor!”
Fortunately, he didn’t hear her. “I just spoke with Kins earlier—”
“Yeah, that’s great,” I said, cutting him off. “Listen, Liam, when you were in London for the last Olympics, did Kinsley ever go to any parties?”
He laughed, this long, drawn-out laugh that definitely proved my point without him having to say a word. “Ask her about the Russian gymnasts. That’s all I’ll say.”
“HA!” I shouted at Kinsley and hung up. “I rest my case.”
She was already firing off a text to Liam, no doubt threatening divorce.
“Was it fun partying with those gymnasts, Kinsley? Did you have so much fun?”
By this point, nearly half our team had turned around to listen to our argument. It was in Kinsley’s best interest to nip it in the bud to preserve her reputation as team captain.
“What I did in London is beside the point. Becca and I had Liam and Penn to protect us, but since you are basically an old spinster that nobody loves—”
“I’m twenty-one.”
“Right. Even still, we love you, and you’ve left us no choice but to be your chaperones for the remainder of the games. Every step you take, Becca and I will be there.”
“Every breath you take and every move you make,” Becca continued.
“Every bond you break, every step you take, we’ll be watching you.”
“Every single day and every word you say.”
I covered my ears. “Oh my god. STOP SINGING THAT SONG.”
But they wouldn’t stop. I had to listen to them going on and on until the bus pulled up outside the practice complex. I ran for it as quick as I could and decided then that I probably needed new friends. Maybe the Russian gymnasts would be down to hang out. I’d tower over them, but that’d be okay. Everyone needs one tall friend for reaching things on the top shelf.
Liam and Coach Decker were standing just inside the entrance of the stadium looking like the start of a bad joke. Coach Decker was fifty-three with short white-blonde hair and a face that promised she hadn’t laughed since the Nixon era. She’d worn the same pair of thin black-framed glasses for as long as I could remember and she was a damn good coach, even if she did scare me a little. Liam stood by her side, tattoos exposed down his arms, dirty blonde hair short and fussed up. He and Kinsley made quite an adorable pair, though I refrained from telling them so as their perfectly proportioned heads were already close to exploding.