Page 5 of Racking Up Penalties
“Hey Em,” I answer, warmth spreading through me.
“Hey! Is your class over? I thought maybe we could meet up for coffee.”
“Say no more, I’m on my way.” I gather my bag, excited at the thought of our impromptu meeting.
“Meet you at the coffee shop?” she suggests, hope lacing her words.
“Wouldn’t miss it. See you in ten!”
I navigate through the familiar corridors of Eastwood University, each step taking me closer to Emma, my sister in all but blood.
The bell above the shop door chimes as I step inside, scanning the room until I spot Emma tucked away in our usual corner, her wavy brown hair like a beacon. She’s already sipping on her drink, the steam rising and framing her pensive green eyes.
“Emma,” I greet her, slipping into the seat across from her. “How are you?”
“Missing being in New York with my guys but excited for senior year. How are you?”She sets her cup down, her gaze eager and attentive.
“Good, really good,” I start, animated. “I’ve been working on this gown, right? It’s going to be fierce—tulle and chiffon, with this edgy corset bodice. I want it to scream ‘powerful yet ethereal,’ you know?”
“Like a warrior fairy queen,” Emma chuckles, understanding exactly what I mean.
“Exactly!” My hands flail with enthusiasm. “It’s these kinds of designs that make me feel alive.”
Emma leans forward, resting her chin on her hands. “You have the fiercest vision and talent to match. Anyone would be lucky to wear your pieces. Will you design me something for the Showcase this year? I haven’t gotten a spot in it yet but I feel confident that I will and I need another Tessa Montgomery original to fill me with confidence.”
“Thanks, Em.” Her belief in me is a pillar I lean on more than I care to admit. “Of course I will. I already have something in mind.”
“You and me, we’re going to conquer our dreams together.”
“Indeed we are,” I nod in agreement, feeling that familiar surge of determination.
Our laughter and chatter fills the small café, mingling with the fragrance of roasted coffee beans and the soft hum of other patrons.
“We better go change if we are going to make it to Tristan’s game on time,” I say, standing up.
We both head home and put on some Eastwood University gear. I’ve trimmed one of the University sweatshirts so it’s not as bulky and paired it with purple leggings.
When we get to the stadium it is alive with energy from the fans. Apparently, the team is supposed to be good this year with Tristan transferring.
“Go, Tristan, go!” I scream from the bleachers as the game starts, my voice lost in the cacophony of cheers.
The bleachers hum with the energy of an electrifying Friday night game, and I can feel the vibrations beneath my sneakers as they rattle in tune with the crowd’s excitement. The sharp scent of fresh-cut grass mingles with the buttery aroma of popcorn from the concession stand. Emma’s beside me, her green eyes shining with a mix of pride and anticipation as we watch her brother, Tristan, on the field below.
“Come on, Tristan! Show them what you’re made of!” she shouts, her voice threading through the din of cheers and claps.
I can’t help but join in, the words tumbling out of me in a fervent cheer. There’s something about watching him play that ignites a warmth inside me, a heat that’s both exhilarating and confusing.
“Look at him go,” I murmur, more to myself than to Emma. My gaze follows Tristan as he weaves through defenders with a dancer’s poise. It’s like he’s got this internal compass that guides him, always knowing where to be, when to pivot, when to push harder.
On the next play Tristan catches the snap effortlessly and bolts toward the end zone. My heart hammers against my ribs, and for a moment, it’s just him and the field and the thunderous echo of our collective breath holding in anticipation. With a burst of speed, he breaks past the last defender, and I rise to my feet, clapping and hollering as he crosses into the end zone. Touchdown.
“Did you see that?!” Emma exclaims, her voice pitched high with excitement. She turns to me, her face awash with joy, and in that moment, all I can do is nod, caught up in the thrill of Tristan’s triumph.
“Unbelievable,” I manage to say, though my thoughts are swirling like leaves in a whirlwind. How does he do it? He makes everything look so effortless.
As the crowd roars its approval, Tristan’s gaze finds the stands and meets mine. We are in the front row so I think he can really see me. An unspoken conversation hangs between us, heavy with things I’m not ready to decipher. I offer him a smile that feels like a promise, and he returns it with a nod that sends a ripple of something tender through me.
“Your brother’s amazing, Em,” I say. Emma beams, her affection for Tristan clear.
