Episode 5

Tomorrow turned into two days of almost.

Almost catching Ethan after a morning class he apparently did not attend. Almost spotting him near the west parking lot before a black SUV cut between them. Almost texting the number on the back of Coach Wilson's schedule, then deleting Hi three times because there was no version of that message that did not make her sound desperate.

By Thursday afternoon, Vivian was out of almost.

Coach Wilson had not been cruel when he stopped her outside the operations office. That somehow made it worse.

"Four o'clock practice," he said, handing her the attendance sheet. "If Lawrence isn't there today, I need to know whether I'm solving this through staff or discipline."

Staff or discipline.

Meaning not Vivian.

Meaning her trial ended tonight.

So she listened to Jasper Reed's terrible advice.

Less clipboard. More friendly.

Vivian changed after class in the third-floor bathroom of Juniper Hall, feeling ridiculous the entire time. She traded her Raptors staff polo for a soft white sweater that left one shoulder bare if she moved wrong, clipped half her hair back with a pale pink barrette, and put on lip gloss Katie had insisted was "hopeful but not legally embarrassing."

"You look cute," Katie said from the sink, watching Vivian in the mirror.

"I need to look competent."

"You can look competent tomorrow. Today you need a football player with commitment issues to stop treating practice like a spam call."

"That is not comforting."

"It wasn't meant to be."

Vivian stuffed the attendance sheet and folded schedule into her bag. Ethan's number pressed through the paper like a secret with edges.

"Text me if he is awful," Katie said.

"He will be."

"Then text me when he is specifically awful."

The campus quad looked golden in late afternoon, all brick paths, green lawns, and students pretending summer was not ending. Vivian waited near the fountain because Jasper had sworn Ethan cut through there on Thursdays before "vanishing into whatever morally questionable thing he does instead of practice."

At 3:42, Ethan appeared.

He was alone.

For one foolish second, Vivian's hope lifted so fast it hurt.

No leather jacket today. No studio lights. Just black athletic shorts, a faded Northlake hoodie with the sleeves shoved up, and a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He moved through the quad like the space opened for him because it knew better.

Vivian stepped into his path.

"Ethan."

He stopped.

His gaze flicked over her sweater, her hair clip, her lip gloss. Too slowly.

"Carter."

Her stomach did something humiliating.

"Practice starts at four."

Just like that, the faint amusement left his face.

"No."

"You haven't heard the rest."

"There is no rest."

Students moved around them, some staring openly. Vivian felt their attention before she heard the whispers.

Is that Ethan Lawrence?

Who is she?

She forced herself not to step back. "Coach Wilson needs a clear answer."

"I gave you one."

"You gave me one on Saturday. Today is Thursday."

"Still no."

"Why?"

His jaw shifted. "Because I said no."

"That's not a reason."

"It's the one you get."

The words landed sharper than they should have. Maybe because she had dressed like this. Maybe because she had stood in a bathroom letting Katie fluff her hair as if softness could move a man everyone else had failed to move.

Vivian pulled the attendance sheet from her bag.

"Fine," she said, and hated the tremor under the word. "Then I will mark that I contacted you at 3:46 p.m. on Thursday and you refused attendance."

His eyes dropped to the sheet.

For a moment, something dark passed through them.

"You really are a hall monitor."

Vivian went still.

Around them, someone laughed under their breath.

Ethan heard it. She knew he did because his eyes cut briefly toward the sound.

Then he looked back at her, expression closed.

"Don't wait around for me, Carter."

He walked past her.

For several seconds, Vivian could not move.

Two girls near the fountain looked away too late. A guy on a skateboard slowed as if the whole exchange had been campus entertainment, then kicked off again when Vivian turned her head.

The worst part was not that people had seen.

The worst part was that she had dressed like hope and he had made her feel obvious.

She reached up, fixed the slipping barrette with fingers that were not quite steady, and refused to take it out.

Her lip gloss felt sticky. Her sweater felt stupid. The pink barrette pulled at her hair like a child's accessory.

She folded the attendance sheet with careful hands and told herself she was fine.

She was not fine.

At 4:00, she went to the Raptor Performance Center anyway.

Coach Wilson stood near the sideline with a clipboard. When he saw her, he did not ask.

That was worse too.

"He said no," Vivian said.

"Did he."

"I documented it."

Coach Wilson looked at the folded sheet she offered, then back toward the field. "Stay until seven. If he changes his mind, mark him present. If not, leave the sheet in my box."

It was not hope.

But it was not dismissal.

So Vivian stayed.

Practice started without Ethan Lawrence.

Helmets cracked. Coaches shouted. Players ran routes under the brutal late-August sun while Vivian checked names, updated the attendance list, handed two forgotten towels to a manager, and pretended every car she heard in the lot was not making her heart jump.

At 5:10, she checked her phone.

No messages.

At 6:03, she checked again.

Nothing.

At 6:47, Jasper jogged past, helmet in one hand, sweat darkening his shirt. "He still not here?"

Vivian shook her head.

Jasper winced. "Sorry."

She did not want his pity. "Practice isn't over."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it and ran back toward the field.

By 7:18, the sun had dropped behind the stadium rim and the air had cooled enough to make Vivian aware of how tired she was. Practice had ended. Players drifted toward the building in groups, laughing, complaining, swearing about ice baths. The attendance list in her hand had one blank row.

LAWRENCE, ETHAN - 99.

She should leave.

She should put the sheet in Coach Wilson's box and let discipline become someone else's problem.

Instead, she sat on the low concrete wall outside the facility entrance and waited.

Seven-thirty became eight.

Eight became eight-twenty.

The lights along the walkway clicked on. Mosquitoes found her ankles. Her phone battery dropped to twelve percent. Three unread texts from Katie waited on her screen.

Did he show?

Viv?

Do I need to bring fries and emotional support?

Vivian typed, I'm fine.

She deleted it.

At 8:41, voices rose from the parking lot.

Laughter first. Female laughter, bright and tipsy around the edges, followed by a man's low response.

Vivian looked up.

Ethan walked toward the facility with two girls beside him and another trailing behind, all of them dressed like they had come from somewhere with music and expensive drinks. One of the girls had her hand tucked through his arm. Another held his duffel bag like carrying it was a privilege.

He was smiling.

Not much.

Enough.

The blank row on the attendance sheet blurred.

Vivian stood too quickly.

The girl on Ethan's arm saw her first and gave her a quick once-over. Sweater. Barrette. Clipboard. Tired face. The look was not cruel, exactly.

It was worse.

It was amused.

Ethan's smile faded.

"Carter?"

Vivian folded the attendance sheet once. Then again. The paper creased badly under her fingers.

"You're late," she said.

Her voice sounded small.

She hated that most of all.

The girls went quiet. One glanced between them with sudden interest.

Ethan's eyes moved over Vivian's face, slower this time. The sweater slipping off one shoulder. The hair gone loose around her cheeks. The way she held the destroyed attendance sheet like it was the only thing keeping her hands from shaking.

"You waited?" he asked.

Vivian laughed once. It came out wrong.

"No. I enjoy sitting outside athletic buildings after dark."

His jaw tightened. "Who told you to wait?"

"You did." Her eyes burned. "When you made me think I had a chance."

The words escaped before she could stop them.

For the first time since she had met him, Ethan looked honestly thrown.

Vivian looked away fast, but not fast enough.

His expression changed.

The girls beside him seemed to fade from the edge of the world. Ethan stepped forward, and the one holding his arm let go.

"Vivian."

He said her first name like he had just found it.

She shook her head. "Don't."

"Were you crying?"

His hand rose, slow enough for her to move away.

She should have.

But she was tired, and humiliated, and the stupid pink barrette was slipping, and she had spent five hours trying to prove she belonged somewhere that kept asking her to survive men who enjoyed being impossible.

Ethan's fingers reached her chin.

"Carter," he said, softer and more dangerous than before. "Were you crying?"

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