Chapter Text
Lottie Matthews had never been one for church — or religion. It all seemed too trivial, too cliché, to believe in the idea of one person holding dominion over everything, a singular being to whom everyone was supposed to bow. A single god that everyone worshipped, that everyone was supposed to fall in line with. It felt like too much. Too simple. Too artificial. She never quite understood why people put so much faith in it — in anything.
Her mother had always believed, though. Lottie remembered the way her mother would look up at the sky sometimes, her eyes glazed over, as if trying to understand something that wasn’t meant to be understood. Lottie would catch her in those moments, staring into the distance, searching for something that could never be found. Lottie wasn’t sure if it was belief or desperation that made her mother cling to that thread of hope.
She remembered the night of the car crash, the one that felt like it happened in a different life, a different universe. She’d been ten — maybe eleven — but it felt as though it happened ages ago. The house was dark, the curtains drawn, the air thick with tension. The sounds of her parents arguing echoed through the halls like the sharp, painful hum of an alarm bell. She heard more of them fighting than of them ever speaking to her. The sound of her father’s voice, always detached, colder than she ever remembered, and her mother’s desperate, pleading tone, like she was trying to reach for something — or someone — that wasn’t there.
“You saw what happened out there,” her mother had said, desperation bleeding into her voice, sharp and raw.
Lottie sat on the stairs, her small hands gripping the wooden bars of the railing in front of her. The polished wood felt cold under her touch, but she didn’t move. She didn’t dare to move, as if somehow her stillness would prevent them from noticing her. From seeing her. She wondered if they knew she was there, listening, eavesdropping on their secrets. She wondered if they cared. The weight of their words hung heavily in the air, thick with things unspoken, things Lottie had only begun to understand.
“I can’t listen to this,” her father’s voice had cut through the silence, distant and resigned. He always sounded so detached, so unwilling to engage with anything that threatened the carefully curated illusion of his life.
And then, her mother’s voice, fragile but insistent, “Why can’t you accept the possibility that there are things in this world that we don’t understand?”
Things in this world that we don’t understand.
That question echoed in Lottie’s mind for years. She never could quite shake it, like a ghost that haunted the corners of her thoughts. It swirled around her, a question that seemed to have no answer, only more questions. What things were there in the world that couldn’t be understood? Why did her mother believe there was something more? And why, after all these years, did she still hold on to that hope?
Lottie recalled learning about the Greek gods in ninth grade English. The dry textbooks, the overly detailed charts of Olympus, of gods and goddesses who ruled the heavens and earth with capricious hands. But it was the story of Cassandra that had stuck with her the most. The cursed prophetess, doomed to speak the truth while no one would believe her.
She’d never been able to shake the feeling of connection to Cassandra. The way the prophetess had been trapped in her own words, cursed by a god, unable to make anyone hear the truth of her warnings.
Lottie pitied her.
Lottie envied her.
At least Cassandra had a reason for the way she was, for the loneliness, for the sense of being out of place. There was something grand in that, something tragic yet powerful. Lottie had always longed for a reason. She had always wished for an explanation — something that would make sense of the mess she carried inside her, something that could account for the way her brain worked, for the storms that churned inside of her.
But instead, she had only doctors and prescriptions and the hollow echo of “You’re sick.” She was sick. That was it. No curse from the gods. No prophecy. No greater purpose. Just sickness.
Her father’s words rang through her memories with a sting that never seemed to fade.
“Lottie is sick, and we are taking her to a psychiatrist, that’s the end of it.”
Sick.
It felt like a label. A box with a lid that they’d closed, trapping her inside. She wasn’t special or cursed. She was just sick. That was the end of it.
She was sick.
Lottie couldn’t remember how long she sat there on the stairs, how long she let her parents’ words swirl around her, but eventually, the slam of a door broke her out of her reverie. It was the door to her mother’s room, the door that never seemed to stay shut for long.
Lottie’s gaze had drifted then, across the hallway, to her own bedroom. Her sanctuary. Her cell. She hated it, and yet, it was the only place where she could feel some semblance of safety. Her queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, its canopy like a veil, a mockery of something grand. She wanted to tear it down, but there was something inside her that couldn’t. Something that held her in place, as if the bed, the room, the walls were all part of a life she couldn’t escape from, no matter how badly she wanted to.
The ringing of the alarm broke through her thoughts, harsh and unforgiving.
Time for school. Time to pretend. Get up, Lottie. Don’t you want to pretend?
Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy with the weight of another day she didn’t want to face. She could already feel the mask forming, the one she would wear all day long. The smile, the carefully rehearsed lines, the laugh she would force. She didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to pretend. She wanted to stay under the covers, to bury herself in her own thoughts and not face the world outside.
But she couldn’t. She never could.
Lottie sat in the backseat of the sleek black car, one of many they owned, the kind that glistened in the sunlight like it belonged in a movie. She disliked the car. It was a symbol of everything she despised about her father’s world. The leather seats, the polished interior, the scent of expensive cologne and rich coffee, mixed with the faint hint of something synthetic — something artificial. It was the kind of car that screamed “status” even though Lottie had no intention of ever showing off anything.
Her father flaunted his wealth like it was a prize to be won. The kind of wealth that seemed hollow, like the empty space in their mansion, echoing with unspoken words. It was the kind of wealth that came with sharp suits and cold smiles. Lottie couldn’t stand it. She hated how every time he made a deal, every time he showed off his latest purchase or expensive toy, he was doing it for the approval of people who never really saw him, just the shiny things around him.
She thought it would have been better if they had lived in a place where such wealth was the norm. Somewhere like upstate New York, where no one would blink twice at the mansions or the cars that seemed to have their own zip code. Not in a small town in New Jersey, where the rich stood out like a sore thumb, constantly reminding everyone around them of how different, how other they were.
Her father’s wealth felt like a cruel joke in a town that had no real way to understand it. Even the Taylor family, who were wealthy themselves, envied them. And Lottie hated it. She wanted to scream at them, “No, don’t envy this. This isn’t the life you want. You want to be sick and rich? What a life. Hey, you’re schizophrenic, but at least you can get driven to New York to go post-therapy shopping!”
But she didn’t say anything. She never did. She just sat in silence, watching the world move around her like she was a ghost, unseen and unnoticed by everyone but the people who stared because of what her father had built. She wasn’t even sure if they saw her at all, or if they were only looking at the things that came with her name — the brand of wealth and status she was stuck with.
Lottie turned her head to the window, staring out at the blur of the street as they passed by. The cityscape outside shifted with every blink, the rows of houses with their mismatched curtains, the shops with their neon signs, the people walking with their bags, their smiles, their hurried lives. She studied them, the way their feet hit the pavement, the way they moved with purpose or without. She couldn’t help but look. She always had, since she was a little girl. She watched how they reacted to each other. How couples held hands as they strolled down the street, their arms brushing like they didn’t have to think about it, like they didn’t have to second-guess the closeness.
Lottie never felt that ease. She envied it in her own quiet way, the way people seemed to belong together, seamlessly fitting into the world, no questions asked. She wondered what it would feel like to hold someone’s hand and not have it feel so… unnatural. She studied their emotions too, the quick flash of anger on someone’s face when someone bumped into them, the sudden burst of laughter between two friends, the way their eyes softened when they looked at someone they cared about.
Lottie wondered if she could do that. Could she be one of them? Could she get angry and have it just be anger, not some medical condition that she had to apologize for? Could she cry and not have someone rush to tell her it was a “symptom” of something? Could she feel sadness without it being labeled as something wrong with her brain? She wanted to know what it was like to just… feel, without the constant weight of it being something that had to be fixed, diagnosed, medicated.
The car slowed to a stop, just a block or two away from the school. Lottie could see the group of students lingering near the entrance, laughing and chatting in cliques, the noise of their voices blending together like a distant hum. They looked so normal. So carefree. She couldn’t help but feel out of place, like she was looking at them from behind a pane of glass.
The driver, his uniform pressed and neat, turned to glance at her in the rearview mirror, his face polite but distant. “Have a nice day, Ms. Matthews,” he said, his voice a soft formality that Lottie had long since stopped acknowledging.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she just stared out the window, her gaze fixed on the school gates as if they held some kind of secret she couldn’t unlock. The door clicked open, and she stepped out of the car, the sound of her shoes tapping lightly on the pavement as she walked toward the school.
She didn’t look back. She never did. She didn’t need to.
The car would be there at the end of the day, just as it always was, ready to take her back to the emptiness of the mansion where her father would be talking business and her mother would be staring off into space, wondering about things she couldn’t understand.
Most of the day felt like a blur, the minutes slipping by in a haze of indistinct chatter and scribbled notes. Classes melded into one another — history, English, science, each one feeling like the last, each one indistinguishable from the next. Her pen moved across the paper as if it were its own rhythm, barely aware of what it was writing. Thoughts drifted in and out of focus, like the snippets of conversation that came from the desks around her. The notes she jotted down were pushed into her bag, then stuffed into her locker in a cluttered mess, untouched until later.
She had… friends. Of course, she did. Everyone had friends. But with them, something always felt off. Maybe it was the way they spoke to her, like they were waiting for her to respond in just the right way, for the conversation to go as expected. Maybe it was her own fault, a lack of effort, a wall she couldn’t seem to bring herself to tear down.
There was nothing wrong with them. They weren’t the problem. But still, Lottie found herself drifting, a little too removed from the world around her, like a ghost in a crowd.
She spent every day the same way — feeling a little out of place, waiting for the bell to ring, longing for one thing to anchor her, one thing that didn’t make her feel like she was pretending.
Soccer practice.
It wasn’t just a game to her. It was the one thing where her mind could breathe, where the thoughts that twisted in her head could be let loose. On the field, it all made sense. The rules were clear, the lines defined. Soccer didn’t care about anything else. It just was. Lottie could lose herself in it, give everything she had without any of the doubt that clouded the rest of her life.
She loved the rush of the game. The intensity, the focus. The constant push and pull of bodies, the chase for the ball, the thundering pulse of her own heartbeat as she sprinted across the field. The weight of the world felt lighter there. For the first time in the day, Lottie felt like she could breathe — like her mind wasn’t a cage.
She was #5, the center back. One of the most important players, the coach always told her. The last line of defense, alongside the goalkeeper. They were the ones who directed the defense, the ones who made sure everything stayed together. It was a lot of responsibility. And Lottie liked it that way.
Her first coach had explained it to her clearly: “Center backs are the heart of the defense. Your job is to stay consistent, to never waver. You are the safety net for the team.”
Lottie liked that. The idea of being reliable, of being someone others could count on. In her life, where so many things seemed uncertain, soccer was the one place where she could prove she was solid, unshakable. She liked feeling like someone could rely on her, that her presence meant something — not just on the field, but in the world.
“Hey, Lot,” Van’s voice broke through her thoughts, and Lottie blinked, pulling herself out of her head. Van stood by her locker, offering a small smile, her fingers drumming lightly on Lottie’s back. Van was already in her practice gear, ready to hit the field.
“Hey,” Lottie replied, her voice a little breathless from the lingering thoughts that had clouded her mind. She gave Van a small wave as she walked off toward the field, the sound of her sneakers tapping against the hallways echoing.
Lottie stayed behind for a moment longer, gathering her things and stuffing them hastily into her bag. She could already feel the familiar pull of excitement bubbling up in her chest. Practice was the one thing she could always rely on to ground her, to remind her that, even if the world felt like it was spinning out of control, she could always find her balance on that field.
With a final glance at her locker, she turned on her heel and made her way down the hallway, the chatter and noise around her fading as she focused on the familiar rhythm of her steps.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm, almost oppressive light over the soccer field. It was spring, and with it came the humidity, thick and stifling in the air, making the scent of fresh grass and sweat linger longer than it usually would. Lottie’s skin was already starting to stick to her shorts, the heat a constant reminder of the pressure she was always trying to shake off. The field stretched out before her, a familiar, comforting sight, and she was more than ready to focus solely on the game, to lose herself in it. The other girls jogged ahead, some chatting excitedly, others silently stretching their limbs.
Coach Martinez was standing by the sidelines, as usual, arms crossed over his chest, surveying the team with his sharp, analytical eyes. He was the type of coach who didn’t sugarcoat things, and while his methods were tough, they were effective. He had a way of making you want to play better, even if it meant pushing your limits.
“Alright, team, gather up,” he called out, his voice carrying over the din of the chatter and noise from the other players.
Lottie joined the group, falling into her usual position toward the back of the circle. She kept her head down, stretching her legs and keeping her eyes on the ground, just enough to avoid eye contact with anyone else. Not that she minded being here—it was soccer, after all, the one place she felt in control—but she preferred to keep to herself, focusing on the task at hand. There was something peaceful about being in her own world, surrounded by the chatter of her teammates, but also separated from it.
Coach Martinez cleared his throat, and the group went quiet immediately, their attention snapping to him. He was serious, as always, his face hard like stone. “Alright, this is going to be a tough practice today. We’re up against some skilled teams next week, and I need everyone to step up. Fullbacks, I need you on your toes. Center backs, we’re holding the line. Get it together, ladies.”
The girls nodded, a few murmurs of agreement spreading across the circle.
Coach Martinez’s eyes scanned over the players one more time, then, with a slight sigh, added, “Before we begin, we’ll take a moment to center ourselves. Anyone have anything they want to share?”
There was a beat of silence, followed by a quiet shuffle as the girls shifted their weight. Then, Laura Lee, the fullback, spoke up. “Coach, aren’t we gonna pray?”
The air around them seemed to shift. Lottie could feel the collective groan ripple through the team, but for the most part, they fell silent. It wasn’t that they hated the idea, but there was a certain discomfort that came with it, a sense of obligation that lingered. Laura Lee was always the one to bring it up, and while it didn’t always sit well with everyone, no one ever argued. They all knew what was coming next.
Laura Lee stood tall, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes closed as if the very act of asking had already set the mood for her prayer. A few girls exchanged glances, and Lottie caught sight of Jackie, the team captain, rolling her eyes slightly before turning her attention to Coach Martinez. But Coach didn’t protest. He merely gave a nod and said, “Go ahead, Laura Lee.”
With that, Laura Lee began. Her voice was soft but steady, carrying a sense of reverence that somehow made everything around them feel stiller, quieter.
“Lord, we thank You for this day, for our strength and for the opportunity to play this game,” she said, her voice firm in its devoutness. “We ask for Your protection on this field, for guidance and strength in each pass, each play, and for the safety of every one of us. Help us be a team in every sense of the word. Amen.”
“Amen,” the girls murmured, the usual lack of enthusiasm hanging in the air, though no one voiced it aloud.
Lottie didn’t close her eyes. She couldn’t. Her gaze lingered on Laura Lee, watching her in a way that felt detached, almost studying. The warmth of the spring day pressed against Lottie’s skin, and the humidity seemed to make everything feel even heavier. Lottie felt the sweat collecting on the back of her neck, and though she wasn’t religious, there was something about the way Laura Lee stood there, so sincere and grounded, that Lottie couldn’t ignore. She almost envied her. The certainty, the belief, the calm confidence—it was something Lottie had never felt in her own life. She kept her lips closed, focusing on the feeling of her breath in and out, avoiding any outward sign of discomfort.
As the prayer ended, the girls stood and shuffled toward the field, the weight of the moment lifting as they got back into the rhythm of things. It wasn’t long before the warm-up began, stretching into the practice drills. The juniors joined them for the first round, and soon enough, the pace picked up.
Lottie positioned herself at center back, eyes scanning the field as she took her stance, keeping her body low, focused. She loved this moment, the way her body seemed to move on instinct, muscles reacting with precision. As the game continued, Lottie worked closely with Laura Lee, shifting into the defense, blocking the ball and making quick, calculated passes. It was easy with Laura Lee, though, their teamwork instinctual, built over months of playing side by side.
Lottie felt the adrenaline rushing in her veins, the pressure of the game pushing all her thoughts away, making everything feel sharper, clearer. She was aware of her teammates around her, but it was the ball, the field, the focus of her feet on the ground that kept her attention fully engaged.
But it didn’t last. The next moment came quickly, and Lottie wasn’t ready for it.
As she was about to pass the ball to one of the juniors, a figure collided with her, sending her crashing to the ground. The impact was jarring, and before Lottie could even react, she felt her knee scrape hard against the turf. She groaned in pain, but it was nothing compared to the sting in her nose as she tried to push herself up, only to realize it was bleeding.
“Shit,” Lottie muttered, her hands automatically reaching up to touch her nose, feeling the warm blood as it trickled down her face.
The noise around her shifted, the voices of her teammates rising in concern.
“Lottie!” Jackie’s voice cut through the clamor, her team captain rushing over. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Lottie said through clenched teeth, wiping the blood from her nose with the back of her hand. She winced at the sting but straightened up, trying to brush off the pain. She could feel her cheeks flush with irritation, frustration rising in her chest as she glared at the junior who had knocked her over. “I just—” she started, but Jackie was already assessing her.
“You don’t look fine,” Jackie said, her voice laced with concern as she knelt next to Lottie. “You’re bleeding, and your knee’s scraped up. We need to get you checked out.”
Lottie bit back a frustrated retort, refusing to show weakness. “I’m fine,” she insisted, her voice sharp, though her head was still spinning.
Coach Martinez’s voice boomed from across the field. “Matthews, what’s going on?”
Lottie looked over, seeing him jog toward her. She opened her mouth to protest, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“Laura Lee, take her to the nurse,” he said firmly. “She’s not staying out here like that.”
Lottie groaned inwardly, her irritation flaring. She didn’t need to be babysat, but Coach had spoken, and there was no arguing with him. “I don’t need a nurse,” Lottie grumbled under her breath, but she reluctantly stood, leaning on Laura Lee for support as they began to walk off the field.
The cool breeze from the sidelines did little to ease the heat of her embarrassment. The blood was still dripping from her nose, staining her shirt and skin as they walked slowly toward the building.
“I didn’t mean to hit you,” the junior muttered, trailing behind them, looking guilty.
Lottie shot her a look but didn’t say anything. She was too lost in her own frustration. “It’s fine,” she muttered, though it wasn’t fine at all.
Laura Lee, walking alongside her, kept her voice soft, trying to break the silence. “You’ll be okay, Lot. Just a little scrape.”
Lottie didn’t respond immediately, the annoyance bubbling in her chest as she gritted her teeth. “It’s just a stupid accident,” she muttered. “I’m not a kid.”
Laura Lee stayed quiet, letting Lottie have her space. But she didn’t pull away either. Instead, she just walked beside her, steady and unwavering, like she always was. Even when Lottie couldn’t stand the idea of someone hovering over her, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in the constant presence of the girl who was so determined, so unwavering in her beliefs. Maybe that was the only thing that could keep Lottie from spiraling in her own thoughts.
As they walked slowly toward the nurse’s office, the steady rhythm of their steps seemed to match the pounding in Lottie’s head. She kept her hand pressed to her nose with the paper towel, feeling the warm blood soak into the fabric, but her thoughts weren’t on the injury. No, they were drifting elsewhere—toward the words Laura Lee had just said.
“You were playing really good out there before you fell,” Laura Lee remarked, her voice gentle, but there was a sincerity in it that made Lottie’s cheeks heat up. She wasn’t sure if it was from the blood rushing to her head or the humidity, but she definitely felt a blush creeping up her neck.
Lottie didn’t know why she was so nervous around Laura Lee. There was just something about her. Maybe it was the way she was so confident, so unwavering, or maybe it was the sincerity she showed, even in moments like this, when Lottie was a mess on the field. There was no judgment in Laura Lee’s voice, just a quiet support that Lottie couldn’t quite place. It made her feel… unsettled.
She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground as they walked, the grass and concrete blurring beneath her feet. She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly so nervous, but it was hard to shake the feeling, like her stomach had turned into a tangled knot.
“You… were too,” Lottie murmured, her voice quiet as she lifted the paper towel to her nose once again. Her words felt awkward, almost like she was forcing them out. She wasn’t used to talking like this, especially not to someone like Laura Lee. But the words were out, and she couldn’t take them back.
Laura Lee smiled softly, a small, almost shy smile that made Lottie’s heart skip. “Thanks,” she said, the warmth in her voice making Lottie feel even more self-conscious.
The sound of footsteps behind them broke the moment, and Lottie felt her annoyance flare up again. The junior who had knocked her over was still trailing them, looking awkward but not quite getting the hint that they could leave.
Lottie couldn’t help it. “You can go back,” she said, her tone sharper than she intended. She didn’t even know the junior’s name, and at that moment, she didn’t care. All she wanted was to get to the nurse’s office and get away from the attention.
The junior hesitated for a moment, then mumbled something that sounded like an apology before turning and jogging back toward the field. Lottie didn’t watch them go, her eyes still glued to the pavement beneath her feet.
The silence between her and Laura Lee felt different now. Not uncomfortable, but quiet in a way that left Lottie with too many thoughts to sort through. Her face still felt hot, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the blood or from the way her heart was beating faster than it should.
“So, um…” Lottie began, trying to fill the silence with something other than her racing thoughts. “You, uh, you think I was playing well today?”
Laura Lee gave a small laugh, a soft, almost melodic sound that made Lottie feel even more flustered. “Yeah, for sure. I mean, you’ve been solid in defense all season.”
The compliment caught Lottie off guard. She knew she was good at what she did, but hearing it from Laura Lee, of all people, made her stomach flip. “Thanks,” she said, the word feeling too small compared to the weight of what she was feeling inside.
It was strange. She didn’t know why she cared so much about Laura Lee’s opinion, but she did. And it made her even more irritated with herself. She’d been focused on the game, on the play, on the team. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this, about how her skin felt warm whenever Laura Lee smiled at her or how she couldn’t help but look at her a little longer than she probably should.
They were nearly at the nurse’s office now, and Lottie couldn’t help but feel a twinge of frustration that the situation was even happening. Her knee was scraped up, her nose was bleeding, and her pride had taken a hit. But somehow, her thoughts kept drifting back to Laura Lee, and it was making her feel… unsettled, in a way that she wasn’t used to.
“Almost there,” Laura Lee said, her voice soft, as though sensing Lottie’s unease.
Lottie nodded, still avoiding her gaze, and focused on the path ahead. As they reached the door to the nurse’s office, Lottie felt a sudden sense of relief that the moment of attention would soon be over.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that, for some reason, it wasn’t just the blood on her face or the scrape on her knee that was making her heart race. It was something else.
As they made their way back to the field after leaving the nurse’s office, the conversation between Lottie and Laura Lee felt… different. It was easy in a way that Lottie hadn’t expected. They weren’t talking about anything earth-shattering, just random, light things, but for some reason, it made her feel lighter.
“So, wait,” Lottie said, glancing at Laura Lee as they walked. “You’re telling me you really thought pizza came from France until, what, middle school?”
Laura Lee laughed, her cheeks tinged pink, probably from the heat—or so Lottie told herself. “I don’t know! I was, like, eight, and we were learning about the Eiffel Tower in school. I just assumed anything good had to come from France. Croissants, crepes, pizza…”
Lottie shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “That’s… actually ridiculous.”
“Hey!” Laura Lee protested, though her tone was light and teasing. “At least I didn’t think Alaska was a separate country until fifth grade.”
Lottie gasped, placing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “That was one time, and I was ten! And besides, it’s not my fault the map made it look like it was floating off by itself.”
Laura Lee giggled, and Lottie couldn’t help but laugh too. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt like they’d slipped into some kind of rhythm, like they’d been having these conversations forever.
“You know,” Laura Lee said after a beat, her voice soft, “I don’t think we’ve ever really talked like this before.”
Lottie blinked at her, surprised by the sudden sincerity in her tone. “Yeah, I guess not,” she admitted. “I mean, we’ve known each other, like, forever, right? Since elementary school.”
“Since the second-grade talent show,” Laura Lee said, a smile breaking across her face at the memory. “You did that ridiculous hula-hoop routine with Tasha Harris.”
Lottie groaned, covering her face with her hand. “Don’t remind me. I still have nightmares about that.”
Laura Lee laughed again, the sound warm and genuine, and Lottie couldn’t help but smile too. It felt nice, talking like this. Easy.
By the time they reached the field, practice was over, and the other girls were gathering their things. Jackie, still in her team captain mode, spotted Lottie immediately and jogged over, Shauna following close behind.
“Hey, are you okay?” Jackie asked, her voice tinged with concern. “You missed the rest of practice. What happened?”
Lottie shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under their gaze. “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Just a scrape and a nosebleed. Nothing major.”
Shauna frowned, looking her over like she didn’t entirely believe her. “Are you sure? You were bleeding pretty bad.”
“Really, I’m fine,” Lottie insisted. “The nurse patched me up. No big deal.”
Normally, missing practice would have annoyed her to no end. She hated feeling like she wasn’t contributing, like she was letting the team down. But as she glanced at Laura Lee, who was busy tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, Lottie realized she didn’t feel as bad as she thought she would.
In fact, she felt… okay.
She liked talking to Laura Lee.
That thought caught her off guard, and she quickly brushed it aside, turning her attention back to Jackie and Shauna.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Lottie promised, her voice steady.
Jackie nodded, satisfied, and Shauna gave her a small smile before they both walked off.
As Lottie gathered her things, she glanced at Laura Lee again, who was chatting with Van nearby. The warmth in her chest lingered, and she couldn’t quite explain why.
She shook her head, slinging her bag over her shoulder. It didn’t matter. They were just talking, that’s all.
But as she left the field, the smile on her face refused to fade.