First Day (V)

Walking home was a mistake. A big fucking mistake.

Each step sends fresh waves of pain through my legs. My gear bag feels like it's filled with bricks, the strap cutting into my shoulder. The mile between school and home might as well be twenty.

By the time I reach my street, I'm shuffling like an old man. My body screaming at me to stop, to lie down right here on the sidewalk. But I keep moving. One foot in front of the other. Almost there.

The porch steps are a special kind of ****. I fumble with the door, finally pushing it open and stumbling inside. The smell of spices and cooking meat hits me immediately.

I drop my bag, take two steps into the living room, and collapse. Face down on the carpet. Done. This is where I live now.

For a minute, I just breathe into the floor, letting my muscles scream. Then I hear footsteps from the kitchen.

"John? Is that you?" Abbie's voice, moving closer. "I've got dinner almost—"

A sharp intake of breath, then quick footsteps. "Oh my god! John!"

She's at my side in an instant, hands on my shoulders, turning me over. I can't help the slight grin that forms on my face as she rolls me onto my back, her eyes wide with panic.

"You asshole!" She smacks my chest, hard. "I thought you were dead!"

"Not yet," I manage.

She sits back on her heels, relief washing over her face before it's replaced with annoyance. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry." I try to sit up but my abs cramp immediately. I flop back down with a groan. "Coach killed us today."

"I can see that." The annoyance fades as she looks me over. "Can you stand?"

"Eventually. Maybe. No."

She rolls her eyes, then gets to her feet. "Come on. You can't sleep on the floor."

Abbie hooks her hands under my armpits and hauls me upward with surprising strength. I manage to get my feet under me, leaning heavily on her as we shuffle toward the couch.

"Christ, you're heavy," she mutters, depositing me onto the cushions.

"It's all muscle," I say, trying for cocky but sounding more like I'm dying.

"Uh-huh." She looks down at me, hands on her hips. "Stay. I'll get you some water."

She disappears into the kitchen. I hear the tap running, followed by the clatter of dishes and the hiss of something cooking. She returns with a tall glass of water, which I drain in seconds.

"Thanks."

"Dinner's almost ready," she says, taking the empty glass. "It needs another twenty minutes. Want the TV on?"

I nod, too tired for words. She grabs the remote, turns on the TV.

"Yell if you need anything," she says, heading back to the kitchen. "Or just groan loudly."

I watch her go, red hair swinging. Even moving around my kitchen, she looks like she belongs on a magazine cover. How the hell did I end up with her?

The TV drones on about last night's game, but I can't focus. My eyelids are too heavy. I should get up, shower, help with dinner. But the couch is so comfortable, and every muscle in my body is begging for rest.

Just five minutes, I tell myself. Five minutes and then I'll...

Something wet touches my lips. I jerk awake, disoriented, to find Abbie leaning over me with a piece of chicken held between her fingers.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," she says. "Dinner's ready."

I blink, trying to clear the fog from my brain. The TV's still on, but it's a different game now. I must have been out for a while.

"What time is it?" My voice is rough with sleep.

"Almost seven."

I sit up slowly, wincing as my muscles protest. The smell of the food hits me properly now, and my stomach roars in response.

She helps me off the couch and walks me to the kitchen table. It's set for two, plates loaded with what looks like butter chicken and rice, a side of naan bread.

"This looks amazing," I say, lowering myself carefully into a chair. "You made all this?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I can cook." She sits across from me, then admits, "Well, I can follow your mom's recipe card. She labeled everything in the fridge for me."

I dig in immediately, the first bite making me groan with pleasure. "This is exactly what I needed."

"How was practice? Besides obviously terrible." She takes a dainty bite, somehow managing to keep her lipstick perfect.

"Coach tried to kill us. Twenty suicides, then extra drills." I scoop up more rice, talking around a mouthful. "Most of the team puked or collapsed. I was the last one standing."

There's a mix of pride and exasperation in her voice. "Always have to be the best."

"Hope to be." I pause, then ask, "How was your practice? Fix the freshmen yet?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "God, it was a disaster. Ashley is losing her mind. We've got nationals in four months, and half the squad can barely do a cartwheel."

"That bad?"

"Worse. Mia fell during a basic pyramid. Landed on her wrist." She takes a sip of water. "She'll be in a brace for two weeks. Which means we're down a base, which means the whole routine is screwed."

"Can't you just replace her?"

She gives me a withering look. "Sure, let me just conjure up another girl with three years of competitive cheer experience and upper body strength who can learn our entire routine in a week."

"Fair point." I raise my hands in surrender. "Sorry about Mia."

"It's fine. I'll figure it out." Her expression shifts, that calculating look I know so well settling over her features. "Actually, I'm planning to completely restructure the routine. Ashley won't like it, but it's the only way we'll be competitive."

"You're gonna overthrow Ashley?"

"Not overthrow. Just... guide her to the correct conclusion." A sly smile plays at her lips. "I've already got half the squad on my side."

"Damn, you're scary sometimes."

She shrugs, reaching for her water.

We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The food is bringing me back to life, energy slowly returning to my depleted body.

"First game Friday," I say eventually. "You coming?"

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it." She leans forward, elbows on the table. "Mom and Dad are back Thursday night. They'll be there too."

That makes me sit up straighter. Abbie's parents rarely make it to games, her dad's always traveling for work, her mom tagging along. The fact that they're coming to the season opener means something.

"Seriously? Both of them?"

She nods. "Dad wants to see you play before he writes recommendation letters. Those Ivy League connections don't maintain themselves, you know."

There's a hint of bitterness in her tone. Her father's alumni status at Cornell is a pressure point, the expectations that come with that legacy weigh on her constantly.

"We'll give them a good show then," I say, trying to keep my voice casual despite the sudden spike of nerves.

"You'll be great." She reaches across the table, placing her hand over mine. "You always are."

Her confidence in me should be reassuring. Instead, it just adds another layer of pressure. One more person I can't disappoint.

"Thanks." I squeeze her hand, then pull back to continue eating.