Stealing for Keeps (Frost Lake High Book 1)
Stealing for Keeps: Chapter 18

Rowan looks over the seat in front of me. “What are you drawing?”

“Nothing, really, just messing around.” I flip the book shut. We’re on the bus home from Stoutland. We won, but it was close. I’m aggravated with how I played and the stupid mistakes we made as a team.

“Do you want to play cards with us?” he asks, motioning with his head for me to move up a row to where he, Hunter, and Blake are sitting, legs angled to the aisle, playing cards.

“Nah, thanks though.”

He hesitates a beat as if he thinks I might change my mind. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I say easily. Then because it’s Rowan, I add, “Frustrated about the game.”

No matter how many I’ve played in—hundreds at this point—the expectations for myself and others get harder to meet. At least for me. My teammate looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“We all struggled with their defensive setup. We’ve seen it, and we’ll adjust before we play them again later this season.”

It’s a calm, mature response that gets a half smile out of me. “How are you so chill all the time?”

“It’s just soccer,” he says and flashes a grin, turning back around in his seat.

I don’t think it’s been just soccer for me since I was nine and realized that the better I performed, the more people noticed. Coaches, parents, peers.

I shut my sketchbook and put it away, then glance back to where Vaughn is sitting. He has his headphones on and sits alone. Getting up, I move toward him. His gaze flicks to mine as I take a seat next to him.

“Hey,” I say.

He has his laptop open and is doing some sort of multiple-choice math assignment.

“Homework?”

“Practice test.” He moves one side of his headphones slightly off his ear. He doesn’t look back at me but asks, “What’s up?”

“Stoutland was good. Better than I expected.” And I expected them to be good. Since coming to Frost Lake, working with Coach Collins, and playing with top-tier high school talents had made me think we were unbeatable. Now I know that’s a myth.

“They were ready, and we weren’t,” he says, still not looking away from the screen. “They’re in better shape, work better as a team, and they have five seniors that have been playing together forever.”

“And here I thought talking to you was going to make me feel better,” I mutter.

He stops what he’s doing and sits back in his seat. “Do you know how we’ve managed to win the past two years?”

“By being the best team in the state?” I ask with a slight smirk.

“Good teams get beaten all the time. We have a lot of talented players, but it doesn’t mean much if we can’t replace a way to work together. They came at us strong tonight, and we didn’t have that mesh as a team to deviate from plays and adjust.”

Shit, this really is the most depressing after-game pep talk I’ve ever heard. Vaughn isn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows, but I thought with soccer he’d be the most likely to understand this gnawing desire to step off the bus and go immediately to practice.

“I can’t fuck this up,” I say, more to myself than him. But since I’ve said it, I turn to him. “My family moved a thousand miles for me to play at Frost Lake. For me to win here.”

“I hear you, but if you let one bad game get into your head, we’re already screwed.”

He’s right about that. I used to let things roll off me a little easier, but now every chance feels like a make-or-break moment.

“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I know. I really hate being caught off guard.”

One side of his mouth pulls up in the slightest smile. “And here I thought I’d been doing a good job of keeping you on your toes in practice. Guess I’ll have to step it up.”

I’m sure he means it as a threat, but I welcome the competition. Vaughn is the best guy on the team, maybe in the state. If I can play with him, I can play with anyone at our level. Not that I’d ever admit that to him.

His phone pings in his lap. As he reads it, his expression falls back into a scowl.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “No. I asked my teacher for an extension, and he just emailed me back to say that he’s not going to make an exception.”

I glance back at his open laptop. “I wish I could help, but I’m barely keeping up in class myself.”

“I’ll figure it out.” He waves me off. “Or my dad will kill me.”

I do not want to imagine how Coach Collins would react to his star player not making grades for the team. The fact that player is also his son…yikes.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” I get up and stand in the aisle.

“Hey,” Vaughn calls after me. The stressed expression is gone, and he’s smiling. “We’ll be ready for them next time.”

It’s a promise that fills me with relief and anticipation. I nod my agreement.

* * *

Dad is home when I walk in from the game. He and Mom are in the kitchen. His suitcase is in the middle of the room like he abandoned it mid-step.

“You’re here,” I say, feeling my grin widen. I step forward, and we embrace. “I didn’t think you were coming until next week.”

He squeezes me and pats my back. “A couple of meetings got canceled, so I was able to get away early.”

We pull back, and I look at him. His hair is grayed at his temples, and he’s wearing his glasses that he used to say were just for reading. I know he hasn’t changed that much in the weeks since I’ve seen him, but when was the last time I really looked at him?

“Congrats on the game,” he says. “I heard you won.”

“We did,” I say, considering if I should tell him it felt more like a wake-up call than a victory, but I decide that I don’t want to ruin this moment with all that tonight. So instead, I tell him all the things I’ve been holding on to while he’s been away. My teammates, practices, working with Coach Collins. Mom has already gone to bed, and the clock on the oven reads after midnight when I’ve stopped thinking of more things I want to tell him.

His eyelids are droopy, and he covers a yawn. “I should get some sleep so I can get up in the morning to see your brother and sister when they wake up for school.”

We don’t have another game this week, but now that he’s here, I have a thought. “Will you come to practice tomorrow? Some of the other parents stop by and watch. As long as you don’t yell, Coach doesn’t care.”

“When have I ever yelled?” Dad asks. He’s the quiet, introspective type, so it’s not usually his style.

“Conference finals, freshman year.”

“That was an exception.” He waggles a finger. “That kid on the other team was trying to hurt someone. It was blatantly obvious.”

It’s true. That kid was out for blood and sneaky. The refs had a hard time catching him in the act. Still, the memory makes me smile as I picture my calm and collected dad on his feet with the rest of the parents, yelling and standing up for us.

“Let me see what your mother has planned for me in the morning, but I’ll make it if I can.”

I smile. “Night, Dad.”

When I get up to my room, I change and get ready for bed, then lie back on my mattress with my phone.

Vaughn has already sent some video content from the game for us to analyze. Usually, I’d be all about replaying my performance so I can make adjustments for the next game, but Claire’s name catches my attention.

Claire: I have some ideas for our project. Meet tomorrow at my place, six o’clock?

She texted about thirty minutes ago. Nothing else. Not about her avoiding me or the game. Maybe she doesn’t know if we won or lost. Maybe she doesn’t care. She hasn’t wasted any opportunity to let me know how she feels about me and my soccer bros. But she’s talking to me again, and that feels like the biggest win of the night.

Me: Sounds good. See you then.