The Halo Effect

01 | gravity

Win the draw, rule the world.

Every time I stood inside the center circle of a lacrosse field, those words played on a loop inside my head. It was the only ritual that I performed in the decade that I'd played lacrosse, and it kept me motivated to achieve my desired outcome.

Inhaling the biting January air, I momentarily tightened my grip on my lacrosse stick as I concentrated on the ball wedged between the two pockets.

"Ready?" Macallan Blake asked, applying steady pressure with her stick.

"Always," I said.

Competitiveness launched us into action.

The ball soared upward, bright yellow against the darkening sky, and as gravity took control, I leaped off the ground. With the one hand positioned low on the shaft, I flicked my wrist and secured the ball in the head's pocket. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I swiftly lowered my stick into a protective cradle to prevent Macallan from checking me, and I took off in a sprint. When I crossed the restraining line, I slowed my pace and turned around with a smirk pulling at my lips.

"Are you satisfied now, Chandler?" Macallan called, still standing in the center circle. The harsh winter breeze tugged at her sleek blonde ponytail. "Losing five draw controls in a row is the most my ego can endure at the moment."

"I'm never satisfied," I retorted as I made my way back over to her. "Though I'm capable of compromising and calling it a day."

"Great because I'm freezing," she told me, nodding down at her white Nike turf shoes. "I can't feel my toes. Raynaud's Syndrome is a real bitch."

As I grimaced, I noticed for the first time that there wasn't a single scuff mark on her turfs. They had to be brand new.

"It's good that you're breaking those in early," I said, making a mental note to purchase a pair for the upcoming season. "Remember what happened to me during tryouts our freshman year?"

"How could I ever forget the bloodstains on your socks or that you wouldn't shut up about the scabs on your heels?" Macallan slid me a sly look. "Yet you still made varsity."

I dramatically tossed my ponytail over my shoulder. "As if stiff turfs would've been able to hold me back."

The Cannondale School was one of the most prestigious private schools in New England, guaranteeing that it was competitive both academically and athletically. So, if anyone other than Macallan had said that to me, I would assume that they envied my success and were being snarky, but she was one of my closest friends.

An icy breeze suddenly swept across the turf, stirring some of the freshly shoveled snow that outlined the perimeter, and I bit back a shiver. My wool-lined leggings and heavy sweatshirt were no match for winter in Massachusetts.

Macallan gave a short laugh, seemingly reading my mind. "I know you're cold too, Chan. Let's go."

I replied with a faint smirk and passed the ball over to her. She caught it with ease.

After collecting the spare balls from the goal and retrieving our team backpacks from the bleachers, we left the turf field behind. We strolled down the slick tree-lined walkway that led back to the athletic facility, and in the early evening light, the distant Boston skyline twinkled softly.

Despite tomorrow being the first day of Winter Term, Cannondale's campus was still relatively quiet. The majority of the campus was composed of Gothic architecture, brick sidewalks, and manicured greenery. In other words, Cannondale was the picture-perfect New England boarding school.

Warmth enveloped us the moment we stepped through the glass front doors of the athletic facility. Macallan exhaled a sigh of relief while I tugged off my gloves and shoved them into the mesh side-pocket of my backpack. Our turfs squeaked as we marched across the black marble floor of the lobby, passing trophy cases built into the walls that gleamed with gold hardware. Any first-time visitor would be impressed.