AIM

|Chapter One|

Warm Ups

     The Talons left a spoor from the field to the locker room: the smell of ochre grass, rubber soles, and victory. Our bodies were as hot as radiators, steaming in the midwinter air. It was halftime now, and my team had two scores more than the Waverly West High Sparrows – Coach Kirkwood reckoned this was our best play all season.

"I couldn't be prouder of you!" Kirkwood encouraged us, unable to conceal his grin, the occasional thing that it was, and we responded with fervent cheer. He told us that if we kept playing like this, we could win finals!

The Talons hadn't qualified in four years, so if we did – if we made it this year – it would be huge! For some of us, it was a chance at a scholarship. The mere thought, even now, was surreal.

Kirkwood checked his watch as we cooled down. "Alright, take a breather. You got... ten minutes and we're back out there."

Everyone dispersed; most went to fetch water bottles from lockers while others, myself included, sought a bench and took off our shoes. Emma and I had intended to spend our break stretching our limbs in preparation for second half, as was our routine, but Em seemed preoccupied. She lingered at my side with this look on her face: a mischievous grin, a bright idea.

"What?" I insisted. I had a bad feeling.

"Did you see the ice-cream man on the way back?" asked Emma, her grin permeating on her face.

"No, why?" I gestured to the pair of flats in my locker as if I'd hoped to throw Emma off, but she grabbed them for me and carried right on.

"Do you even have to ask?" I didn't. "Ice-cream."

I put on my shoes, pretending that I hadn't heard Emma's proclamation, but that didn't work for very long. Emma was sending me this unwavering, expectant stare, and I was no match for it. I loved ice-cream just as much as Emma did – okay, no one loved ice-cream the way she did – but I could already hear Coach telling us that ice-cream was not a contender for a pre-game snack. I would have advised Emma against it myself, but then, that would prove to be a pointless effort. So, with a wince, I conceded.

"Fine."

"Yay!" Emma clapped, finally blinking her beady eyes, before she changed her shoes, too.

Somewhere between the lockers and the bleachers, we arrived at the ice-cream cart – the same one I suspected Emma had been eyeing since she first arrived at the stadium. I straggled after her, wondering if it was worth it to at least ask her not to get anything over the top. Alas.

"I'll have two scoops of your caramel dip ice-cream on a sugar cone, please."

"You worry me."

"What? Everyone has a sometimes food!" replied Emma, with a cheeky shrug.

"Yeah, maybe, but does your 'sometimes food' have to be a right now food?" I ogled the decadent treat Emma was about to receive as if it was a danger to me. It did look good, though...

"Shhhh."

I wasn't sure how it happened, but one moment I was crossing my arms at Em, and the next I was holding the cone in my hand. I blinked in surprise as she returned to the ice-cream man and fetched the bill she had tucked away in her pocket.

"Make that two, please."

I could feel a protest on the tip of my tongue, but I didn't have it in me to say no completely. That would be unjust. "I-I'll just... have the vanilla. Please."

The vendor looked from me to Emma, seeking confirmation, and Em nodded in response. Freddie obliged. Soon after, we started back to the locker room, attempting to finish our ice-creams before we got there (and just get there on time). We were cutting it close, again. Even so, it was worth it, if not for the brain freeze.