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I decide to keep the note and peony out of this conversation. In fact, Beck left a peony on my bed again. No note this time. Just a pink flower on my pillow. That’s an us thing, and it feels like I need to keep it in our space. I also won’t mention that I made him mac ’n’ cheese the other night. I didn’t make a big deal about it, just like he hadn’t acknowledged the note and peony he’d left for me on the first day of class. But he did give me a soft smile and thanked me before I walked out of the kitchen.

“I never heard of Beck hanging out with any girls last year. I mean, we saw him at a few parties, and of course, there were girls around, but I never saw him with anyone. I don’t think he ever got over you. Anyone with eyes can tell he still cares about you.” Arbor nudges my shoulder with hers.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, but it’s also not something I really want to think about.”

“So, maybe you aren’t over him either,” she says and puts her hand on one of my knees.

Thankfully, the bus stops and saves me from having to answer, and we get off.

The day flies by. Arbor, Lily, and I complete the obstacle course like the champs we are. We made it over the climbing wall together, conquered the tightrope, caught each other in the trust falls, and army-crawled through the mud. There isn’t a winner because it’s a team-building activity, but we did finish each one first. We decide we’ll reward ourselves with manis and pedis tomorrow.

After the physical challenges are done, we sit around in a big circle and introduce ourselves and say what lessons we learned from the day. I might have rolled my eyes when we sat down, but by the time it gets to me, I feel a sisterhood around me that I have never experienced before.

CHAPTERNINE

BECKHAM

“Your rangeof movement is limited. Let’s work on some of those wrist flexions and extensions to create more flexibility,” Sally, the team’s physical therapist, says.

I wince as I stretch out my palm and feel the sting go up my forearm and into my shoulder. It doesn’t always bother me, but I’ve been going hard in practice lately.

“You said you did this falling off a bike?” Sally asks with a pinch to her mouth.

She’s right to be confused by my bullshit story because that’s exactly what it is—bullshit.

“Yep.”

In my opinion, it doesn’t matter how I severed a nerve in my palm that nearly caused paralysis when I was only nine. It healed, and even though it hurts from time to time or goes numb on occasion, I can still get out on the field and play ball with my best friend, and I got a scholarship to take the burden off my dad.

So, yeah, a little pain is worth it.

“You say you’re feeling okay, but you wouldn’t be in this room without an order from Coach.” The physical therapist places her hand on my forearm and slowly pushes down my hand, which is hanging over the table, to stretch out my wrist.

I smash my teeth together to keep myself from telling her to fuck right off.

“Did you ever have surgery on your hand after the fall? It looks like you possibly had some tissue grafting, but did they ever do anything with the nerve damage?”

She takes her palm and pushes my hand up now and keeps her other hand on my forearm. Once the sting subsides, the stretch actually feels kind of good.

“No surgery on the nerves, but, yes, I did have some grafting on my hand.”

“From the hip, I assume?”

I nod.

It’s intense, having these conversations. No one in high school ever asked, nor did this come up when I was recruited to the team. But Sally is new to the program and has taken an interest in the teams’ injuries, particularly mine.

“I’m not going to meddle, Beckham, because I’m guessing there is a story here, but just tell me something. Does Coach know the cause of this?” She releases my hand and grabs the bottle of Aspercreme from the table next to us. She gives me a pointed look while squirting some into her palm.

“He knows. But don’t you worry about me, Sal. I’m great with my hands, and I can catch or carry any ball given to me.” I throw in a laugh to lighten the mood.

The very last thing I want to do is explain to Sally where my scars came from. Coach knows the story, and he’s the only one who needs to know.

“Okay, got it. It’s my job to ask though—you understand that, right? And besides, we really need another championship year, so I’m counting on you, Beck.” She squeezes my hand lightly once she’s done spreading the cream from my hand up to my forearm.

“I got you, Sal. We’re taking it all this season.” I stand from my seat and stretch my arms above my head, then turn my torso left and then right.

“From your mouth, Beck. Now, go finish stretching. I need to start on my next victim.” She laughs.