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Byron

“You gotta be kidding me.” I throw my stick against the glass. The first week of practice hasn’t exactly been smooth. This team is built differently than last year’s. We need to replace the scoring Jalen produced and we lost our top two defenders to the draft.

If there is one bright side to this young, inexperienced team, it’s Oliver Adams. That boy can play.

He moves with the grace of a gazelle and the aggressiveness of a hippo.

I’m sure you were all expecting me to say lion, but you don’t spend your free time with a former pre-vet major and not know that hippos cause, on average, five hundred deaths a year compared to just twenty-two by lions.

It’s not just raw talent, he has the work ethic too. We’re getting in an extra hour of work before Oliver has to call it quits to get ready for his afternoon biology class.

As the team’s newly appointed captain, I’ve taken it upon myself to take Oliver under my wing.

I’m unlacing my skates, when the words fall out of my mouth. “Do you actually want to go into the medical field?”

He stares at me for a few seconds.

“You should have seen your face, man. I thought you were about to shit your pants.”

“I didn’t want to offend you, but I know the pressure your sister was under. I can’t imagine what it’s like with our schedule.”

“I appreciate that, man, but I have always wanted to be a pediatric oncologist.” He takes a deep breath.

“One of my closest friends died our freshman year of high school from leukemia. I always knew my parents were going to encourage me to go into the medical field, but after Asher died, I knew I had a greater calling.”

Can these damn Adams siblings stop being so freaking caring? They are truly some of the most selfless people I have met.

“Well, that’s pretty amazing. I’m sorry about your friend, but I’m sure he is proud of you.”

I catch Oliver wiping away tears. I pull out my phone, not really looking at anything just giving Oliver a moment. He stands up, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

“I have to get going. Class starts in twenty minutes and I still need to grab food.”

He’s half down the narrow hall that leads to the locker room when he turns around.

“Thanks for checking in on me,” he pauses, “and my sister.”

The test kitchen is about half full, but missing the one person I need to see. The kitchen sink cookies I baked for Lola sit in front of her seat, along with the pumpkin spice latte she asked for today.

Lola strolls in, black hair in a messy half bun, half ponytail hybrid, short strands that don’t fit flying all over the place. She’s just in jeans and a cropped T-shirt. Even with the simple outfit she looks beautiful, gliding across the room, like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

She stops when she gets to the table and starts to unwrap the cookies. She picks one up and holds it at eye level thoroughly examining it before taking a bite.

“Are these for me?”

Only Lola would take a bite of a cookie before knowing if it was for her or not.

“Yeah, Pip, those are for you. I had some free time yesterday and thought you’d like them.”

“Well, they are delicious,” she mumbles through bites.

“Thank you, Byron.”

A stubborn crumb sits at the corner of her lips. My thumb moves without my permission, wiping the crumb away.

Lola’s cheeks flush, eyes avoiding mine.

“You’re welcome.”

Chef Stroll’s booming voice is the only reason I take my eyes away from Lola’s perfect lips.

“Today I want you to work on finalizing your menu. By the next class, I expect there to be three finalized recipes.”

We have two recipes locked in. Lola’s Nonna’s tiramisu recipe and Jalen’s family recipe for savory tarts. We are having issues deciding which pasta and sauce recipe we want to use.

It’s been a knockout, drag on fight, but neither of us will budge.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Lola’s tone is very diplomatic, unlike the hundred other times we’ve approached this pasta sauce conversation. “I think we should do a blind taste test.”

It’s actually not a bad idea.

“Okay, we can do it this weekend. I know most other students will be gone, but I have practice, and we can go to Fall Fest to make your stay worth it.”

There’s a slight pause before she agrees to rearrange her plans for the weekend.

She extends her hand and I grip it firmly before shaking it.

“You got a deal.”