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Maybe Sinc prefers to go naked, like he did in Humphrey Hall. he sneers. As I feared, the story of my humiliating exit from Jenny’s room is already team legend.

Don’t forget the caps, O.D. snaps as he leaves.

I pick up a frilly white hairband, and the three of us curse in unison. Fuuuuck .

At first, it’s not too bad. Once we’ve squeezed into the costumes, all we have to do is deliver drinks and food to the seniors whenever they call for it.

In between, I chat with players I haven’t gotten to know yet.

Connor Wahl, our starting goalie, seems like a good guy.

Wally is from Manitoba, so we bond over prairie jokes and Canadian football rivalries.

Outside of our stupid maid costumes, it’s like a regular team party. Some guys are playing cards, others are playing drinking games, and a few are out in the backyard, vaping or whatever.

My housemates eventually arrive and have a big laugh at my appearance.

Maybe you could wear that maid getup while you clean our house, Ethan teases.

And maybe you could go fuck yourself, I suggest sweetly.

Bergy peers at me. Don’t take this the wrong way, Sinc, but you would actually make an attractive woman.

Swanny spits out a mouthful of beer, and Ethan groans. Oh man, I’m going to need some brain bleach to forget I ever heard that.

I sit in on a poker game, but O.D. keeps calling me over to serve beer to him and his friends.

He’s trying to humble me with his petty demands and insults, but I don’t really give a fuck.

However, whenever he deems that I’ve messed up, I have to drink another beer.

My alcohol tolerance is pretty high, but it’s not long before I’m feeling a little dizzy.

When I get back to the poker table, my spot’s been taken. Wally motions me over.

Trust me, Sinc, it’s all for the good. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this before, but with that face? He motions to me. You should never play poker for money. I can tell every time you get good cards.

I hiccup. Yeah, I’ve heard that before. But I just play for fun.

Losing is not fun, he replies. The perfect goalie philosophy.

Sinc! Beer me, yells O.D. from the living room.

I sigh and get a beer from the kitchen. But when I pass it to him, he claims I took too long.

You drink it. He pushes the bottle at me, but I wave it away.

C’mon, Sinclair. Don’t be such a pussy. Hamm’s is like fucking water, taunts O.D.

I remember Mats’s warning and try to stand up for myself. I think I’ve had enough.

You don’t get to say I when , rook , O.D. snarls.

I ignore him and walk away. Do I have the cojones to leave? I spot Swanny, who gives me a nod. He’ll make sure I get home okay, because I’m not thinking straight right now.

Suddenly, I’m yelping in pain as O.D. grabs me by the hair from behind.

When I say drink, you drink , he hisses in my ear. He yanks my head back and starts pouring beer into my face.

Beer fills my throat and nose and I start to choke and gasp for air. Fuck it, I’ve had enough. This guy is nuts.

Get your fucking hands off me, I yell, which makes him wrench my hair harder. It hurts like hell, so I blindly swing my elbow back and feel something crunch as I connect. The next sound I hear is a thud that shakes the floor. When I turn around, O.D. is lying on the floor, clutching his face.

Fuck, my nose, he moans.

Oh, shit. Sorry. When I get down on the floor to help him, I slip on the wet floor and accidentally knee him in the side.

Owww, you fucker! O.D. roars, then reaches up to slug me. I lunge backward, but his fist still connects with my cheek. He pulls me down, and then we’re rolling around on the floor, arms flailing and the occasional punch landing. I hear shouts, then strong hands pull me off O.D.

That’s enough, Big Z, our captain, commands. Even though he’s a junior, he has a ton of respect in the room. He directs a couple of O.D.’s buddies to look after him, then turns to me.

Swanny, Bergy. Take Sinc home. Make sure he hydrates.

Everything after that is hazy until I’m sitting at our kitchen table. Swanny makes me pound back a couple of sports drinks, and if I wasn’t queasy before, a stomach bloated with liquid isn’t helping. When I cover my mouth, Bergy slides a mixing bowl in front of me.

In case you need to barf. Maybe take it to bed, he suggests.

How are you feeling? Swanny asks.

Shitty in every way. I hold my forehead in my hands. My head hurts from the alcohol and the blow O.D. landed on my cheek. And my entire body aches.

How bad is it? Do you want to go to the clinic?

I shake my head. Did I hurt O.D.?

Swanny snorts. He’ll live.

You’re not the first person to punch that guy in the face, Bergy reassures me. And many more want to.

I’m glad O.D. isn’t too hurt, but I still feel guilty. Our fight is the opposite of what I’d hoped would happen. Maybe O.D. didn’t like me before, but now he’ll have it out for me all season. I close my eyes as my head swims.

Well, if you feel okay, let’s get you up to your room. You can sleep it off, Swanny says.

Wait. I’m really cold. A wave of panic hits me. Shit. Am I gonna die? Chills are a sign of alcohol poisoning, right?

Swanny barks out a laugh. No. They’re a sign that you’re still wearing a maid’s uniform, you idiot.