PALMETTO STATE FOXES

"This is about you. This is about everything it took you to get to this point, everything it cost you, and everyone who laughed when you dared to dream of something big and bright."

[foxespsu]

Location: Hotel Date: Friday, Jan 28th Time: Post game, late (open​)

The scans were the easiest part of the hospital visit. After the immediate rush of relief—nothing broken, just bruised—reality set in. Bruised ribs still meant weeks on the bench. Three weeks, minimum. Longer, possibly, with Wymack making the call. He'd pulled them quick enough tonight, after all.

And then, of course, there was the other issue with picking up an injury. Casey appreciated that their doctor was blunt, at least. They'd rather someone say addiction over your history. Pain could delay healing, she'd said, but they'd have to put safeguards in place.

She'd thrown out options: scheduled ibuprofen and acetaminophen, maybe a muscle relaxer, potentially something stronger if they couldn't breathe through the pain—Casey took a deep breath at that, just to test it, and yeah, it fucking hurt. Between the pain and the late hour, Casey was mostly lost by the end of her explanation.

But pain meds were on the table. Casey understood that much.

And for a moment, honestly, they'd considered it. It would only be a few doses—enough to get them through the worst of it. Abby would know, and she'd tell Wymack. This was coming from a doctor, this time. Casey wouldn't fail any drug tests with a valid prescription, and they wouldn't be in pain. They were injured, and their team was in the Championships. Wasn't it in everyone's best interest for Casey to heal as quickly as possible? Wouldn't Wymack rather have access to his full roster?

Except Wymack had already made his stance clear. Casey was at the hospital, not on the court. And Casey had already fallen back into bad habits once tonight, attempting to play through the pain.

So now, hours later, they're back at the hotel with a much simpler game plan: alternating Tylenol and ibuprofen, and as much ice as they could possibly want. No opioids.

By the time they're stepping into the lobby, the game's long over. In between all the hurry-up-and-wait of the ER, they'd watched the live stream on their phone. 5-2; brutal. They'd hoped to make their way back to their room to lick their wounds in peace, but instead, there's another Fox in the elevator. And, well. It's not like Casey's about to tackle the stairs.

"Nothing broken," they announce, because aside from the fact that everyone saw them go down hard, Casey's well aware of how gingerly they're moving right now. "But I think..." They swallow around the lump in their throat before admitting the next part. Somehow, saying it out themself loud feels more real than hearing it from the doctor. "You're going to have to play the next game without me."

[go-foxes]

River usually finds it hard to settle after a game. They usually find it hard to settle after a loss, and that's what most of their games as a Fox have been—including tonight.

Being a goalkeeper comes with a certain amount of perfectionism: what happens in front of them on the court, most of the time, is fast-paced and chaotic. When something breaks down, you can't always pinpoint the moment it went wrong, or whose fault it was, or what they should have done instead out of a series of seemingly endless choices. But by the time the ball gets to River, there are only two options: save it or don't, and only one of those is correct.

They were on the court for one goal tonight. If they could go back in time, not come out towards the goal line so aggressively, keep their feet and not get tangled up in Sterling and make the save, it wouldn't have changed anything about the final outcome. There's no real difference between losing 4-2 and 5-2. But maybe they'd feel better. Maybe they'd be able to sleep.

Not that they feel entirely awake: between the time difference, the travel, and the game they feel gritty-eyed, not fully present. Pacing around the hotel hasn't really dampened that feeling, but they're not sure what can, and they're trying to resign themself to staring at the ceiling in their hotel room when Casey enters the elevator next to them. When they say that they're out.

It's a lot to take in. They lost the game tonight, but now they've lost more than just that—they've lost Casey. A staple on their defensive line. One of the only Foxes who's ever played in the Championships. They won't be starting their next game against the Vandals with a blank slate. They'll be at a disadvantage before the first buzzer even sounds.

"That sucks," they say, hating how inadequate it feels. Somehow, it feels like they've never quite known what to say to Casey, tongue-tied for one reason or another. "The Bruins suck, that hit was bullshit, and—sorry we couldn't keep it together for you."

[foxespsu]

Location: Santa Monica Pier, Playland Arcade Date: Saturday, Jan 29th Time: Early Afternoon (open​)

Santa Monica Pier looks like a postcard. There's the ocean behind her, and the crowds of smiling people somehow still walking barefoot in the sand even in January. The ferris wheel spins lazily above them—and yes, Nico's already waited in line for it twice already, delighted with the view of California's coastline from the top. Kai's parents are great, and she's made sure to thank them every time she sees them.

Right now, though, it's the arcade that draws her attention. Between the bright flashing lights, the smell of popcorn and sugar inside, and the promise of tickets for prizes, she's sold.

Maybe Nico should associate these places with childhood, but it isn't like she and Alondra spent much time in arcades. Mostly, she remembers her mom putting on Disney Channel to keep them happy before going to the kitchen to mix herself a drink.

It was her aunt and uncle who brought Nico to arcades, theme parks, carnivals—attempts to bond with the awkward teenager the state of North Carolina suddenly dropped on them, even if they hadn't known Nico existed until someone was asking them to care for her.

And, truth be told, she'd loved it. Every brightly lit, overwhelming moment. She's still got at least one stuffed animal back home from their local carnival, hard won after her uncle taught her the trick to the water gun race. She'd known it was childish even back then, but couldn't bring herself to care. Better to experience it all at fifteen than never, right?

Or at twenty, apparently, because here she is walking inside Playland Arcade. She's not the only Fox here, at least.

"What do you think? Up for a game?" Nico says, nodding towards the numerous brightly lit arcade games. "If your legs are too tired for DDR, there's always air hockey."

[go-foxes]

It's been a long time since Colin's been in California. In the summers before Utah—before Colin and Kent and Sterling were Colin-and-Kent-and-Sterling—and before his car broke down and sent him slinking back to Palmetto early, he used to take his car and drive without a real destination. But, somehow, he'd usually end up back in Vegas and stop there before he had to turn around again.

California was the first place they went, Colin and his mother, leaving Vegas in the rearview window and not stopping until they hit the coast. Leaving Vegas had been terrifying: the weeks and months he went without his mother after his father kicked her out but kept Colin for himself, the nights he stayed up looking out the window and waiting like maybe if he just wished it hard enough she'd come back home. To leave, she had to take him like a thief; and they ran like people were chasing them. And, back then, they actually were.

Terrifying, but also exciting. He'd been enthralled watching the miles pass by the car window. The roar of the ocean at the end of it all. He hadn't known, then, what the rest of his life would like like, that it would be running and the road and little else. He hadn't known how bad things could get.

It was long enough ago that the memories feel hazy, indistinct. He remembers the ocean; he thinks he can remember standing on a pier like this one—but was it this one, or just like this one? It's not like he can call up his mother and ask. And, even if he could, it's not like he'd trust her to tell him. If his memories were indistinct with youth, hers would be indistinct with things much, much worse.

But what does it matter if he's been here before or not? It's like he can't make up his mind, sometimes, whether he wants the memories—to be connected to his past—or if he wants a blank slate. Even if the blank slate is what he ran away in the middle of the night all those years ago to achieve.

A blank slate sounds good today, when all yesterday has is a loss to the Bruins he wishes he could forget. The sun is out, the arcade lights are glowing and the music is blaring, and one of the newest Foxes is in front of him, seeming happy about those things. It's easy enough for him to gather himself and match her. "I know they say age before beauty," he says. "But since I've got both going for me I'll throw you a bone and let you pick."

[go-foxes]

Colin grew up hungry. Grew up greedy.

You could blame it on Las Vegas: all those flashing lights, hordes of people hoping to win big and mostly just losing it all. It made up some of his earliest memories: holding tight to his mother's hand in the crowds thronging the strip, standing by while she tried to convince someone else on staff—the cleaning crew, the kitchen, anyone at all—to keep an eye on him while she worked the casino floor. It was shiny, and it was fake, and it was sometimes sinister—but he loved it. Before Palmetto, it was the only place he'd ever called home, the place he ran back to when he could have gone anywhere at all.

Or you could just call it his mother's influence: she was the one that taught him how to lie, how to cheat, how to steal. She'd made an art out of extracting favors from people: nights on their couches or in their spare rooms that turned into weeks, money that she never paid back, goodwill that she never returned.

She taught Colin how to survive, but she'd also taught him how to want. He wanted anything he could sink his teeth into; he wanted everything that other people had. Because, in comparison, he felt like he had nothing at all, was nothing at all. He'd smile and he'd lie and he'd make up a life for himself that was better than the one he had, like convincing other people it was true was enough to make it so. He'd appear in a new town and a new school and wouldn't rest until he was someone everyone wanted to know or befriend or more—because it wasn't enough to be liked if he wasn't liked best.

Exy, somehow, felt like an exception to that. Oh, he wanted it—wanted it more than just about anything else. But maybe it's because he wanted it so much that he's been able to temper his expectations.

He never took playing for granted, not when they moved around so much. When he was a kid, it was enough to just be able to play. And, when he was a high school senior staring down the rest of his life, he never imagined that the Big Three would knock on his door—or anyone else, right up until David Wymack did. Now he's a fifth year, playing in the Championships for the first and only time in his Class I career, waiting to see what the draft has in store. He still wants: he wants to win, to go as far as they can; he wants to be drafted, for his Exy career to not end here—but he already knows that he'll take what he can get, whether it's a first-round exit or a league-minimum contract on a bottom-ranked team. For Exy, he'll accept scraps, because they're better than nothing at all.

Because, without Exy, he's not sure who he'd be, but he's somehow sure that he probably wouldn't like it very much. That it'd be a someone a lot more like his mother.

Maybe that's the difference between him and Grant—one of them, at least, because he can't pretend they only have one. Because Grant seems so angry—at the Foxes, at Exy—in a way that Colin's never been able to be, even when he's wished that things were different. Maybe, it's because he'd really wished that he was someone different, and that wasn't something that Colin could blame on Exy at all.

"Man, I don't even know what a Billiken is," he says with a snort. "But they don't sound that scary. Pretty sure we could take them. And, hey—I've been a lot of places, but I've never been to Missouri. I could cross that off the bucket list, though I can't say it's very high up on there. You ever been? Seen the Arch, or whatever?"

[foxespsu]

Colin's joking—Grant knows this—but he can't help himself. This might be his first year playing Class I Exy, but it's not his first year following it. "It's a good luck charm...thing," Grant says, before doubling down on his disdain. "Not that it seems to help them." He's a Fox, yes, and he's painfully aware this team is ranked far below the Billikens. Tonight, though, they actually won one. And anyway, he can always be proud of himself, even if he can't be proud to be on this team.

Technically, St. Louis is driving distance from Freeport. But even if the Arch ranked on his top travel destinations, it would've been an insurmountable distance coming from Freeport. He spent his freshmen and sophomore year cobbling together long walks and bus rides just to make it two towns over, and that was with proper motivation—that's where the Exy was, at least until he could convince Freeport High to restart their team.

As far as vacations, any out of state trips while in foster care required special waivers, permission from his case worker, planning that took months—time he didn't typically have with any single family. And when the back and forth meant he was back with his mom, it took money she didn't have. Really, what would've been the point in planning something? Time with her was just as brief as any foster home.

So, for the most part: if there wasn't a travel game there, he hasn't seen it. It's fine. It's not like he sat around pining for St. Louis.

"Nope," Grant says, now. With the conversation shifting—away from Exy, apparently, and onto something more personal—he's more aware of how late it is, how tired he'll be in the morning. He can just as easily talk bucket list destinations with Colin in the morning. Not that he will, of course. "Whoever we play, we'll need to bring our A-game," he adds, pushing off the wall. He's not tired, but he doesn't feel as restless and sweaty as he did before stepping outside. It might be enough. "Think I'm gonna get some sleep."

[chaoticfoxes]

Location: Santa Monica Pier Date: Saturday, Jan 29th Time: Afternoon (open​)

Mateo itches for a cigarette as he leans against the railing and watches the waves wash ashore. A steady roar from the crowd surrounds him, the occasional screaming standing out that he's learned to ignore.

He's from San Francisco, but he's been to Santa Monica Pier too many times to count. LA was like a second home to him, thanks to his dad's business. He thinks when he was younger he actually liked these rides—back when his mom would take them on them, but now he has no desire to go on them.

Maybe it's because this is another outing funded by Kai's parents and he doesn't want to participate out of principle. Or maybe it's because he's sore from yesterday's game and he'd rather be asleep than stuck with a bunch of tourists.

The wind whips against Mateo's face and knocks his hood off his head, prompting him to tug it back over to fight off the chill. It's nowhere near as cold here as it is in Palmetto, but it's still cold because it's fucking January. Who goes on rides in January?

He taps his fingers against the railing and bites the inside of his cheek, debating whether he's willing to walk all the way back down the pier so he can smoke. The answer is not really. When one of his teammates joins him on the railing, he says, "I'll give you $100 if you buy me a beer." If he's going to celebrate Kai's birthday, then he refuses to do it sober, and the vendors here won't turn a blind eye to the fact that he clearly isn't twenty-one.

[go-foxes]

As far as Championships debuts go, Indigo can't say she's too surprised by the outcome. The Foxes lost. In two weeks, maybe they'll lose again. Rinse and repeat until they get knocked out of the Championships. If she's bummed, it's only because winning would be a break from the predictable monotony.

There is something satisfying about being one of the only Foxes to score, though. Like she could look at the hangdog faces of her fellow strikers who didn't score all game and toss her hair and say What, like it's hard? There's definitely also something satisfying, even on her second season out of the goal, in not being one of the Foxes' goalkeeper roster that got collectively lit up for five goals, too.

And now they have a day to drown their sorrows in the Pacific Ocean before heading back to South Carolina. Indigo doesn't want to waste it: California is nice change of pace from playing in places like West Virginia, where there isn't a single ferris wheel or carousel in sight. She might even go crazy and get some cotton candy later.

She's having a good time, is what she means to say, unlike Mateo, who appears to be sulking and longing for alcohol like the idea of having a good time is a personal affront to him. Sulking, actually, seems to be his default state, wandering around with a perpetual cloud of cigarette smoke hanging around him like his own personal stormcloud.

Indigo might be freshly twenty-one, but that doesn't mean that she feels like doing any favors. And giving Mateo a hard time seems like it'd been even sweeter than cotton candy. "Aw," she says, leaning against the railing with a sharkish grin. "Baby doesn't have a convincing fake? That sounds like a personal problem."

[chaoticfoxes]

Location: Bruins’ court Date: Friday, Jan 28th Time: Post-game (open​)

Dayton's body hasn't hurt this bad since he was stuck in a hospital bed, but it's a good kind of hurt. One that reminds him that his body is still his and he can still use it the way he wants. Did he play any good tonight? Not at all. In fact, it was probably one of his worst games in history, but at least he played. Not just any game either, but a Championship game against players who have more experience than him or never had to take a long hiatus like him.

They lost, but Dayton is still proud and he's buzzing all over from a mix of adrenaline and excitement. It's probably a dangerous combo when he's ushered off to answer questions for press duty, but he doesn't think too hard about it. He just answers the questions as honestly as he can, like he does with most things in his life.

Press duty is finished in a blink of an eye, and when he returns to the locker rooms, the vibes are pretty bleak. They don't match his mood at all. He feels ready to explode over the fact that he can still play Exy, while the others are mourning that 5 - 2 score.

Dayton doesn't let it crush his spirts as he goes to his locker and starts changing out his sweat-drenched jersey. "Press duty was wild," he announces to the room in general, whether anyone is listening to him or not. "I don't remember a single thing I said. I think I blacked out."

Laughing, he shakes out his damp hair and shoves his jersey in his duffle bag, his shoulders aching from the movement. "Fuck, that hurts. Hey, what's the secret to not feeling like you got hit by a car after a game?"

[go-foxes]

Tonight, River got to start the game in goal: a 0-0 blank slate for them to try and defend. When River got off the court, the score was 0-1. They'd let in one goal—one that, if you asked them, should have been called back, but when were the referees ever on the Foxes' side? But they'd done their part, they'd hoped, to keep the Foxes in it. To give them a chance.

But then they'd sat on the bench for the rest of the game and watched the Bruins take that slim lead and make it bigger and bigger, until the Foxes were down Casey and down three goals. Until they'd lost the first Championships game that any of them were playing in as Foxes.

It doesn't feel good. It feels like they might as well have let in all five of those goals themself.

They're silent in the locker room, moving through their post-game routine on autopilot. They've been spared dealing with the press tonight, so they're already showered and pulling back on their Palmetto-branded sweatpants by the time that Dayton makes it back to the locker room, shaking them out of their silent bubble of post-game regrets.

"Well, it'll be everywhere by tomorrow," they say, using the towel around their neck to scrub at their still-wet hair. "So you can find out if you embarrassed yourself then."

Dayton didn't have a good game, anyone could see that, but he doesn't seem to be letting that get him down. That wasn't River when they were a freshman: they spent a lot of last year obsessing over missed saves and penalty shots, wanting to be good, wanting to be better. They still feel that way a lot of the time. They still feel that way right now. They're more established in the goal, but Charlie's graduating and Grant is breathing down their neck, with at least one new goalkeeper sure to come next year, too. They don't want to get complacent.

"My secret is usually being a goalkeeper, but even then you've got to keep an eye out for Sterling," they say, raising their voice at the tail end of it like they want him to hear across the locker room. Even if they're mostly teasing, it's still true that if they're sore tonight, it's from friendly fire.

[foxespsu]

This year feels like a wish on a monkey's paw. Grant's playing for a Class I team, but only because Wymack saw him as a charity case. He's in the Championships, but only because the Belmonte Terrapins were disqualified. He's flying to California to play the Bruins, but the Foxes don't stand a fucking chance.

Maybe he could delude himself, pretend they might win tonight. Maybe that's how the Jackrabbits and the Rebels felt last week—but it's not like they pulled off a grand upset. They lost, just like the Foxes will tonight. Cutting his teeth against the stronger teams is something, sure, but Grant can't pretend there either—it won't be enough for him.

He knows all this—knows their chances, the miracle it would take to compete at all after qualifying on accident, let alone win anything—but he can't stop himself from reading about it anyway. Seeing the odds that Exy Online has calculated, the pre-game threads on Reddit as they analyze each of the matches coming today.

He hasn't decided yet if he dreads seeing his name in those posts or longs for it—another way the Foxes have managed to corrupt something he'd always dreamed of. All he knows is he can't look away. He keeps up with every scrap of online chatter. There are days when it's not complicated, when he sees them talking about Freeport and he's sure he hates it. It still doesn't stop him from looking.

He's refreshing Twitter next when Glory's voice breaks his focus. He frowns as he looks away from his phone, taking in the packed bag instead. From what he's seen so far, airport food is the same as gas station food, only more expensive. The coffee looks more appealing, even if he's not exactly tired—too antsy with the promise of a game, despite the fact that they still need to fly across the country first. "I'm not hungry." He nods towards her drink though, because it's not like he's going to sleep on the plane anyway. "How much was the coffee?"

[go-foxes]

"It's a long flight," she says. "Offer doesn't expire."

Going through this season, Glory has had to figure out what kind of Vice Captain she wants to be, and she's not quite sure she's figured it out yet. With Foxes her age or older, it feels a little bit like play-acting: they knew her when she was a freshman, when she had less than two years of Exy experience under her belt. And now, she's supposed to be someone they look to to lead, to represent the team.

The freshmen, at least, haven't known her as anything but Vice Captain of the Foxes—but that's only a small help, because the freshmen are the ones that need the most captaining. Because the freshmen are a fucking mess.

She doesn't like pointing fingers, but she's not sure how many friends Grant's made on the team this year—if any. And maybe he likes it that way, but that seems like a lonely way to spend five years.

He tries on the court, though. And, with the Foxes in the Championships and Charlie set to graduate and hand over the goal at the end of the year, that seems like the most important thing. Well—not getting into fistfights with his own teammates would be great, too, and he hasn't been able to manage that one.

But she doesn't like being judgemental. Doesn't like operating off of rumors and hearsay to make her mind up about people. She got enough of that back home from Justice, to say nothing about everyone else in Owl's Bend who had a whole lot to say about what kind of girl she was and what she deserved.

So she tries to take Grant and this conversation at face value, takes another sip of her coffee and says, emphatically: "Way too much. I know we get stipends, but I say next road game we make Wymack pony up the team card for coffee."

[go-foxes]

Location: California Hotel Date: Friday, Jan 28th Time: Late (open​)

It's hard to sleep after a game, hard to come down from the adrenaline, the bright lights, the screaming crowd—even when, back in Palmetto, it's even later than it is right now in California.

After a win, that's not a problem. After the tiebreaker, he rode that wave from press duty to Eden's Twilight and all the way back to Palmetto, with a bar fight and a run from the cops in between. After a loss, though, there's none of that. They lost their first Championships game: and, while there might have been moments where they had a chance, the game got away from them. By the time it ended, it wasn't even close.

It's hard to sleep, too, when he feels like he spent the night throwing himself against brick walls over and over again. The Bruins played hard, and they have the win to show for it. TK has the bruises to show for it, too, and he's sure the rest of the Foxes do as well.

So, after trying and failing to get comfortable, he slips out of the hotel room he's sharing with Mateo and makes his way down the hall, still in his pajamas, to the ice machine.

Late at night, there's no real sound but the hum of the fluorescents, his footfalls on the hallway carpet. If he forgets about the long flight the Foxes took to get here, he could be anywhere—not back in California, though still hours away from home. Not that it really matters: home feels like a technicality at this point, when his parents are gone and the house he grew up in doesn't exist anymore and the only person left on earth that means anything to him is in South Carolina with him.

The rumble of the ice machine breaks the silence, enough that he doesn't hear the person coming up behind him until he looks up and sees their reflection, distorted and ghostly, in vending machine—startling him enough that he jerks, sending ice cubes scattering along the floor.

"Shit," he says, once he's recovered from the initial shock. "You scared me. Can't sleep either? I feel like I got run over by a truck."

[foxespsu]

"It doesn't matter," Nico mumbles, less confident in her answer now. This part feels like lying—of course it fucking matters. A man was alive, and now he's not. Jared Callahan mattered to his aging parents, and his ex-wife, and all the other people who must've known him. Nico still has nightmares about the sound of the gunshot; with her thoughts that far in the past, she still halfway flinches when she hears Bryce throw out the phrase gun shy.

She promised herself she'd be honest about Alondra, but that honesty has limits, apparently, even if they'd fall apart if anyone happened to search up Alondra Romero in the system. Even if Nico wanted to talk about it—which she doesn't, not really, not when she hasn't even truly talked to Alondra about it—the memories usually lodge in her throat.

And anyway, Bryce may be her knight in shining armor tonight, helping her navigate the streets of an unfamiliar city, but she still doesn't want anyone's first impression of her sister to be first degree murder—because bringing the gun into someone else's house counted as planning ahead, even though Alondra swore it was only supposed to be a threat, that she'd panicked when she'd seen Jared was armed himself. If Jared had shot first, it would've been classed as self defense. It was cut and dry to the jury, even if Nico can't quite square that truth away with the memories of the sister who raised her.

She thinks that the Foxes might understand more than her last team, but she's afraid that can only go so far. As much as Nico loves her sister, even she doesn't understand all her choices—doesn't even know, to this day, when Alondra started carrying that gun around.

"But it's not about that. I can't get arrested," she says now, instead of explaining any of that. Instead of explaining that, technically, she's already been to court, and the jury decided that Nico isn't like Alondra. It's why Nico's free. It's why she's able to be here tonight, worrying about what would happen if the police caught her again. "They wouldn't let me visit her, and that's the whole reason I transferred."

[go-foxes]

Two sisters: one a Fox, one in prison. It feels like it could be fucking prophetic: Bryce is one of two brothers, and they're both facing charges. Maybe there's a world in which both of them get out of this, but Bryce isn't holding his breath waiting for it. Maybe they both go down, maybe the court looks at them and doesn't see any difference between them, two fuck-ups from the same fucked-up stock. Maybe, though, they end up like Nico and her sister: one of them locked up, and the other one on the outside. Then it's just a question of which one of them gets to go free.

Bryce knows which one he wants to be. He's discovered, now that prison is on the table, that there are limits to how much he'll sacrifice for his family. He left the Foxes for them, but that doesn't mean he wants to go to prison for Beckett. Especially not when Beckett set him up to take the fall for him, pushed him down like his life, his future, didn't matter.

Maybe they don't. Because—what life? What future? Even if prison isn't on the table, it's not like there's much of anything on the horizon for him. Maybe there was, once, but he fucking gave that up. But even then, that was a longshot. Even if he'd stayed and graduated Captain of the Foxes, he could have ended up right back in Pensacola with the same shitty life and shitty choices he has now.

And if he goes to prison, or Beckett does—what then? Are they like Nico, rearranging their whole life in order to be nearby, in order to visit?

He hasn't talked to Bryce since that night. Wymack's lawyer told him not to, that for the duration of the proceedings against them they shouldn't have any contact. It feels fucking strange: even when Beckett was in basic, they could write letters. He calls his mom, and he doesn't ask about Beckett, but he picks up on scraps of information anyway. Beckett made bail. Beckett and his son are finally fucking staying in the apartment with their mom so they can use rent money on legal fees. But that's it. When he talks to his mom, Beckett could be one fucking room away, but basically on another planet for all Bryce knows about what's going on with him.

He doesn't care about Beckett's legal fees, not really. Mostly he wants to know if he's fucking sorry.

If Bryce went to prison, or Beckett did, would the other one visit? Neither one of them ever visited their father. If Bryce was free, though, he thinks that he would. He thinks that, once, he never would have doubted that Beckett would do the same for him, but now he's not so sure.

So he doesn't really know whose shoes he's picturing himself in when he looks at Nico trudging alongside him in the dark: the loyal sister, or the one behind bars. He just knows that—whatever it is, whichever he's picturing—it makes him feel heavy, makes his voice stick in his throat. "Sounds like you're a pretty good sister," he gets out around the feeling. "She's lucky to have you."

[foxespsu]

There's optimism, and there's realism—Olivia's answer manages to thread the needle between both. Casey grins, lifting their beer in a cheers.

"That's what I mean," they reassure her, because as much as they'd love to believe the Foxes could go the mythical all the way, walk out of this season with the trophy, Casey's played against the other teams going into the Championships. Casey, like Olivia, knows who they could be up against.

It isn't just raw talent, although there's plenty of that out there. It's a numbers game too. Larger teams can handle injuries, red cards, even simple fatigue better. More experienced teams have practical knowledge on how to face an Aggies' striker or Vandals' goalie, while most of the Foxes can only study old games and hope to apply what they learn.

But if the goal is to prove people wrong about the Foxes, to prove that the Foxes are worth more as an Exy team than people realize, then they don't have to go all the way to the end. No doubt everyone is expecting that the Foxes will get knocked out in the first round. They have to beat that, and then do as much as they can afterwards.

That does feel possible, especially after their win tonight. "But I think we've got a better shot at making it through this round than people think. Especially if we're lucky in the matches." Of course, if they do, then the death matches come next—and what felt intimidating even as a Buckeye could be terrifying as a Fox.

Olivia's other comment is a stronger blow against Casey's pleasant mood, even if it's true. This could be Casey's last shot at the Championships—if they graduate without offers, it could be their last shot at competitive Exy at all.

As they've already discussed, Casey's been wrong before. Casey's been forced away from Exy, and found a way to come crawling back. They know success in the draft isn't the only path to professional Exy, either. It's the one they envisioned for themself all through high school though, all through those first years as a Buckeye. Now, it's hard to imagine someone besides Wymack taking that kind of risk on a player with Casey's history.

It's easy to imagine a professional team wanting Olivia. Even as a Fox, she's had other offers—she chose this team last year rather than becoming a Vandal, and Casey's grateful she did.

"One more, technically," Casey says, stating the obvious. "But I'm focusing on this season," they add, which is equal parts truth and a distraction from what they're afraid waits for them—or doesn't—after the Foxes. And then, so Olivia knows this isn't some Zen and The Art of Exy style stance: "I'll freak myself out otherwise."

[go-foxes]

She knows all about freaking herself out; all the ways that her head can be her own worst enemy. It felt like she spent that whole last year at Penn State locked up in her head: she was so used to the court being her place of refuge, the place where everything felt okay, she didn't know what to do when Exy was suddenly the problem. She dreaded practices, dreaded games, and when she was on the court she'd make mistakes that she hadn't made since Little League, which only made her feel worse.

But that was rock bottom—or she's determined to make sure that it was, that she won't go there or anywhere worse again. And things are better but, even now, there's a part of her that's still in her head, still somewhere else. She's trying to ignore the way her phone feels like it's burning a hole in her pocket, begging her to pull it out and check: did her father text her? Did he call? If he didn't—if she's going to the Championships, and he didn't—what does that mean? Should she leave this party, find a quiet corner of the sidewalk, and call him?

No. She won't do that. Not when she should be celebrating, and not when she's been drinking. Another reason, maybe, for her to break two years of abstinence now.

But when she joined the Foxes, he'd given her an ultimatum. A challenge. He said he wouldn't come watch her play a game in a Fox jersey unless she was playing in the Championships. Now that she is, does she call his bluff? Or—and considering this feels unthinkable, but here she is, considering it anyway—does she ask him to stay away?

Once, he used to feel so essential to her game. So inextricable from it. Stepping onto Pride Court without him there had felt like walking onto the court without her racquet, when he'd always been there before. The only coach she'd ever known. She called him almost daily from Penn State, talking through things that she was struggling with in practice, getting his feedback after games. Her coaches hated it, she knew, but she couldn't stop, even all through that second year.

She'd learned how to play without him at Palmetto, because she had to, so what is he to her game now?

"Yeah, I know what you mean," she says, hoping that Casey can tell that it's not just words from her. That she knows all about coming to this team with baggage, and how heavy that is. "So—we take it one season at a time, one game at a time. I'll drink to that if you will. And I've only got a little bit left, so if you want to drink to something else tonight, speak now or forever hold your peace."

[foxespsu]

"You wish," Kent says, but he gleefully scrolls through his spreadsheet, looking for some to offer her. It wouldn't be any fun if there was no one to bet against, and Indigo's always good for it.

And, sure, he's had bets running all year, but the Championships are as good a reason as any to double that number. Betting is a Fox tradition, even if making it to this part of the season emphatically isn't. They likely won't go far—he hasn't picked his favorite to win it all yet, but the smart money's never on the Foxes—but that doesn't mean Kent won't have a good time while it lasts.

Because whatever some of his teammates might think about Kent, he is excited to play in the Championships. It's just that his excitement is more about the possibility of travel, more bets, and stretching out the Exy season versus daydreaming about bringing back a trophy. He's always liked Exy just for the sake of playing, not because of any grand hopes of going pro. Colin and Sterling want it bad enough to cover Kent's own lack of ambition.

"I've got some over/unders," Kent says now, turning his attention back to Indigo. "I've got my money on Charlie's letting in at least six goals during the Championships, for example," he says, mostly for the sake of shit-talking Charlie—an old reflex, even if Kent's got better things to occupy his time this semester. "And uh, at least three fights from Mateo. Verbal altercations don't count, because then it's just a guarantee."

He glances at Indigo, trying to gauge her interest. "Or, how 'bout some long shots? I've got Parker picking a fight and winning, and Claudia pulling a red card somehow. Feels like she'd be in a better mood if she just got it out of her system. I know I always am."

[go-foxes]

Kent knows the way to Indigo's heart: she's in this less for the money and more for the opportunity to shit talk her teammates, with money attached.

Plus—get a few bets going and, all of sudden, even if the Foxes lose she might still win something. A game within a game. She's always liked making her own fun. Kent, with his spreadsheets, seems much the same way, running his little betting ring with the same organization and fervor that Claudia's been running their practices since the tiebreaker.

Her idea of fun doesn't include spreadsheets, so more power to him. She just gets to reap the benefits, getting comfortable in her chair with her legs thrown over one arm as she makes a show out of considering her options.

"If we don't make it out of the first round, that's two goals per game. Brutal." For better or for worse, she feels some solidarity for the Fox goalkeepers still, even though she thinks she'd still try to go on strike if there was a freak accident that killed or incapacitated them and the only person who could possibly go on was Indigo. Mostly for better, except for when he's being exceptionally morose, she likes Charlie. So Kent can keep that bet.

"What are you counting as a fight? Dropped gloves? Red card? Or just a little schoolboy shoving match?" One sounds a lot more doable then the other. Because, again: three games in the first round, and who knows if the Foxes will survive them. Three might be all that they get, which would make three fights a tall order—even for Mateo.

But Kent saves his best for last, and they actually make Indigo laugh: "Oh, I definitely want to put my money on Parker not winning. Have you seen her throw a punch? And I think that if Claudia's going to punch anyone, it's way more likely to be friendly fire at practice. Or maybe Bryce. Are we allowed to have two Captains in the same city? Shouldn't they have to duel or something?"

[go-foxes]

Even with things as good as they are, he hasn't forgotten how things started between them.

Hooking up with Kent and not talking about it. Stewing over it in silence until he had to tell Sterling. Thinking Sterling was mad at him when, in actuality, he was really just jealous. Hooking up with Sterling only to end up fighting with him. All three of them fighting on the beach before they worked their shit out. All the steps on the way that led to them being here, together, on New Year's Eve. Sterling's birthday.

He was the first to hook up with each of them. He was the first person to really hook up with Sterling ever. If he were a better person, maybe that wouldn't matter to him so much, but it does. He was the one who didn't have to be jealous, or insecure, looking at his two best friends hooking up without him and wondering what it meant, what it said about him that they didn't want him there, too. By the time Sterling and Kent did anything with each other, he was already there.

It made it easier for him to watch them want each other, too. To, for the first time that he could remember, see someone he considered his turn their attention on someone else and feel like it wasn't taking something away from him, but adding something. He doesn't think it makes him magnanimous, or anything, like he's risen above all the petty jealousies and insecurity of his past and reached some kind of enlightenment. Mostly, if just makes him turned on.

He knows that Kent and Sterling probably expect him to act jealous, left out, even if they know that it's all in jest. But he's been giving Sterling shit all night and he's not about to stop now—especially not now that Kent's changed sides and is joining Sterling to gang up on him instead of the birthday boy.

"Oh no, my super hot boyfriends putting on a show for me. That sounds terrible." He rolls his eyes to really sell it, as he hears their teammates in the background shuffling around, gearing up for the countdown to midnight. "You better make sure to feel him up, too. It's his birthday."

[foxespsu]

The countdown's starting in the background now. It doesn't really matter what happens at midnight—whoever's kissing who now, whatever the fun game they're playing, they're all going back to their dorm together at the end of the night. The way things are going, it might not even be that long before they're dragging each other back to their room for more privacy than the kitchen can afford.

It's better this way. Kent's been the one hooking up with only one of his best friends, and he's been the one on the outside looking in, too. Kent can say with certainty that as much as he wants to kiss Sterling, he also wants to know that Colin's watching them. Hell, Kent's always enjoyed putting on a show. Flashy shots on the goal, off tune karaoke, press duties where he says whatever he thinks is the funniest possible answer, regardless of what Wymack might prefer. This might just be his favorite iteration of that, though.

Dimly, he can hear other Foxes in the background, a mix of familiar voices calling out—seven, six, five. There's hardly any space between the three of them already, with Kent close to Sterling's side. If he twists to face Sterling though, there's enough room for his hand to splay against Sterling's hip. It's enough leverage that he can tug Sterling just barely closer to him and further away from Colin—better viewing, that way, even if Sterling is technically still sandwiched between both of them. Somehow, he doesn't think Sterling minds.

He’s kissing Sterling before the countdown hits one, maybe too eager—but it's Sterling's birthday for a few more seconds, as he's so emphatically reminded them, and they've already made him wait long enough. Kent's hand doesn’t stay at his hip, either. It slides around, slow and deliberate, until his fingers catch at the front of Sterling’s waistband. His fingers hook there and he tugs gently, angling Sterling more towards him. With that shift, Kent crowds closer, giving up on the showmanship now to focus on trapping Sterling between him and Colin instead.

[chaoticfoxes]

Ever since Sterling was rescued from that commune, all he ever wanted was to fit in—to appear so confident that no one would ever guess how behind he actually was. When Kent and Colin hooked up, he never felt more like an outcast. Maybe it was never intended that way, but it was like they decided he wasn't good enough to take that step with them.

Sterling didn't even realize he wanted them like that until the jealousy consumed him, and now he has to laugh at his past self for not seeing it way earlier. He's only ever really cared about Kent and Colin. There's some teammates he likes more than others, but even now, they're nothing but background noise as he's sandwiched between his boyfriends.

After being the one left wanting for so long, it feels good to be the center of attention tonight. Like it's a privilege to be his birthday and his New Years Eve kiss. He only wishes he had two mouths so he could kiss both of them at the same time, but that would look pretty freaky.

Besides, it's fun to put on a show for Colin. He was at the center of all of this at first, and now he gets to watch the results of all his hard work. "What ever will you do?" Sterling jokes, sending Colin one last smirk before Kent draws him in closer.

The hand on his hip is enough to litter his skin with goosebumps, and his heart skips a beat as their eyes bore into each other. Sterling meets Kent halfway for a kiss before the countdown can even finish, and he's already so lost in it that he doesn't hear "one."

Sterling tangles his fingers into his boyfriend's hair and kisses him back harder. As his boyfriend's fingers hook into his waistband, he suddenly doesn't care about this party at all and is more than ready to back to their room. Breaking the kiss with teasing nip to Kent's lips, he takes a deep breath and angles his head to check on Colin. "Well, it's midnight. Birthday's over. Let's go back to our room, yeah?" he says in a rush.

[foxespsu]

As if summoned by his name—Parker tries to remember if they've said it three times, like Beetlejuice—Wymack's voice filters through the police station soon enough. Loud and pissed off, but honestly, that isn't unusual for Wymack. Parker's not going to admit it, but she almost likes his brand of tough love—just not when he's got them running laps until they drop. Glory's right; Monday is going to suck.

Tonight, though, he's more focused on getting them back to Palmetto. And far from tiring her out, the long ride home only makes her antsy—probably because of the earful they get. Wymack promises hell, but he still drives them home.

The antsiness is from the late hour, too. She knows this feeling. With enough sleep deprivation, you loop back around.

So it doesn't surprise her that she still doesn't want to go back to her room, especially not when she might be able to spend that time with Glory instead. Maybe if they could have the space to themselves, but Parker's got three roommates now. Nico's fine, she guesses—not as good as Olivia, not as bad as Indigo—but even if it were just her, that isn't what Parker wants tonight.

And as far as Glory's roommates, she didn't see Marley or Claudia at the police station—to no one's surprise, she's sure—so there's a solid chance they've been home for hours. Not exactly the privacy she's seeking. She hasn't decided if she wants to kiss Glory or spill her guts in the most embarrassing fashion, but either one will go better without other Foxes around.

It's been a long night, for both of them. But Glory seemed interested earlier, so: "Wanna go to the roof?" Parker offers abruptly, because she's found Glory on top of buses, and in trees, and somehow it seems like the roof is a natural continuation for their night. The best place for that alone time she'd wanted, at least, assuming no other Foxes try to sneak up there to lick their wounds. Maybe it'll even be romantic. Under the stars, or whatever.

[go-foxes]

She doesn't know what time it is anymore. First serve was at seven, and that's the last thing she really remembers. What time did the final buzzer sound? What time did they get to Eden's? What time was it when they were dragged into the police station, how long did they cool their heels there before Wymack decided to show up? She doesn't know, but it feels like as long as she doesn't know she can just keep going indefinitely.

So she doesn't peer at the dashboard from the backseat of Wymack's car, doesn't check her phone, just looks out the window at the quiet, empty streets between Columbia and Palmetto, lets Wymack's voice roll over her. He's pissed, but he's not really pissed. He doesn't always remind her of her father, but times like this he really does: he never managed to be truly angry at her, either, was fond and amused at her wild antics in a way that nobody else ever was.

She used to have more nights like these: nights where she stayed up late enough to see the sunrise, slept the daylight hours away. Sometimes just to do it all over again the next night. She lived far enough away from everything else that it's not like anyone was going to go out of their way to drop her back off—not that anyone was in a state to, the kind of parties she went to. Including her.

She crashed on couches, in the back of cars, on old stained mattresses dragged into long-abandoned barns—wherever she could. Back home, there would be chores going undone, chickens going unfed, but she couldn't bring herself to care much. Her world had used to be so narrow, just her family's house and the land that surrounded it, and she knew it all like the back of her hand. Once her world got bigger, it was much easier to get lost in.

She has less of those nights now—she's got responsibilities now, ones that she doesn't want to blow off. Early morning practices to keep her honest, classes she tries not to skip the way she blew off just about everything in high school right up until Exy got her on the straight and narrow. She goes out, and she drinks, but she doesn't mess with anything else anymore. Keeps her head screwed on tight and her feet planted firmly on the ground—metaphorically, at least, because she's still never met a high place she didn't want to climb to.

But it's a Friday night, or a Saturday morning: she's got a whole weekend ahead of her, she's not in jail, the Foxes are moving onto the Championships, and she's got Parker making her an offer she doesn't want to refuse.

And so she doesn't. She slips her hand back into Parker's just like she did in the police station, easy, gives it a squeeze as she gives her a smile and says: "Sounds good to me. Lead the way."

[foxespsu]

Oh, God. Kai deflates, the fight abruptly draining out of him. Because he really is being an asshole, isn't he? Hoping that TK starts the fight, just so Kai can have plausible deniability and an outlet for how awful he feels right now.

Exy should do that for him, but instead it only reminds him of Katie. Therapy should be another outlet, but instead stupid fucking Mateo's popped up in the same support group this semester, so Kai has to swallow down everything and pretend he's got nothing to share.

And now TK won't even be an asshole to him, won't take the bait, because apparently he's the well adjusted one between the two of them. Of course he is. Kai knows the mythos of the Foxes, knows TK's a Fox like Kai is, but TK's still got Mateo. He's also at least six feet tall, and has probably had the ability to grow a real mustache since he was twelve years old—as long as Kai's listing the reasons why he doesn't like TK.

Kai shifts, uncomfortable in his skin for more reasons than the tackiness of the tape drying against his chest now. TK saw straight through him. And there's no point denying what Kai was doing now, not when he's been so transparent that even TK can see it. Even now, he wants to be mad at TK for acknowledging it out loud, for forcing Kai to see it from TK's perspective—but yeah, Kai can admit that's just more of the same.

He drops his gaze instead, pretending his scuffed Vans are far more interesting than they really are. "No," Kai says. He stops, clears his throat, forcing his voice to settle lower down in his throat. If his traitorous voice chooses now to crack, then he really will freak out. "No, you're right. Sorry. I'm already being a dick."

[go-foxes]

Maybe he should have taken his own advice—you could just go ahead and be a dick first—because Kai crumples instead of taking the bait and TK, suddenly, has no idea what to do.

After an entire semester, he's used to seeing Kai in their dorm: the one that feels like a warzone, everyone else versus Mateo and so, by extension, versus Mateo and TK. He's used to seeing Kai on the court, where they're surrounded by their teammates, where even if they run drills on a line together they're just two out of seven strikers, rotating through every possible pairing in order to be prepared for whatever situation may come up in a game.

He's not used to spending time with Kai one-on-one. Has actively avoided it, actually. Strange to think that, for a little while back in California, TK was instead actively trying to find time for them to be alone together, even if it was just for a handful of minutes of time at a party before they went their separate ways.

Another thing that TK's actively avoided: thinking about that, or acknowledging it in any way. There's part of him, somewhere, that thinks he should probably say something, but what is there to say? It sure is weird we made out a few times, huh? A lot's changed since then.

Not that he's thinking about it now, either. Not when Kai seems—upset, or something like it. Something that probably doesn't have anything to do with his broken headphones, or even TK's unwanted presence. TK's sure he could come up with a few ideas of what it does have to do with, because it's not like TK isn't upset all the time, too, even when he tries to soldier on and act like he isn't.

"Nah, you're not being that bad," he offers, pushing through the awkwardness with a half-smile and an attempt at a joke: "We room with Grant—I've seen way worse. If he broke his headphones, then I'd probably laugh."

[go-foxes]

Location: Upstate Regional Airport Date: Friday, Jan 28th Time: Morning (open​)

Tonight, the Foxes will be in California. It feels unthinkable—and not even because they'll be playing in the Championships.

For so long, Owl's Bend was Glory's entire world. And even then, it was mostly just her family's land. They lived far enough out from what could be called town that going there always felt like a production—enough of one that meant that even when people in Owl's Bend were supposed to go to church every Sunday they couldn't always be bothered. When her father drove away in his truck, leaving them alone with Justice and Glory climbing to the tops of the highest trees so she could know the moment he came home again, it felt like he might as well be going to Mars, but he wasn't even leaving Missouri.

She'd hardly ever left Missouri. She'd learned about running, about piling into the back of a friend's car and pooling all their cash to spend a night in a motel on the side of the highway, just for the feeling of being somewhere else. But she hadn't even left Missouri then, either. Not until she left it for the last time.

And even then she only got as far as Kentucky. Brought into town in the back of a cop after they picked her up on the side of the road, on some long stretch of highway where there was nowhere for her to hide.

She's been more places since, but never to California. And now, instead of seeing the scenery roll by on another long bus ride, she'd going to be on a plane, flying over even more places that she's never been on her way to somewhere else.

It's early, early enough that she still feels only half-awake, but the airport is still busy. It's another thing that feels strange, or used to: where she grew up, strangers were difficult to come by. Now she's surrounded by them, and she wonders the same things she usually does: who they are, where they're going and why.

Tired or not, she'd been too antsy to just sit at the gate waiting for their flight and had made a lap of the concourse, straying into each brightly-lit but somehow almost identical storefronts full of paperback books, electronics, and snacks. She'd been tempted by the latter, and when she comes back to their gate to find her teammates, she has a fairly full plastic bag and a black coffee.

"You better hope you're sitting next to me," she says, holding the bag aloft and giving it an illustrative shake. "I'll share, but only if you promise to hold my hand if things get bumpy."

[chaoticfoxes]

Maybe Claudia is being stubborn on purpose when she knows that she can't actually help her team. Maybe it's pride. Whatever it is, she doesn't really care. All she knows that fleeing the scene and letting the others take the fall feels wrong. Cowardly. Like Bryce.

Their former captain could have the best reason in the world to leave them behind, like a death in the family, but that doesn't excuse abandoning them without an explanation. All it takes is a text, but he couldn't even give them that.

Now Bryce is back without an explanation or an apology, not that Claudia expected either. She doesn't need it , because she's pretty sure she can put two and two together. Bryce is here because he has nowhere else to go, and he needs Wymack's help.

That means watching Claudia do what he couldn't and taking it out on her. Bryce acts like she should feel ashamed for it, but she doesn't, and she's not afraid to say it to his face. They didn't have a captain anymore, so Claudia took her chance and convinced Wymack to give her the title instead. It's not like they were going to wait around for someone who chose not to be there anymore.

"Maybe," Claudia retorts without hesitation. "Would that be so bad? I fought to get this position after you, and I worked even harder to help get us here. I don't know why you left, but you did leave, Bryce. You don't get to come back now and act like I'm in the wrong for taking over."

[go-foxes]

It must be nice to be Claudia. She takes the title of Captain and leads the Foxes to the Championships in her first season with the role, something that Bryce and none of the countless Fox Captains since Dan Fucking Wilds and Neil Fucking Josten couldn't do.

Why wouldn't she be smug? Why wouldn't she think that she's better than Bryce? Her and all her hard work that—what?—she thinks Bryce just never fucking did? Tonight is her victory lap—and, lucky for her, Bryce is here for her to rub his nose in it, all the things that she's now done that he never did.

But Claudia was on the team when Bryce was Captain. So were half of the other Foxes that will now be playing in the Championships. And where the fuck were they when it was his team? It's not like they didn't fucking know how to play Exy before Claudia told them how to, so why couldn't they buy a fucking win then?

Funny—he never felt like that before. He had a dozen or so other people on the court with him for every loss, and yet it felt like each one came down on his shoulders alone. It's only now, when he doesn't want Claudia to be able to take all the credit for the Foxes' wins, that he suddenly doesn't want to take the blame for all their losses.

Maybe the Foxes just got lucky, sneaking into the Championships thanks to a once-in-a-lifetime fuckup by the Terrapins. Maybe Claudia and the rest of them were just in the right place at the right time. It still doesn't make Bryce feel that much better. Because his luck, as always, stays absolute fucking shit.

Because he certainly doesn't feel lucky now, standing in an alleyway across from Claudia as she works herself up into a righteous tirade that he has no interest in.

"Yeah, I'm sure you didn't waste any time," he says with a scoff. "So why are you wasting time on me now? Go on, ride to the fucking rescue. Show me how it's done, Captain."

[foxespsu]

A ringer. Grant scoffs, even if really, playing with Casey Hendrix would've once been a dream. He watched them make a name for themself, coming up seemingly out of nowhere. Watched them be held up as the future of the sport, teams fighting over them for their Class I debut, article after article about their talent, everything Grant wanted for himself.

And then he watched them throw it all away.

Because what was the fucking point in doping, when you were already that good? When you could've gone all the way just on your own talent? Casey must've known it would catch up to them eventually. That it wouldn't be worth it. They did it anyway. And now Casey's a Fox, just like Grant, so he can't even be excited that Casey's out there with him, that they're part of the same defensive line.

Of course, there's no denying the fact that Casey is still good. And Casey knows the Buckeyes better than any of them. It's been a few years, sure, but Casey's played alongside the Buckeyes. Been part of their practices. Sat in their strategy sessions.

But if the Foxes go up against the Buckeyes, it's still not going to be enough. The Buckeyes aren't Big Three, but they're close enough—especially for a team like the Foxes. Everyone knows the Buckeyes want to dethrone one of the Big Three, and last year they won it all. They'll be coming in hungrier than ever, and with their current roster, they've got the talent to back that ambition. Clearly, Colin knows that. They all do.

Despite all that, there's still part of Grant that wants to go against them. It isn't rational; he should be hoping for a series of easy matchups, for luck to place them against a series of teams that barely snuck into the Championships. Other teams like theirs. That way they can at least make it to the death matches, because even that isn't guaranteed.

Grant grew up watching Class I, imagining himself out there, but it's not like he daydreamed about playing against the Gamecocks. He fantasized about playing for a Big Three—and then, after Zia Mendez, just about the Ravens and the Trojans—and beating teams like the Buckeyes.

He didn't get any of his wishes—the ones Casey wasted—and he's not playing for a team that the Buckeyes would take seriously as an opponent. He still wants to know if he can block a Buckeye's shot.

"We'd be fucked," Grant agrees. "But it'd be less embarrassing to go out to the Buckeyes, instead of the Billikens or something."

[go-foxes]

Colin grew up hungry. Grew up greedy.

You could blame it on Las Vegas: all those flashing lights, hordes of people hoping to win big and mostly just losing it all. It made up some of his earliest memories: holding tight to his mother's hand in the crowds thronging the strip, standing by while she tried to convince someone else on staff—the cleaning crew, the kitchen, anyone at all—to keep an eye on him while she worked the casino floor. It was shiny, and it was fake, and it was sometimes sinister—but he loved it. Before Palmetto, it was the only place he'd ever called home, the place he ran back to when he could have gone anywhere at all.

Or you could just call it his mother's influence: she was the one that taught him how to lie, how to cheat, how to steal. She'd made an art out of extracting favors from people: nights on their couches or in their spare rooms that turned into weeks, money that she never paid back, goodwill that she never returned.

She taught Colin how to survive, but she'd also taught him how to want. He wanted anything he could sink his teeth into; he wanted everything that other people had. Because, in comparison, he felt like he had nothing at all, was nothing at all. He'd smile and he'd lie and he'd make up a life for himself that was better than the one he had, like convincing other people it was true was enough to make it so. He'd appear in a new town and a new school and wouldn't rest until he was someone everyone wanted to know or befriend or more—because it wasn't enough to be liked if he wasn't liked best.

Exy, somehow, felt like an exception to that. Oh, he wanted it—wanted it more than just about anything else. But maybe it's because he wanted it so much that he's been able to temper his expectations.

He never took playing for granted, not when they moved around so much. When he was a kid, it was enough to just be able to play. And, when he was a high school senior staring down the rest of his life, he never imagined that the Big Three would knock on his door—or anyone else, right up until David Wymack did. Now he's a fifth year, playing in the Championships for the first and only time in his Class I career, waiting to see what the draft has in store. He still wants: he wants to win, to go as far as they can; he wants to be drafted, for his Exy career to not end here—but he already knows that he'll take what he can get, whether it's a first-round exit or a league-minimum contract on a bottom-ranked team. For Exy, he'll accept scraps, because they're better than nothing at all.

Because, without Exy, he's not sure who he'd be, but he's somehow sure that he probably wouldn't like it very much. That it'd be a someone a lot more like his mother.

Maybe that's the difference between him and Grant—one of them, at least, because he can't pretend they only have one. Because Grant seems so angry—at the Foxes, at Exy—in a way that Colin's never been able to be, even when he's wished that things were different. Maybe, it's because he'd really wished that he was someone different, and that wasn't something that Colin could blame on Exy at all.

"Man, I don't even know what a Billiken is," he says with a snort. "But they don't sound that scary. Pretty sure we could take them. And, hey—I've been a lot of places, but I've never been to Missouri. I could cross that off the bucket list, though I can't say it's very high up on there. You ever been? Seen the Arch, or whatever?"

[chaoticfoxes]

"Don't stop there. Maybe Frank can also be your sugar daddy while you're at it. He'll buy you nice things in return for letting him ramble about storming the beaches of Normandy," Mateo retorts, waggling his brows.

Mateo isn't at all threatened by the hypothetical old man. TK had plenty of opportunities to replace him and he hasn't yet. He doesn't count the time he disappeared on him, because that was to take care of his mom. It's not like he found a new best friend then.

Just like TK won't abandon him for Frank, Mateo knows that he doesn't really care where they go either. It's not even like his brother to suggest a vacation at all. If TK were anyone else, Mateo would take it as a sign that he's yet another person who wants him for his money. That's never been him, though. Actually, Mateo wishes he'd ask for more, because he's family and this family has too much money just sitting around.

Maybe Mateo's dad becoming TK's guardian was just to keep him from getting sent away, but he's considered him as his brother even before it was legally true. Mate would've paid off his tuition for a much better school than Palmetto and bought them a house near campus, but this is what his brother wanted, so here they are.

So if TK wants to go to the beach and just lay around, Mateo will still find a way to do it as luxuriously as possible. "Okay then, here's the plan. I'll find an all inclusive resort in Thailand, book a swim-up suite, and we'll order so many cocktails on the beach that we'll empty out their bar. And fuck your early morning run. Get Frank to do that with you."

[go-foxes]

"Hot," he says, forcing himself to keep a straight face. Ordinarily, he's pretty good at it, but he's had enough alcohol so far tonight that he feels his grip on his expression wavering, his face wanting to scrunch up. For all that he doesn't really know what he's doing with his life beyond playing Exy for five years, he's pretty confident that being an old man's sugar baby isn't the shortlist for his future.

And for all that he seems like the old man out of the two of them, the one that's serious, responsible, it's not like he'd ever really want to trade Mateo for someone like the hypothetical Frank—or anyone else. They might seem to be opposites, but that's why they work so well: he wants a best friend like Mateo that can draw him out of his shell, that can balance him. He can sit around being serious and responsible and worrying about things on his own, he doesn't need help with that.

But what does he have to worry about now? He spent so many years with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, trying to pick up all the things his mother could no longer carry as she got sicker and sicker. Trying to be the man that his father should have been, even if he was still just a kid. But he's not responsible for much of anything now—not much beyond his grades and his performance on the court.

That feeling of responsibility, of have the weight of the world on his shoulders, is hard to shake. So too are the feelings of betrayal, of resentment, that he brings to every summer and holiday he has to spend with his father and his family, no matter how many years it's been.

But, with Christmas in the rearview and the prospect of the Championships on the horizon, Mateo and the Foxes at his side, those feelings are easier to keep at bay, to leave somewhere across the country where they belong.

"You drive a hard bargain," he says, like he actually put up much of a fight. "But deal—and speaking of emptying out bars, I know one we could get started on right now."