Practice was a blur. 

It usually was with the Ospreys, fast-paced and hyperactive, rarely slowing down in case they lost their motivation. Although this time there was a newfound tension in the buzzing atmosphere that came along with the action, and to Rosie everything just seemed to pass by as a smudge of navy and white, the colours of their uniform. No matter how horrid Rosie was feeling, she channeled it into her playing, soon realising that she played better when she was angry. 

She had been angry for two weeks now.

"It's just not the same without him here." Their overly-emotional goalkeeper Madison Mitchell had said after hearing about Alfie's disappearance. Two thoughts came to Rosie's mind in that moment:

1) You barely even knew him.

and

2) Please shut up.

It was true, Alfie had only been on the team for a year. Rosie slumped her backpack on her shoulders and stuffed her crumpled clothes into her gym bag. She was just going to go home in her vincit uniform, it wasn't warm but it wasn't raining which was good enough for Rosie. Quentin Osborne, Gabriel Vasquez and their captain Denise Haynes were gathered around the entrance to the school carpark, probably waiting for rides home in their parents' Audis or BMWs. Rosie slinked past them, shoving an Apple earphone into the side of her head, praying that they'd take it as a warning sign not to make contact.

Obviously they didn't.

"Rosie! Wait a minute!" Denise called. The sky above her was overcast, ashy-grey and uninviting. It had been raining while Rosie was at practice and the concrete was patchy with the leftover drizzle. She was mistakenly standing in a shallow puddle, however she could still feel the water seeping into the soles of her shoes and making her feet cold. The smell of rainfall on dry pavement still remained in the air and Rosie wished that she was on her way home. She yanked the earphone out and feigned a friendly smile. "Hey, Denise. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing. We were just wondering if you were okay." she replied, motioning towards the others. It was obvious that she could sense Rosie's clear lack of interest in the conversation, mainly because it was one that she had been having for the past two weeks. Why keep pushing? Rosie wondered. She muttered back a response; it was a lie of course, "Absolutely. Apologies if it seemed like I wasn't." Perhaps her answer came out sounding more sarcastic than she had hoped as Denise just flashed her a sincere smile and returned to the others, who were watching intently. 

        Rosie loved her teammates. Some could get lost in their own privilege sometimes but they all cared deeply about each other and the sport they played. Rosie knew that she could confide in them, tell the team that Alfie's disappearance had shaken her up. After all, she didn't necessarily need to tell them the truth that she knew about Alfie which meant that she wouldn't need to betray his trust. Just the thought of that happening sent Rosie into a downwards spiral of guilt, as furious and unstoppable as a tropical storm. The route to meet Olly was straightforward, Rosie had walked it enough times to map it out in her sleep. It was a mundane journey, passing ashen-coloured terraced houses with compact front patios, brought to life by vibrant flower beds and charming garden gnomes. As Rosie travelled, the noise of rush hour traffic storming through the town centre was muffled by her music. Her choice for today was a Spotify playlist which featured a few of her favourite Carpenters songs. Her grandfather had introduced her to the band and Rosie was now convinced that Karen Carpenter's voice was the most divine sound in the world. The tragic singer was a siren, luring Rosie to calmness after another day of chaos rather than death. Not the best comparison she thought as she listened. 

        Olly was leaning against the rusted railings which led down into the underpass, eyes fixated on his phone. Rosie lightly kicked at a puddle as she approached her brother and he flinched at the cold splash on his legs, glaring at her in response. It was a look that could cut glass. Rosie breathed a deep sigh, "What's got your goat this time, egg?" she asked. Calling Olly by her nickname for him wouldn't improve his mood. It would make it worse, if anything. Olly shoved his hands into his pockets (not an easy task when it comes to skinny jeans) and removed himself from the railing. The pair continued down the slippery ramp that brought them into the tunnel. As usual, despite the rain not actually being able to get into the underpass, the grotty graffiti-covered walls were dank and dripping. Olly gave a loud huff and mumbled a reply, "Coach has switched up the defensive partners." Rosie grimaced at the thought. Coach Sinclair wouldn't dream of doing something that drastic with the Ospreys so soon before the Championships were in full swing. "Ouch," she responded, "that's shitty. I'm guessing you aren't too chuffed about your new partner then?"

"Absolutely not!" Olly bellowed, the syllables bouncing off the walls as they left the unpleasant-smelling tunnel. "It's one thing to completely change up the team weeks before things start to get serious, it's another thing to put me with someone who barely talks to me off the court." Olly said, adjusting the twisted strap of his gym bag. Rosie flicked between the two Squirrels defenders in her mind, counting out Olly's previous partner Kathleen. "Yaminah Hadrami or Theo Nicholson?" she questioned him, genuinely curious to know the answer.

"The latter."

"Theo Nicholson! My God." Rosie exclaimed with a laugh.

"Tell me about it!" Olly grumbled, although evidently pleased that his sister was as shocked as he was. The siblings waited at the busy crossing outside an unnervingly spacious and dimly lit new hair salon. Cars of every size and make flashed by, hurrying home before the rain returned and traffic got worse. "Well," Rosie began with a stretch of her brown arms, "you have a fortnight to get used to each other's playing styles. Let's hope he's a quick learner like you, egg." The little man glowed a luminous green and they crossed the road. Olly nodded, the scowl still plastered on his tawny-beige face. Rosie poked his shoulder, her own expression a juxtaposition of her brother's. "Come on," she beamed, "let's go get chips."