An email from Coach Connelly hit my inbox the morning after Friday’s game. The subject line: Mandatory Volunteering. He’d organized a car wash for both teams at the Flamingos’ parking lot, where our first and hopefully last shift started on Sunday at noon.

The storefront’s neon pink flamingo sign might’ve been cute if it didn’t flash in perfect sync with my pounding headache. The sunglasses I threw on before heading in didn’t block out the chaos inside. My teammates bounced around in turquoise booths to the left, drumming on empty coconut-shell cups to a Beach Boys playlist blaring from the jukebox. And the Sea Lions rocked in annoying, squeaky palm-green egg chairs from the right. Which left only the middle aisle clear. Everyone followed our schools’ unspoken agreement. This place was neutral ground. Kudos to Coach Connelly because nobody wanted to get banned from the only café in town, making it the perfect meeting spot.

I dodged hanging papier-mâché parrots on my way to an open stool by the order station.

My boyfriend wrestled with the napkin dispenser behind the counter as his brunette coworker fumbled with a pitcher, splashing frothy milk everywhere; including Carter’s t-shirt. Her tinkling laugh made my stomach drop. Why did she sound exactly like a certain, annoying Sea Lions’ defender? Lowering my sunglasses, I squinted at the girl’s back. My luck couldn’t be that bad. Except her hair was the same shade. And maybe she was the same height, too? Then, of course, she spun around, confirming my suspicion. 

Ugh. Since when did Rosie work here? Long enough to share her bizarre cheating theories with Carter?

Izzy slotted onto the stool next to me and said, “Uh-oh. Busted out your dad’s painting hoodie? What’s got you spiraling this time?”

“What?” I attempted to see around her thick curly black hair, blocking the duo behind the counter from view.

“Whenever you wear that, it’s something. So, what’s up?” she asked.

Olive green eyes studied me over the brim of her smoothie cup. Izzy thought she could read minds because she was the go-to makeup artist for all Chesterfield High’s productions. Apparently, she developed a sixth sense from ‘overexposure’ to theater kids’ melodramatic faces. It was scary how accurate she got sometimes. Which was why I’d spill my guts about Rosie’s cheating accusation against me after I wrapped up my own investigation into the matter. My headache already hammered enough without Izzy adding another Sea Lions vs Dragons brawl to the mix.

Time to throw my aunt under the bus. “Harriet ‘forgot’ to add coffee to the shopping list. She’s on one of her ‘aunt-ioxidants’ health kicks. No caffeine. No junk food. Kale smoothies every morning. She even got me a freaking treadmill desk. It’s hell. I’ve had the same headache since Friday.”

“Maybe because your body’s tense from keeping your thoughts locked up so tight.”

I rubbed my throbbing temple. “It’s called caffeine withdrawal, Iz.”

“More like emotional constipation,” she countered.

“Not every thought needs to be talked to death.”

“Typical Scorpio.”

“And to think I was one minute from being a Sagittarius,” I joked, stretching my neck to peek over her shoulder.

“It’s not healthy to be so guarded all the time. Also, what do you keep looking at?”

I pushed my sunglasses back up. Better to toss Izzy a bone before she read my ‘micro expressions’ or whatever new jargon she learned from Criminal Minds. Harriet never should’ve recommended her the show. “Rosie. We were going to lose Friday because I couldn’t get one shot off around her.”

She covered my mouth. “Duh. You don’t need to announce that to the world.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mumbled behind her palm.

She freed me. “You just need to get there on time, pass the ball more and maybe we’ve got a shot at the rematch.”

“If we find another goalie, you mean. Speaking of, how’s Ed?” I asked.

 “Still surviving on nothing but the mega pack of carrot sticks your aunt gave him after she set his arm. He’s bummed because that game was the only guaranteed time no one at the station bothers Mom, and she ended up spending hours at the hospital with him instead. And he can’t play in the rematch.”

I winced. “Oof.”

“If they think we’re not getting them back for this,” she muttered.

I snapped my fingers in front of her face. “What happened to ‘forget petty battles and focus on the war?’”

“That was before Dorothy Connelly snapped my brother’s arm like a twig. And what does their coach do? Pats her on the freaking back.”

I turned on my stool, following the line of Izzy’s glare. Dorothy helped Coach Miller set up a chalkboard sign outside the coffee shop window that read, 'Car Wash! Help the Local Kitty Cats!'  He steadied her with a long, exasperated sigh, after she fell against his chest, like that hadn’t been the first time she’d tripped on air. Apparently, that was the last straw. He came back inside, his navy polo smeared with white chalk handprints, while Dorothy trailed behind him, happy as a clam. She handed out cat-shaped button pins as he began his pep talk.

“Coach Connelly’s running late, so we’re going to start without him. All money raised today will be donated to our local cat shelter: Feline Friends. You know why we’re here. The behavior at the game was unacceptable. Your goal is simple; let go of grudges and learn something that humanizes the opposing team. I’m sure complaining about the fact that you’re here is a good icebreaker. You know what they say, teamwork makes the dream work.” He flipped through a clipboard. “Here’s your assignments. Cathal Murphy, Isabella Santiago, Jack Hughes, and Hazel Harrington are on sponging duty. Timothy Harris, Yasmin Patel, and Daniel Kimura will control the flow of traffic. Katherine Wilson and Rosalia Torres Connelly will hose the cars down. Maisie Williams, Elizabeth Jones, and Preston Brown can be our donation box crew. Which leaves Dorothy Connelly and Eduardo Santiago canvassing. Go team, go!”

A line of exaggerated groans rumbled throughout the building. Carter spotted me before I followed the crowd outside.

“Hey! Speak of the devil. I was just telling Rosie about your mean bluffing skills. Amrita booked my break for Go Fish and I need your help beating her,” Carter said, jiggling his gambling candy stash stuffed in his apron’s front pocket. He only played card games with her before she went over the stuff his social worker talked to her about.

“Can’t. It’s hose before bros today,” I said, keeping a straight face when Rosie whipped around. 

She asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m on hose duty with you,” I answered, arching an eyebrow.

“Kate’s poker face is impressive, right?” Carter asked Rosie. She pretended to be preoccupied with the new cat button pinned to her shirt. “Seriously, Kate, I might have to cheat without you.”

“Cheaters always get caught,” Rosie said, shuffling behind him to the opposite side of the counter.

She shot a judgmental glance over her shoulder at me. What was I supposed to say? Don’t freak out, Carter, but your trainee thinks I hooked up with her girlfriend, who you were play-fighting with during my game? No worries, I didn’t cheat on you, though? Why invite drama into my life like that? I folded my arms and met Rosie’s disapproval head-on. She didn’t get to make accusations she couldn’t back up. 

“I should be careful then, huh?” Carter said, oblivious to our silent stand-off. “Coffee before I go, Kate?”

“Nah. I’ll give Rosie’s a try,” I said.

“Cool beans. Be nice, okay? It’s her first week,” Carter said, opening the staff door. “Oh, Rosie, almost forgot. Coach Miller cleared you to cover my fifteen-minute break. I lost my phone, so swing by Amrita’s office if you need me.”

The door clanged shut behind him, leaving Rosie and me alone in the café.

“Looks like I’m stuck here,” she said, motioning for me to leave.

My hands clasped over the counter. “Don’t you worry, Torres. I won’t leave you behind, even if that means sitting here in the shade, doing nothing but watching you work. It’s a sacrifice I’m happy to make.”

“Aw, you’re a real trooper, Wilson.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” I mocked Coach Miller, biting back a laugh at her annoyed pout.