The Sea Lions invaded the field five minutes into practice, suspiciously unfazed by Coach Connelly's loud snores from the sidelines. He napped in a beach chair, large yellow sunglasses slanted on his nose, drool pooling in his beard, and they didn't even flinch? They didn't exactly put up a fight when he transferred to our school this year. Not even his daughters, come to think of it.

Unfortunately, Eduardo couldn't lead practice since he had a follow up x-ray for his arm. Which left us under Izzy's temporary rule.

She lay on her back in the grass and said, "Now's not the time to ask Coach about making me captain, huh?"

"You want wake up the man who started practice with, 'Let's Begin by Taking a Smallish Nap or Two' literally? Good luck with that."

A snore thundered from the sidelines, capped off with a snort that could've woken the dead. His Winnie the Pooh quote of the day turned into his to-do list—to the surprise of absolutely no one.

"Ed's not captain, Coach is... well... Coach," Izzy said. "We can't be leaderless in a time of war. A counter attack is brewing. Look at them guzzling protein shakes. They mean business."

I'd avoided looking in the Sea Lions' direction since they arrived for one reason. Whether Carter shared his cheating theory with Hazel, and by extension, Rosie, remained a mystery. One peek would probably give me my answer. Honestly? I wasn't prepped for either scenario.

I bit the bullet. Izzy had a point. Our rival's choreographed warmups blew our random stretches out of the water. Not to mention their fancy training gear made us look like a bunch of sloppy losers. Their superior organization wasn't what held my attention, though.

Rosie sported a royal blue mesh tee with pristine white shorts like she walked out of a sportswear catalog. Even her tousled hair was perfect. She didn't look like someone who recently faced unfounded, cheating accusations. In fact, she hopped side-to-side with her sister without a care in the world. Pressure against my hand jolted me back to the task at hand. Hamstring stretch. I pushed on Izzy's other leg, ignoring her arched eyebrow, determined not to look up at Rosie again. My resolve lasted all of three seconds. This time, she gathered her hair into a ponytail, where her tee lifted a few inches above her shorts, enough to reveal the flat of her stomach.

Another kick from Izzy forced air back into my lungs.

Get. A. Grip.

I yanked my gaze away, only to meet Rosie's eyes already trained on me. I froze. It wasn't enough I'd embarrassed myself at her birthday? Her catching me staring ranked a thousand times worse. To top it off, I looked rough as hell. My faded red shorts sagged at the hips and the patchy black dragon slapped across my old gray gym tee looked like a goofy, bug-eyed lizard. She must've thought I looked like a complete idiot.

And I couldn't even tell if she knew the rumor about us.

"Earth to Kate?" Izzy sent me tumbling down. "You've been zombied-out for days. I tried the whole 'pretending everything is fine' and 'giving you space' thing, but guess what? Reverse psychology is a scam. What's wrong?"

"I broke up with Carter," I admitted, knowing I'd put off telling her for as long as possible.

"That would do it," she said, not all that shocked. "Explains why your 'hangover' lasted five days straight. That's what happens when you bottle things up. It's—"

"—Don't say it—"

"—emotional constipation."

"You said it."

"We just need to find you a laxative."

"Make it stop."

"Better out than in?"

"It just keeps getting worse and worse."

"You'll spill your guts in no time—pun intended."

A sharp whistle put me out of my misery.

Coach Miller gathered everyone around the center circle where on either side of every person sat a member of the other team. I sat as far away from Rosie as possible, not realizing Hazel and Dorothy sandwiched me in until too late.

I half-expected Hazel to ask about our up-and-coming double date loud enough for Rosie to hear and explode that plan right in front of my face. Even if Rosie, by some miracle, agreed to be my fake girlfriend, with her ex's clunky elbow jabbing into my ribs and her sister slurping from a water bottle right next to my ear, there was no way to get her alone without either noticing.

"Hello, Dragons. Coach Connelly kindly invited the Sea Lions here today to determine whether both teams can be civil. I expect the car wash gave everyone the chance to get along. We won't green light a rematch unless we see true cooperation. Capiche? On that note, let's start with trust exercises." Coach Miller folded the top of a page in his Conflict Resolution Guide, scanned the group, and said, "Kate Wilson. You're up first."

So much for not drawing attention.

"We're going to sit in a circle and tell each other embarrassing stories about ourselves?" I asked. "Pass."

Rosie shot back with, "You can't talk to him like that. Show him respect."

"We've got ourselves another volunteer," Coach Miller said, making Rosie's mouth drop. "Mutual respect is the goal today. Both of you get up and face each other. Then, Rosie, I want you to turn your back to Kate."

We met in the middle of the circle where Rosie jutted her chin and said, "You don't turn your back on your enemies."

I lowered my voice. "I thought we were cool now?"

"That was before you distracted me with beer pong, so your team could steal our clothes."

"You know that wasn't why we played," I whispered back. "And I let you hold my hoodie hostage longer out of the goodness of my heart. Some might call that chivalrous."

"You threw it into a puddle."

I gasped. "You didn't catch it?"

"It's not my fault you have bad aim."

"I was drunk."

"Will that be your excuse at the rematch, too?"

"Enough. Turn, Torres," Coach Miller ordered. She dug her cleats into the ground, like any movement would result in a swift blow to the back of her head. What a drama queen. "Do you know why people list facts about themselves and their families when held at gunpoint? It humanizes the victim. It makes the aggressor second guess whether they can take a human life. So, in that spirit, Kate, ask Rosie a question. Once Rosie answers and gains your trust, she'll fall back and will have to trust that you'll catch her."

I asked, "Do we need to share with the group?"

"Unnecessary," he said, backing up.

My fists tightened against my side, aware of how our audience tracked our every move. One person's gaze burned hottest. Hazel's. She could call my bluff about dating her ex at any second. So, this was my one chance to get Rosie on board without blowing up my plan.

I leaned in and whispered in Rosie's ear, "Hypothetically, what's your thoughts on dating me?"

She backed up, squinting at me. "That's your question, seriously?"

"As a heart attack."

"Think about me a lot, Kate?"

"As much as one does about their rival."

"I think you mean 'crush?'"

"You wish."

"I'm not the one asking for tips on how to ask me out?"

Right, don't insult the person you needed help from. "It's a hypothetical question. Stop flattering yourself and answer."

Her lips pressed together like I'd asked the most personal question a person could ask. "Dotty banned fraternization with the Dragons as her first bid as captain three years ago."

I almost scoffed. Calling Dorothy a major hypocrite wouldn't help my case. "Do you always do what your sister says?"

She crossed her arms. "Whatever you're trying to pull isn't working, so why don't you save the mind-games for the field?"

"Scared much?" I asked.

"Scared?" she repeated, leaning in an inch closer. I did the same, not backing down. "You're scary, sure, frightening, sometimes, even. But what's the point in that when you always lose?"

Maybe her jab would've hit harder if her eyes weren't so damn distracting. They looked different under sunlight, like warm honey. Pretty, but a trap. My gaze dropped to her lips, glossy and pink. I swallowed hard. They smelled like raspber—Coach Miller's rough, fake-sounding cough cut through my thoughts. Damn. Our faces were close. Any closer and—a second cough snapped us apart.

"Trust earned?" Coach Miller asked, earning a muted nod from Rosie. "Good. Now, fall, Torres."

She frowned, and asked, "How am I supposed to trust she'll catch me?"

"It's all about the leap of faith. You won't know if you can trust her until you do," he said, prompting another step back from her.

"Want me to trip you?" I offered.

"I can do it myself," she grumbled, turning her back to me.

I approached slowly; afraid one wrong move might spook her. My pulse quickened the moment my hand brushed against her waist. Rosie inhaled, crossed her arms over her chest, and tilted her chin to the sky. She fell backward with what sounded like a murmured prayer. I caught her a little later than expected.

A mixture of boos and cheers echoed in the field.

"See? Best hypothetical girlfriend ever," I said, helping her up.

"About that," Rosie said, gripping my wrist on her waist before I could let go. "Why does my ex think I'm non-hypothetically dating you?"

Ah, hell.

Coach Miller spoke before I even thought of formulating a response, "The impossible, possible, everybody. I want you to get into pairs and copy what they did. We won't resume practice until everyone has completed a trust fall. Connelly and Santiago, that includes you. In fact, you're up next."

Rosie let my wrist go with a pointed squeeze. We sat back down, watching each other warily. The weight of her gaze crushed me, holding me paralyzed in place, and the distance between us did nothing to make it feel any less intense. At least I had my answer now. She knew. No wonder she'd been off with me all practice. Hazel must've grilled her like Carter did me. One question remained: I went along with his assumption. What the hell did she do?

The rest of practice didn't go as smooth as Coach Miller would've liked since we never made it out of the trust fall stage. It turned into a game of trust drops between Izzy and Dorothy instead. Coach Miller made us watch as the pair took turns trying to give each other a concussion for thirty minutes straight. He didn't pull the plug on a rematch; however, he scheduled another practice together, which honestly might've been worse.

I sat at the bottom of the bleachers twenty minutes later, fresh from the locker room, waiting for my aunt to pick me up. My gaze darted around the outskirts of the field; paranoid Carter would tumble over to ask why I lied about going out with Rosie. What was I supposed to say? That it was all part of a spur-of-the-moment scheme borrowed from The Proposal—one of his favorite movies, the one I always fell asleep through?

The last bus from the car lot pulled away from the school. At the same time, my phone lit up with a text from my aunt Harriet. She got pulled to work a double shift at the hospital and asked if I could catch the bus home. Izzy already left to pick up Eduardo from the hospital and Dan had left practice early for his shift at Kimura's Auto Repair. Only one car remained in the parking lot, where the owner tossed a gym bag in their trunk. I crossed the field onto the tarmac before the yellow Volkswagen Bug shot off. Someone who drove a literal smiley emoji on wheels wouldn't say no to giving me a ride, right?

The driver whipped their damp dark hair over their shoulder, revealing the side profile of none other than Rosie Torres. Great. I thought she'd left with her dad and sister earlier. I didn't get the chance to ask for a ride before she opened the passenger door for me to climb inside, both of us in silent agreement not to make this a bigger deal than it needed to be.

We clearly needed to talk, anyway.

Cool air blew through the rolled down windows, a quick, albeit messy, way to dry her hair. She skipped the black hair tie on her wrist and went for the big yellow sunglasses Coach Connelly wore earlier instead, pushing her now-wavy hair back. The freckles dusted across her make-up free face made her look sweet—sweet enough for me to let my guard down. It was dumb, but I couldn't help it.

The peace ended after five minutes of blissful, if not awkward, silence.

"About that rumor Hazel heard," Rosie said, making me groan. "I told her it was none of her business, because it isn't. But just because it isn't her business doesn't mean there is business."

Time to come clean. "Carter thinks we're dating, too."

"Why?"

"You crawling onto my lap at your birthday might have had something to do with it?" I suggested, not wanting to linger on that topic any longer. "What matters is they think we're together. So, about that hypothetical I tried asking you about earlier?"

"Please don't tell me you're going to ask what I think you're going to ask."

"It's in both our interests to go on a double date with them together. As, you know, fake girlfriends." She opened her mouth, but I cut her off before she shot me down. "You said it. The best way to make them think we don't care is to showthem we don't—that we've moved on. And who better to do that with than each other?"

Rosie pulled up in front of my house and didn't kick me out right away. A good sign, right? But then she tilted her head from side to side, weighing her options. The longer the silence stretched, the clearer it became that whatever she was thinking wasn't in my favor.

"No offense, Kate," she said, turning to face me, "but you're not exactly 'girlfriend material.'"

"Ouch."

"I just mean it wouldn't be believable because you're...you and I'm...me."

"I'll bite. What about me is such a turnoff?"

"You're not like, gross or anything."

"Wow. Thanks."

"You're just not...Ugh. How do I put this?" she muttered, not filling me with confidence. "Remember back in sixth grade when you got that note from someone who had a crush on you and you used a magnifying glass to set it on fire? You called it a 'hot mess?'"

I nodded. "An effective deterrent. No one asked me out after that."

"That's why you...? Never mind. My point is, you're not the warm and cuddly type. Nothing's wrong with that. But everyone who knows me knows I'm the complete opposite. I'd be a nightmare for someone stoic like you."

"Yeah, yeah. Your sunny disposition would burn me to a crisp. Did I forget to put an emphasis on 'fake' girlfriends?"

"Fake or not, we wouldn't work, Kate."

"Fine. It's whatever," I said, opening the door. "Thanks for the ride, Torres."

"It's not like I'm your type, either!" she called after me.

I waved over my shoulder. Maybe sober me was worse than drunk me, after all. And the most embarrassing part was yet to come: somehow explaining to Carter the 'trial friendship double-date' was a no-go.

How ironic the reason Carter cheated was the same reason Rosie wouldn't even fake date me.