One- Kota
The first thing I see when I step onto campus isn’t the stadium, or the banners with our championship years—it’s him. Dylan Ticer. And suddenly it feels like I’ve already lost.
It’s stupid, really. I’ve spent years dreaming of this moment, stepping onto a college campus with my scholarship secured, my whole life lined up in neat little rows the way my planner says it should be. My dad texted me this morning to remind me to “check the field conditions before practice,” as if that was the first thing I’d do anyway. My mom reminded me about posture in photos. I told myself to soak it all in, to breathe, to remember that this is the start of everything I’ve worked toward since I was three years old. But none of that sticks, not when the first thing I lock eyes on is Dylan Ticer, standing across the quad like some kind of bad memory dragged out into the daylight.
Dylan—the one person who could outplay me if he really wanted to. The first friend I ever had, if you can call it that. We were just kids, tiny bodies running after a ball bigger than our heads, our parents cheering from the sidelines of the toddler league in our town’s local soccer organization. Back then, soccer was just chasing something round until your legs gave out. But even at three years old, Dylan had this edge, like he was already playing for something more.
The last time we were on the same field, we were fourteen. That game is burned into me like a scar I keep tracing. It was tied up, minutes left, both of us fighting like our lives depended on it. Then came my shot—the ball flying clean past the goalie, the net snapping like thunder. We won. My teammates swarmed me. But I only remember Dylan’s face, standing on the other side of the field. He looked at me like I’d taken something from him. Shock, disappointment, anger… and maybe a flicker of fear, though I never understood why. That was the last time I saw him. He disappeared, like the final whistle had blown us into two different worlds.
Of course, I still heard about him. Everyone did. Dylan tearing it up on his high school team, his name on the local papers, the highlight reels. And I had my own spotlight, too. Straight A’s, varsity starter, the girl who couldn’t be beat. We lived parallel lives, always running the same race but never on the same track. Even when our schools played each other, the schedules kept us apart—when the boys were home, the girls were away. I used to dream of a Bedlam game, one night where it would be me versus Dylan again, no excuses, no separation. But that never came. The universe seemed determined to keep us from colliding again.
Until now.
Our eyes locked, and for a second the world felt like it stood still. No voices, no footsteps, no campus noise—just us, staring each other down like the last fifteen years hadn’t passed. My chest tightened with the ridiculous urge to wave at him, but the way his eyes narrowed into sharp little slits killed that impulse fast.
So I did what I do best. I turned around.
The crumpled map in my hand suddenly became the most important thing in the world, and I let it guide me toward my dorm. Step after step, I told myself to shove Dylan Ticer out of my head. Out of sight, out of mind. Except, well—nope. My brain doesn’t work that way.
We’re going to the same school.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Honestly, I should’ve known something like this would happen. It feels exactly like the opening scene of some cheesy romcom—except I’m the unlucky girl who got cast in the main plot. All I can do now is pray I don’t actually run into him again.
Which, let’s be real, is complete bullshit. Because if Dylan’s here for soccer, then it’s not a matter of if. It’s when.
And that “when” is going to happen the day after tomorrow—the first day of practice. I’d been looking forward to it for months, but now? Three damn minutes of eye contact with Dylan Ticer and suddenly I’m dreading it. I’m gonna get my ass kicked.
Or not. I’ve always had a knack for winning streaks. So maybe not all hope is lost.
FOCUS, KOTA.
Oh right—the dorm. What number was it again?
I glance down at the crumpled campus map in my hand. B207. Second floor, left hallway. Got it. Lugging my bag back over my shoulder, I shuffle into the elevator that smells faintly of cleaning supplies and burnt popcorn, ride it up, then count the doors until I land in front of mine. B207. My new home.
The door swings open, and my eyebrows shoot up. My roommate has already transformed her side of the room into a shrine of color: K-Pop posters, anime characters, twinkly fairy lights. It looks like a comic convention exploded against the walls.
Anime girl. Yay.
Nothing wrong with it—it’s just never been my thing. But hey, who am I to judge?
“You must be Dakota!” The girl spins around with a grin, dark hair cropped into a pixie cut, green eyes. Her voice is bright and fast, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. It takes me a solid seven seconds to process her words because apparently Dylan Ticer has crawled into my brain and refuses to leave.
Shaking it off, I manage a smile and stick out my hand. “Hi. Kota. Nice to meet you. Uh… nice posters.” Smooth, Kota.
Her grin widens. “I’m Lilly! You love K-Pop and anime too?” She plops onto her bed, legs folding neatly beneath her.
“Not really, but I respect it. If it makes you happy, by all means, embrace it. I’m more of a classic rock, alternative kind of girl.”
“Polar opposites make the best friendships,” Lilly declares without missing a beat. “I’m digging it already.”
Her eyes drift to my bed, then to the oversized backpack I dumped there. She tilts her head. “Is… that all you brought?”
I laugh, embarrassed. “Yeah, the rest is coming in Amazon packages. My mom wanted me to start my ‘adult life’ with all brand-new everything. Don’t ask.”
Lilly purses her lips like she’s about to reveal a great truth. “My aunt is like that too. But listen—you’re the one living your life. At the end of the day, you’re the one paying your bills, you’re the one who’ll be on your deathbed, and you’re the only one who can decide what actually makes you happy. Don’t let anyone else make those choices for you. Even your parents.”
I blink at her, caught off guard by the sudden fortune-cookie wisdom after thirty seconds of anime fangirling. “Uh… yeah. I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”
“Good, don’t ever forget it,” she said, her voice softer now, almost like a warning. For someone who decorated their wall with bright pink K-Pop posters, Lilly had this strange way of flipping a switch and dropping wisdom like she was a ninety-year-old guru trapped in a freshman’s body.
I nodded to acknowledge it, but mostly because I didn’t know what else to do with that. My hands itched for something practical, so I bent down and unzipped my bag, pulling out my stack of folded clothes. I was halfway to hanging up a hoodie when Lilly practically skipped toward me, her energy buzzing so much she might as well have been vibrating. Honestly, she reminded me of Alice from Twilight—tiny, bright-eyed, and way too excited for someone who’d only known me for three minutes.
“Let me help you with that!” she chirped, plucking a shirt from my hand like we’d been best friends for years. “The faster you unpack, the faster we can go explore the quad. I know there’s tons of clubs we should check out!”
I gave a small laugh, trying not to wince at her enthusiasm. “Thanks, but I’m not sure about signing up for any clubs. I’m on the varsity soccer team, and between soccer and classes I don’t think I’ll have time to juggle anything else.”
That stopped her in her tracks. Lilly’s eyes widened like I’d just told her I was secretly royalty. “You’re the girl everyone’s been obsessing about today? The freshman who made varsity? Oh my god, you’re literally the talk of the school right now! You and this one dude—both of you freshmen, both varsity—it’s, like, unheard of around here.”
Fucking Dylan.
“Dylan Ticer?” I asked, my voice clipped, and my shoulders tightening on reflex. His name had a way of slipping under my skin like a splinter.
Lilly gasped, her whole body jolting with fangirl energy. “You know him?!” She sounded the exact same way she had two minutes ago when she was gushing about her favorite K-Pop idols.
“Something like that,” I muttered, trying to sound casual as I shoved hangers through the loops of my jeans. “We go way back. Haven’t talked in years, though. I saw him outside before I came in here.”
Her eyes narrowed at me, sharp and mischievous, and I swear I could feel them burning into my back while I hung another shirt. “There’s more to that story. I can feel it. Spill.”
I rolled my eyes, more amused than annoyed. “There’s really not much to tell. We both played soccer since we were three, best friends and rivals all the way up until our last match. After that, we just… stopped talking. It is what it is.”
“And he didn’t say anything to you outside?” she pressed.
“If looks could talk, I’d be digging my own grave right now,” I muttered, half to myself. “I won our last match, but something about that game just did him in. Even now I just get a glare. I didn’t realize I bruised his ego that bad.”
Lilly burst into laughter, her pixie-cut head tipping back, emerald-green eyes shining. “This year is going to be so interesting with you two. I might be a freshman too, but my older siblings went here, and my sister’s still here working on her bachelor’s. Trust me—I already know everything worth knowing. You’re in for drama.” She held her hand up like she was swearing on a Bible.
I snorted, lining up my sneakers in the bottom of the closet. “Well, at least I know who to come to when the rumors start flying.”
“You got that right.” She beamed, then clapped her hands together with renewed energy. “Now let’s go! You don’t have to sign up for anything, but there’s amazing coffee and cinnamon rolls calling our names.”
That—finally—got a grin out of me. “Best idea of the day.”
She hooked her arm through mine and tugged me out the door, already rambling about cinnamon glaze and cappuccino foam. Someone’s Bluetooth speaker blasting bass-heavy music from behind a half-open door spilled into the hallway. And as we passed the bulletin board near the elevator, a flyer caught my eye—bold letters reading:
VARSITY SOCCER PRACTICE – ALL PLAYERS REPORT.
“Shit, I gotta go—grab me a cinnamon roll? I’ll pay you back tonight,” I said, slinging my backpack higher on my shoulder like it was a statement.
“Of course! Don’t even worry about it—you’ll just get the next round,” Lilly said, giving me a quick wink before practically bouncing down the dorm hallway like someone had installed springs in her shoes. I watched her go, that ridiculous grin plastered on her face, and shook my head. Honestly, she was like a caffeine-fueled cheerleader version of a Disney princess—annoying, impossible to ignore, but kind of charming.
I turned in the opposite direction toward the soccer fields, tugging my bag behind me. Why the hell couldn’t they have just texted us? It’s 2025, not the damn ’70s. A flyer? Seriously. Who even notices paper flyers anymore? I rolled my eyes so hard I was almost worried they’d get stuck that way.
The fields were a short walk from the dorm, a stretch of green that smelled faintly of fresh-cut grass and sunscreen. I could hear the distant chatter of students, sneakers squeaking against the pavement, and the faint thump of a soccer ball being kicked in the far corner. The bleachers came into view, a cluster of girls already sitting there, chatting, stretching, and tossing a ball between them.
“Dakota, right?” a blonde girl called out, her teeth so white they practically glowed in the sunlight. She waved, and I waved back, trying to look calm and collected when inside I was basically a hurricane of nerves.
“Everyone calls me Kota, but yeah—hi,” I said, trying to sound confident. Which, honestly, sounded better in my head than it did coming out of my mouth.
Her eyes went huge, sparkling like she’d just seen a celebrity. “You have no idea how glad we are that you’re on this team! The coach said she’s been watching you for years, and when she found out you applied here? I swear, I’ve never seen her jump out of her seat so fast!”
I blinked. My parents had mentioned how much I’d been scouted, of course, but I never really believed it. This was the first time I actually felt it—everyone expecting something from me settling on my shoulders, a mix of pride and nausea swirling in my stomach.
“Wow… that’s awesome. I’m really glad to be here. Thank you for being so welcoming,” I said, genuinely smiling now. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Jennifer,” she said quickly, then gestured at the others. “And that’s Evie, Ashlynn, Riley, Savannah,and Emory. We’re still waiting for a few others to show up, but this is the core crew for now.”
I tried to memorize the names, but my eyes darted from one girl to the next, each waving and high-fiving me like I’d just won the lottery. I could tell this was going to take a few days to fully process.
“Nice to meet you all. Quick question…” I hesitated, trying not to sound annoyed. “Why was there a flyer posted about this meeting instead of, you know… a text?”
Evie, tall and slender with sun-kissed skin and long black hair, leaned in, resting her elbow on her knee while her other leg dangled lazily over her thigh. “That’s Coach for you. She likes to keep us on our toes, see who’s paying attention to their surroundings. Helps her figure out player placement. Don’t tell JV though—they’ll learn the hard way.” She smirked.
“That’s… kind of insane,” I said, laughing. “But also… actually kind of brilliant. I like her already.”
Before Savannah could chime in, a roar went up from the side of the field. The boys’ varsity team was running along the sidelines, hollering and whistling like it was a Saturday night at a club instead of mid-afternoon practice.
“Hey ladies!” one of them—tall, loud, muscular, probably the captain—yelled, blowing a kiss in our direction.
“Ray, go harass the volleyball team!” Ashlynn yelled back, and we all laughed as Ray and two other guys proceeded to shake their asses like they were auditioning for Dancing with the Stars: College Edition.
“Are they always like this?” I asked, trying not to glare while simultaneously being entertained.
“Like dumbasses on steroids?” Savannah replied without missing a beat.
“Precisely,” Ashlynn said. “Annoying, but hilarious. Worth keeping around.”
And then I saw him.
Dylan.
He jogged behind the group, moving like he didn’t quite know if he wanted to be part of their shenanigans or not. And then our eyes met.
Everything else disappeared—the yelling, the laughter, the smell of freshly cut grass, the sunlight bouncing off the bleachers. My brain shut down, leaving only him, standing there, calm and slightly smug like he hadn’t spent the last four years being a thorn in my side.
But this time, it was me doing the glare-down.
I didn’t know what he’d done to get his boxers in a twist this time, but one thing was certain: I was going to figure it out. One way or another.
“Woah. I can feel the tension,” Riley said, elbowing me in the side and yanking me back from my trance.
“What tension?” I asked, though I could feel it buzzing through the air like static electricity.
“You two look like you’re about to slash each other’s throats if one of you moves too close,” Emory laughed.
Dylan shook his head and jogged to join his team, though I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced the ceasefire was over.
“Nah, we’re fine,” I said, forcing my voice casual while my eyes kept flicking back to him. “I’ll just let the games talk for us.”
Okay Kota. Get your damn head in the game.
