Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

David Wymack has always known that the way he picks foxes isn't conventional, that's the point, but right now it's a pain in his ass. The school and the ERC wanted fix to six new players this upcoming season, he has four. The news from Jostens little kidnapping has made recruiting difficult to say the least.

Josten and Minyard decided to fuck off god knows where leaving him with the continuous harsh opinion Kevin has on every single recruit. Which in summary is that they are all worth fuck all. His only salvation is that Kevin is gratefully less talkative at seven in the morning which has left his Tuesday morning peaceful. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the phone started ringing just to mock him. "Who the fuck is calling at 7:13 in the morning," he huffed before looking at the number. A +44-area code probably didn't mean the best news. Picking up the phone he answered with a brief. "Wymack"

"Coack Wymack, it's Stuart Hatford." Comes through with that annoying British accent of his.

He sighed, "Josten's not here."

"I'm actually calling for you. I heard you are still in need of a player, and luckily I'm in need of a favor."

Wymack honestly didn't like the sound of that. He had reached his neck in mafia-exy issues without adding the British mafia to that list. However, David being David, he responded. "I'm Listening."

***

Three hours later, David finds himself and Kevin going through the uncountable amount of film the British gangster had sent over. Short summary is, she's good. Not just at one position either, at every position. Whatever they were doing across the pond, had her training in every single position. From what he gathered the Hatford's didn't even invest in Exy like the Morayma's' did, so why they trained a girl to play every position, he has no clue.

"When are you sending her contract?" Kevin finally pipes in after the most recent clip has ended.

Wymack looks at him, somewhat not believing that there isn't a single bit of "constructive" criticism coming out of him mouth first. "I need to talk to Josten. Shes coming from the Hatfords which means that we might be adding in a new load of mafia shit. Hatford says that she's not related and unconnected to everything, but after this year I'll believe that bullshit when I see it."

"She has a lot we will need to work on, starting with picking one position, so I'd rather get her here sooner rather than later." Kevin responds ignoring everything else that was brought up and turns back to the film.

***

Neil Josten was finally having a good break. With the trial coming up in the next month, him and Andrew decided to take a road trip with no destination in sight. It was nice to just explore for the sake of exploring. They were currently in Boston; he wanted to see the city and Andrew wanted to go to up through the east coast to go through some of the biggest bookstores in the country.

Sitting on the ledge of their hotel room window smoking, he and Drew were trying to get through some more of their Russian vocab that they had been studying through the whole trip. His phone started ringing just as they were finishing the home items section with Wymacks name lighting up the screen. "Coach, didn't I say not to call unless someone was dying," he huffs while putting the phone on speaker for Drew could listen in.

"Yeah, I know kid, but this has a time limit. I got a call from Stuart this morning." Neils head whips up to meet Andrew's glance. "He asked if we had a spot for a girl in the Hatfords custody, said she's not Hatford blood and they don't want her to be forced into the business."

Neil rolled his eyes, the Hatfords were oddly committed to blood family and only blood family. "And he wants you to take her on? Why? Couldn't they get her into a school there? Does she even play?" His mind had a ridiculous number of questions more, but he was cut off.

"Yes, he wants us to take her. He wants her out of Europe from the sound of it, and she plays well enough. I can send over the clips, but that's not the important part. Would you be okay with a Hatford on the team?"

Andrew waves his hand in front of Neils face to get his attention. He looks at him for a few seconds before nodding at whatever he sees in Neils face, so Neil responds, "Yes, I don't see a good reason not to. She's not a Hatford so she probably doesn't have any other reasonable choice than this one."

Wymack sighs, "Alright, I'll send over the paperwork. Be safe kids." Then he hangs up.

"And we thought this year would be simple."

"No, Junkie, you thought it would be," Andrew responds while lighting another cigarette.

Chapter Text

Ewelina Piotrowski has not been on enough planes, for most to believe she was justified in not liking them. She avoided not riding on a plane by opting out of every outing that required more than a train or a car, after she had moved in with the Hatfords. She did not hate planes, honestly the aerodynamics of the machines made her want to ramble for days to anyone who would listen. She just did not trust the other people on the plane. Honestly, that was most places for her, not specifically planes, they just happened to fit in the category. Which this happens to be one of the downsides of Stuarts' plan that she will think about. Thinking about the Hatfords getting rid of her, or about... well that's just not productive. From the way he said it, it's done. She didn’t hate exy enough to complain about that part of the situation, but being sent to another country after finally being settled here is annoying to say the least.

She knew he was going to try to find a solution to the "problem". She had also known it wouldn't include having her join the family. She wasn't blood and the one thing that was important to the Hatfords was blood. She just didn't think his "solution" would be to send her to the team of his lost nephew. Where he even got the idea, she would never know. She didn't care. It wasn't like she had any other choice. What she really wanted, if she could describe herself as wanting anything, was to play exy and be able to study until nothing else mattered, because at least she was good at those things. So, she didn't fight it, she simply said 'okay' and started packing.

After two years living with the Hatfords she had accumulated enough items to fill a backpack and a carryon. She hadn't brought anything when she was taken, the Hatfords ended up unveiling her legal documents a couple of weeks into her stay and in her eyes that was the only important thing she owned. Having too many items never seemed too smart to her because she had known since the second she accepted the Hatfords hand that she would be gone by the time she matured. She hadn't foreseen Stuart finding a place for her to go before that date even came, it was only a month early, but still it was the principle.

Taking one final look to ensure that everything that would hint at her existence was packed away, she took the stairs down the Hatford mansion to meet Stuart in the sunroom. He was scowling at Jane while she told him a story from her time last year at university. Ewelina had heard the story three times; it was Jane’s adventurous bar crawl the night before her first midterm. Jane halted when she saw Ewelina in the doorway and stood, immediately making it across the room to wrap her arms around Ewelina. "Do you really have to go?" Jane huffed into her shoulder.

"You know I do." She pulls herself from Jane with a pat on her shoulder.

“I want you to stay. Stuart, why can’t she just join me, I still have two years left, and its only thirty minutes away?”

Stuart sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face, “We’ve been over this. That isn’t an option.”

Stuart stared straight at Jane with a challenging look, the quiet war they were having was enough for Ewelina to cut in, "Are you ready to go Stuart?"

He stands, grabs her suitcase, "Yes, we are slightly behind schedule." The very clearly emotionally adept man says.

***

The Upstate Regional Airport is a lot easier to deal with than London Heathrow. Stuart accompanied her to South Carolina, stating he had things to discuss with his nephew anyway. In the back of her mind, she had hoped that he wanted to come for her, as irrational as that was. Especially since she had a hell of an easier time getting through US Customs than he did. She was born in America by accident; her parents were in the States for work when she arrived early. They had no problem informing her of how much of a naissance she then was as they had to file for additional citizenship when they flew back. But that gave her American citizenship and allowed her to get into the country with a couple questions instead of the practical interrogation that came for Stuart. For a country that was stolen by and now consisted of immigrants, they really didn't like them. Illogical as it was, it gave Ewelina thirty minutes to hide in a bathroom stall until he texted.

Stuart wasted no time getting the rental car and loading their bags, and with that starting the drive to Palmetto State University in silence. It wasn't until the stadium was in view that he finally spoke, "I wish you could stay Ewelina, you know that right?"

Did she know that? It seems like something someone would say out of guilt more than truth. She didn't like to rely on lies, a foundation of lies crumbled much faster than one of truths, or even half-truths. For the sake of not having to answer, she just hummed in what sounded like agreement.

"The foxes are, well some are proper crazy, but I know Nathaniel will look out for you, he's a protective one. If you need anything, you can ask him or call me or Jane." She would never have done any of those options, but she stayed quiet. "I also talked to the coach about continuing your therapy. They have a team therapist that's willing to continue your once-a-week sessions."

"You what? I thought that was until I was eighteen?" The audacity of this man. She had not said a word of actual meaning in the last two years of required therapy. Why did they insist on continuing the awkward hours? What infuriated her more was that she legitimately couldn't talk about a single thing in her life, so why would they force her into a room to do that exact thing was beyond her comprehension.

Stuart sighed, "And you aren't eighteen Ewelina. You still have a month, and after that the team therapist will decide if you should continue.” He parked and shifted in her direction. "Look, I just want you to do good here, and if you hate it here you could even transfer to another school after the years over."

"Oh okay, so if I wanted to transfer back to England, what would happen then? You'd have absolutely no problem with it." She got out of the car; done with the bullshit his mouth was spewing. Stuart just followed her out.

"Don't be like that. You know I only want what is best for you. We just want you to-" He cuts off his bullshit as an expensive black car speeding into the parking lot. "We will talk about this later." She knew later it wouldn't come; it never did. "Let's get you in to meet the coach." As he walked to the side of the car towards the building, he halted when the five boys shuffled out of the black car. The boy in the passenger seat immediately turned and headed towards them. Even without his red hair and blue eyes, Ewelina would be able to spot that face from a mile away; it was Mr. Wesninski's face. She had not seen it in seven years, but she immediately started backing away.

"Uncle Stuart, can't say I'm that glad to see you," the Wesninski said as he got to Stuart.

Ewelina immediately whipped her head to Stuart, "You never said he was a Wesninski." She never normally would call him out on anything but today was just too much to hold her tongue.

The short boy smiled a wicked smile while one of the two short blond boys stepped up beside him, his hand reaching for his armband. Stuart responded before either of them could act, "Well legally he isn't a Wesninski anymore. This is Nathaniel, my nephew, who I was telling you about." This broke the red head out of whatever trance she had put him in.

"My name is Neil Josten. If you keep calling me that name, I can't promise my response will be pleasant." He states oddly evenly. She knew better than to go against someone's word. If Stuart had warned her about fucking anything before dragging her to another country, then they could have avoided this all together. "You've been playing exy for years, do you expect me to believe you didn't see or hear of the news last year."

"I play exy, why waste my time in watching it too." Turning to Stuart, done with this whole exchange, she huffed, "Can we go inside, it's hotter than bollocks out here."

Stuart let her get away with that, while the blond mutter in German to the 'Neil' before turning with him and the rest of his car inside. Stuart simply sighed and followed Ewelina in tow.

***

Following the five boys and Stuart into the arena, Ewelina is struck by a blast of traffic cone orange; the kind of color that feels like it’s yelling. It slaps the eye, unapologetic, coating every wall with the same stubborn shade. Not warm, modern; just loud. Like someone wanted to make damn sure no one ever forgot this place existed.

The corridor walls are lined with framed team photos and wrinkled posters from past seasons. Half of them is sun-faded, curled at the edges. Some still sparkle under the overhead fluorescent lights, which buzz just a little too loud. There is an odd reverence in how the boys walk here; the way they glance at old banners, the silence they fall into once inside. One of them touches the frame of a photo as they pass, just briefly.

Ewelina folds her arms. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to.

The hallways smell like old sweat sealed in with floor polish. It smells like teenage years; like time pressed into concrete. She can imagine the echoes here: shouting, laughter, shoes squeaking, music blasting off someone’s phone. All of it still lingers, ghost-like, just out of reach.

The doors to the court are closed; shut like a secret. She can feel it behind them, though, humming faintly, like heat behind glass. There is a kind of gravity pulling everyone forward, but she holds back, scanning instead. The others act like they belong here. Their shoulders ease. Even Stuart walks with little tension.

Ewelina watches all this with a flat expression, unreadable. It’s not that she doesn’t see the comfort in the walls; it’s that she refuses to be lulled by it. She knows better than to mistake wear for warmth.

This place isn’t home.

It just looks like one; if you’re careless enough to fall for it.

“Maggots, you’re late.” The voice cuts through the stale air as the group slips through the scuffed metal door marked Team Lounge. It’s loud, rough; like a drill sergeant who’s lost patience with the world but still demands respect.

Inside, the room presses close, the walls adorned with a few handfuls of faded photos that look less like trophies and more like reminders that none of this is new. The hardwood underfoot, glossy light it just had been polished, the orange traffic cone bright paint on the doorframe chipped; almost like the entire arena is a relic, one the players belong to as much as it belongs to them. The expensive-looking trophy standing on one wall looks like a strange beacon of attention. She hated every bit of it all immediately.

Her eyes flick to the man whose voice she heard who no one could be else than David Wymack. Big, rough, a walking storm of tattoos climbing his arms, wearing an Exy cut-off t-shirt that’s seen better years and gym shorts that barely hide muscles built for confrontation. She heard his name; seen the old photos of when he first played. Now, here he is, just as raw and unpolished as she expected.

Neil waves theatrically, “Had a pit stop in the parking lot,” nodding toward her and Stuart lingering in the doorway.

Ewelina’s gaze drifts over the room. Empty chair by one wall, a sagging loveseat with a large man nestled between two women on the opposite side, and three single seats scattered around. A girl with tan skin and honey-brown hair occupies one, a pale girl with white hair tipped in soft pastel shades sits in another, and a lanky boy in the last. They look like they’ve settled in, like this place is their cage and their refuge all at once.

Wymack grunts, nodding at Stuart. “Hatford.” Then comes the butchered version of her name, “Ee-We-lee-nah.”

She stiffens. That pronunciation making her cringe. “‘Lina is fine,” she snaps, voice flat but sharp enough.

Wymack shrugs, looking apologetic, though she doesn’t believe that. He gestures toward the empty chair. “You can sit.” The five boys, who are predominately mostly small, squeeze onto the couch with little effort, the wrist banded boy taking the arm against the Wesninski.

Ewelina stays by the wall, her posture defensive, eyes darting to the photos plastered behind her; faces she doesn’t recognize, smiles she doesn’t trust.

Stuart moves beside her, but she barely registers the movement.

“First order of business: five new freshmen,” Wymack announces. “Jack and Sheena.” His nod points to the young pair on the loveseat. Then to the tan girl and the lanky boy—“Robin and Dylan.” Finally, a wave in her direction, “and Lina.”

The darker-skinned woman seated with the large man speaks, her voice steady and deliberate. “I’m your captain, Dan. This is Matt,” she nods to the bulky man beside her. “Allison.” She gestures toward a blonde girl on her other side. “And Renee,” she says last, hand flicking toward the girl with pastel-tipped hair sitting quietly in one of the single chairs.

Neil adds on next, “I’m your vice-captain Neil.” he waves to his sides, “and Andrew, Aaron, Nicky, Kevin,” not offering distinctions between them.

Ewelina watches how casually the group divides itself, lines drawn without words. No one would ask her what she thought, where she would fit; it would be a decision in silence. She files it away, something to keep an eye on.

She tunes out most of Wymack’s announcements, the drone of practice schedules and rules barely registering until her name snaps her back.

“Lina, you’re up first for physicals with Abby. Then Robin, Jack, Sheena, Dylan, and the rest can go in any order.” The woman in scrubs gestures for her to follow. “Hatford, Neil, a word?”

Wymack pulls Stuart and Neil aside, and Ewelina steps into the small, sterile office. The sharp antiseptic smell is almost suffocating.

“Okay, Lina, basic checkup, height and weight first.”

She complies, going through the motions. Then Abby pulls out a butterfly needle.

“I need blood.”

“No.”

The word slips out without hesitation.

“We’re required to do blood testing before you can play,” Abby says, clinical and firm.

Ewelina meets her eyes, voice steady but hard. “I can do it.”

Abby shakes her head. “I can’t allow you to draw your own blood. This will be quick.”

“Either I do it, or no one does. I’ve probably done this more than you ever have.” Her voice carries an edge of desperate control. Abby studies her for a long moment, then exhales and hands over the needle.

Ewelina’s hands are steady, practiced. Two vials filled, needle discarded; bleeding stopped with gauze.

“Alright, I need you to take off your shirt so I can check for track marks.”

Her breath catches. She’s never hidden the marks—no point pretending she’s pristine—but this isn’t about modesty. Taking off her shirt exposes too much: the brands, the ink, the scars that don’t tell easy stories. She looks at Abby’s hard eyes, knowing resistance is pointless. Slowly, she takes off her shirt.

Abby’s gaze flickers first to the brand peeking above her sports bra near her heart, then to the scars and tattoos climbing her arms, finally resting on her forearms.

“How old are they?”

“Old enough for it not to be your problem.” Ewelina doesn’t clarify which marks she means. She doesn’t want to.

“Lina-“

She snatches her shirt back and shakes her head. “You got your checkup.”

She turns and leaves before Abby can respond.

This is the same dance she’s been forced to do since moving in with the Hatfords; the endless inspections and questions disguised as care. The only difference here is that she doesn’t have to play by their rules anymore. The bitter relief tastes like ashes.

Outside, she nearly runs into Stuart, leaning lazily against the wall.

“Everything come out okay?”

She shrugs, but a small, dry smirk pulls at her lips. “I’m 1.85 meters now. Officially taller than you.”

She knows he means more than that, but she ignores it.

“Ridiculous. You’re outgrowing almost every Hatford already.” He starts to walk. “You’ll room with Robin and Sheena. They’re already settled in. I’ll drop you off, but I will be on a flight back in a few hours.”

***

Later, after a quick, awkward half-hug, Ewelina shoves her clothes into a dresser drawer and stows everything else in the desk. She stares at the empty bunk bed, ticking off everything missing sheets, blankets, pillow, toiletries, towel, detergent. The list feels endless, but she keeps her thoughts locked tight, no room for longing.

The door opens quietly.

The tan-skinned girl pauses, eyes flicking up, “Oh, hey.”

Ewelina nods without warmth and sidesteps, wanting nothing to do with small talk.

In the common room, the three older women at the kitchen counter fall silent when she appears.

“Where’s the nearest supermarket or corner shop?” She asks, voice sharp and uninterested.

Dan answers, “We can take you. Need to go anyway, let me get Matt.”

“No. Where is it? If not, I’ll find it myself.” She refuses the trap of being trapped in a car full of strangers.

Renee’s voice, soft and patient, floats over. “Take Perimeter Road to Main Street. Pass the local shops. Walmart’s at the end. It’s about a thirty-minute walk.”

“Thanks.” Ewelina sighs just as her phone buzzes.

Jane’s name flashes.

“Uncle Stuart said you should be settled,” Jane says without waiting for Ewelina’s acknowledgment of the call.

“Almost. Still have to go to the market,” Ewelina replies in French, stepping toward the door.

“Everything okay? Got the debit card Stuart gave you? Everyone nice?”

Ewelina cuts her off. “Everything’s fine. Yes, I have the card. I’ve talked to two of them—they’re tolerable for now.” She walks down the hallway, catching one of the taller boy’s head snap toward her across the hallway.

Ah, so someone knows French, she thinks, a small, fleeting thought locked away as she heads toward the stairs.

“Jane, wait a second,” she mumbles, heading down the stairs, not daring to continue till she's outside.

Chapter Text

The sun dipped low behind the trees, painting the sky in muted streaks of orange and lavender as Ewelina finally made the last stretch of Fox tower. Her arms ached from the weight of the bags and her legs felt heavier with every step after the extended day.

She hadn't meant to spend so much time at Walmart, but the store had swallowed her whole. It had seemed like it would never end when she entered. By the time she left, she hadn't decided if that was necessarily false. The store had everything, it was like seven different stores crammed together into a chaotically, shelved warehouse with bright lights and random half eaten food on the shelves.

The pharmacy and beauty sections had taken up too much of her time, and she might’ve made it out faster if she hadn’t heard Dans voice a few aisles away and decided to hide in the outdoor and lawn section, which ended up with her wishing she could buy ever seed offered instead of anything she needed to purchase.

From there, she had found most of what she needed, trying to keep her trolley a reasonably low fill so she could walk it back, and in the end had to buy the bigger reusable bags and put back several items. She had never been in a shop like this and as interesting as it was, it was also rather stressful.

The stairwell was quiet as she made it up the stairwell, making her assume that either everyone had miraculously left all at the same time, or that the Exy team was the only inhabitants. From the sign in front of the building she knew that this was an athlete only dorm, but there had to be dozens of sports to fill the building.

She finally heard sparks on noise when she rounded the stairwell up the final stretch to the third floor. From the hallway she heard rather loud German. From her upbringing, she was surrounded by European languages all the time and had grown up on the ones bordering her country, the only divergence to that was the French her mother taught her. This was the German of foreigners, Ewelina assumed it must have been a second language, the pronunciation slightly off, the accents wrong, not offensively wrong, but wrong enough for Ewelina. Then there was a voice coming into the argument, this one was different, had almost a perfect southern German accent, making her brow furrow farther.

She kept listening for only a couple more seconds, she realized soon that one of the poorly accented German speakers were arguing that she would do more harm than good here. Her German was old, not well practiced enough to be conversational or catch every word.

“She’ll do more harm than good-’

“-had a knife to-”

“-haven’t you called Stuart and-”

She was done after that; she didn't have a choice to come here so she wouldn't justify whether she belonged or not.

Inside the suite, she spent enough time to catalogue the emptiness and then headed into the room to unload the bags. Her room was so unfamiliar that her heart kept it’s fast pace, ready to move her on adrenaline if needed.

She hadn't bought too much, starting with getting the bed setup, her height being the only thing that made setting up the bunk bed not to be torturous. She felt somewhat bad for all the short people she met today for the battle they had to have with them, muttering, “biedne, krótkie.”

Then, she moved on to the toiletries and just crammed them on the open shelf in the bathroom, along with hanging her towel on an open hook. From there, she had a box of protein bars she had stared at in the store for a good five minutes before buying, and a small case of energy drinks. For those, she decided she'd rather have as many of her items in one place and stuffed them in one of her dresser drawers.

With that done, she dug through her bookbag to find her oldest possession, a full-exy rule book. It was the first thing she received in England. After a few silent days and nights at the Hatford's, Jane had put on a Exy game of one of the London Universities. Ewelina watched for ten minutes before starting to ask about the rules and questioning the different strategies. It was the first time she had talked to Jane, and Jane in turn lad left the rule book on her desk the next day. It was full of history, rules, and breaking down strategies. She never acknowledged it to Jane, but from there she had studied the rule book, marking through the strategies, treating them like math problems needing to be solved.

The thing was, Ewelina didn't love Exy for the joy of the game. She wasn't the type, but she did find herself being able to lose every other part of herself while she mapped out the strategies, the rules, the probabilities, the angles, and well everything. That's why she kept playing, because every play, every movement opened endless results for her to work out and not think about anything else. That's what she loves about the game. That's why she hadn't argued with Stuart when he decided on this plan.

She got through two chapters, and the book continued to not work for her; her mind kept drifting to the locks. Logistically, the suite lock had a key to all six of the girls living in it, additionally, the university would have a key, which means the facility maintenance would have a key, and seeing as Wymack was the one originally handing out keys, he probably had one too. That was too many people in her opinion.

Far too many people.

To keep her mind from spiraling, she pulled herself out of bed a changed into a dry-fit log sleeve and leggings. Grabbing her keys and phone, she went out the door without a second thought. From the hallway, she could hear a movie coming from the door diagonally to her suite. Assuming that a good portion of the team had ended up there, she continued down the stairs.

Her legs lead her back to the stadium, the university wasn't too complex to navigate, and she remembered the roads from the drive over. Pulling out a bobby pin, she made quick work of breaking through the lock and into the back rooms of the arena to grab a racquet and balls from a storage closet near the locker rooms.

Finally, she made it to court. It was just as orange as the rest of the building, the seats all orange, and the court decorated with orange highlights. It wasn't a big arena by any means, but it was a court, and that was all she needed.

She broke through the final lock to get onto the court and started warming up. Completing drill after drill as time seemed to melt together, her mind going through different shot angles, different defense footwork, anything and everything she could go through without anyone there.

The distraction swimming through her mind had cut off her awareness, making her not notice the presence of the other until she heard the court door open. Turning swiftly with her body in a defensive stance, she only settled when she saw the three entering. The taller boy that had overheard her French earlier took immediate steps towards her, "What drills are those?"

He said this at the same time Neil from behind him said, "Did you break in?"

Choosing to ignore the Wesneski, she directed to the tall boy, "A mix from secondary school and the training camps for team England."

"I don't remember your name being on the roster for last year's team from England or the summer camp games," the boy replied.

Ewelina locked eyes with the tall boy, "It wasn't."

"Put on some gear, we are going to go through Raven drills."

She finally took note of the boys, all dressed in full gear, the short blond being the only one in goalkeeper gear. She wanted to say no as much as she wanted to say yes. She knew this was the only way to keep playing, but she also wanted to be far from anyone who knew her name. She let the former win out and nodded and went past them to gear up.

The drills were achingly familiar; they were almost the exact same as her first trainer. When she first moved to England, the Hatfords didn't want to risk putting her immediately into the public, but Stuart had seen how taken she was with her rule book and had let her go to a training camp during that first summer with team England. He only let her go with Jane by her side and a fake Hatford name hanging over her. She had picked it up fast, fast enough for one of the trainers to start working one on one with her. The woman told her slowly about her exy-upbringing, going to university in Ireland as the sport was being made and befriended the founder. Fifteen-year-old Ewelina thought of the story as her own version of a fairytale; it seemed like such a simple but fulfilling life.

Through their third drill, the tall boy, who was watching off to the side, had spoken up, "You know these drills."

"Yes." Ewelina answered the non-question and kept going through the motions.

"How?"

Ewelina stopped then, looked at the group and then spoke in French, more out of wanting confirmation than anything else, "These drills aren't from the Ravens, they are from Ireland."

The boy visibly stilled at that, answering in French, "Your file doesn't say your trained in Ireland."

"I didn't." She turned back and continued the drill even though the blond goalkeeper was just standing in the goal staring at her, "My first trainer was from Ireland. The Ravens have just adapted Irelands drills similarly to how she still teaches."

Finishing the drill set, she turned back to see the tall boy look stunned, "Did she- did she know my mother?"

"I don't even know if you are Aaron, Andrew, Nicky, or Kevin, how would I know who your mother is?" She noticed in the corner of her eye that the blond goalkeeper tilted his head when he heard what she assumed to be his name, but didn't show any sign of overall comprehension.

Kevin responded, "Kevin Day." He seemed to be hesitant, as if expecting her to already know his name but also not wanting to give it at the same time.

Ewelina paused, thinking of a picture the trainer had given her after learning that she was continuing her exy in the states, told her that she would understand the importance of once she was in America. It was a group picture of a dozen people, on the back written names. "Ah yes, Day. I've heard about her."

Kevin seemed to go through a tornado of different feeling by the looks in his eyes, but Ewelina was pulled to Neil's French, "Where is your accent from?"

That seemed to pull Kevin out of whatever was going through his head, and his mouth turning into a small frown. Neil stared at her, the slightly manic look in his eyes was familiar, a Wesneski trying to read right through you. She gave him nothing, keeping her face hard. "I'm done for the night, you guys have fun," ending the staring contest with the English statement and turning to the door.

She got out of there fast. One afternoon she had already given up too much.

She showered and locked the girls Locker room door from the inside and laid down on the bench, letting the exhaustion in her bones seep through her as she finally closed her eyes.

***

The next two weeks passed in silence and precision.

Ewelina continues to practice at night, and soon the boys get the hint and stop talking to her about anything but practice. She can see they have questions, but she doesn't care enough to wonder why.

By the end of second week, she has grown used to sleeping on the hard bench, her spined bruised, but she had slept on harder surfaces for longer. Robin had tried to stop her and ask about where she was sleeping, but she just silenced her with a glare and kept walking. The little rat Jack had made a pass at her, to which she acted like she hadn't heard and kept walking, which resulted in him and Sheena now going full force into pummel into you with unnecessary force during practices. After that, she followed her Hatford training, and bought a knife to keep at her calf, and a throwing knife for her ankle.

The upperclassmen had tried multiple times to invite her to get-togethers, to which she ignored, and outside of night practices the other boys left her alone. She had also managed to avoid every call from Stuart and avoid the health center where the therapist she was ordered to was.

She spent the time she wasn’t talking observing. Watching as Jack and Sheena made their own alliance, forming a third group. While Robin and Neil had started to talk more and more, resulting in the girl ending up with the boys more often than not. She watched as the upperclassman took Dylan’s silence in and bolstered his presence, while Jack and Sheena also welcomed it.

It all comes to a head when Neil comes back to practice after missing a day. She had heard Wymack saying he had personal business to deal with and marked it as unimportant.

They were in the team lounge eating lunch after the morning portion of workouts and practice. She had noticed that Neil was staring at her from across the room, his eyes seemed to be reading through her far too much for comfort. After about five minutes of this he finally spoke up, "Where are you from?"

She made eye contact with him immediately. The room quieted to a stillness. "Europe."

He didn't hesitate, "You are from France, no?"

"No." She broke the eye contact and went back to eating. She could guess that her French accent was why he believed this; his accent, although it sounded real, was a Parisian accent. Hers was more distinct than French taught out of the country. Southern accents aren't typically considered pretty to other French people, but she was so used to it after hearing it consistently for twelve years, everything else sounded wrong.

The only issue with this assumption, was that her English wasn’t a French accent. It had a hint of it yes, but her accent wasn’t distinctly from anywhere. Depending on the day, one might assume she was English, Polish, French, or Algerian, but none were distinct enough to categorize it.

He continues this time in English, "You are lying. You can't lie to a liar."

He was wrong, she wasn't lying, well not fully. Her father definitely wasn't French by any means. "My name is Ewelina Piotrowski, głupek, tell me how French of a name that sounds."

The insult coming out with a muscle memory she had been good at only muttering until now. Polish was her first language, and in turn was the first insults she learned. The offensive ones being the first words she had learned at all, and using them as insults because comfort around those who wouldn’t know the wiser,

"You're Polish." He didn't say it like a question, "You don't look Polish."

She turned a sharp look at him, "Why don’t you tell me what Polish looks like, Wesninski?"

He flinched at the name, and she saw the blond goalkeeper- Andrew- pull a knife from his forearm. He waved him off and stood, stalking to her, pulling up a Wesninski smile. "I thought I told you not to call me that."

She leaned forward, cool and calm. "The stop smiling like a Wesninski." She stood, towering over the boy almost a foot shorter than her, "And you reek of American, so try not to tell me what you know of the Polish or my heritage."

She didn't like backing down, but she didn't like being accused either, so she turned on her heel only for him to grab her wrist.

She reacted. Knife to his abdomen, in hissed French, "Do not touch me. Stop asking questions. You want answers? Ask your uncle. I don't give a-"

She stopped at the feeling of a knife to her back. Shooting her left hand out she grabbed the wrist, moved her right from Neils abdomen and twisted. Andrew was staring at her with unkept violence sprinkling in his eyes. "I don't like it when people touch my things."

"Then tell your things not to touch me." She shot back twisting his wrist and hitting the pressure point in his wrist causing him to drop the knife. She twisted left, stopping outside the room to re-sheath her knife. From the closed doorway she heard murmurs from inside. Someone asking in German 'what the fuck was that', a loud male voice asking Neil if he was okay, and a quiet soft voice she could make out.

She was done, she couldn't stay here today and watch everyone pondering about her past, trying to see right through her, so instead she went downtown. She needed to be somewhere else. She kept walking until she met the entrance of a bookshop named "The Fox's Bookshelf". She hadn't taken the time to really look through downtown and had rejected every invitation to do so with the team. She walked inside with a huff and searched the shelves. She needed something else to focus on, not wanting to think about any of the Wesninski's, or about the Polish or French, so instead she settled on a book, and order coffee from the counter on one end of the store, and settled in the back, away from the windows, in a corner.

After her phone went off for the third time, she just turned it off and tried to read. She ended up spending the last few opening hours thinking of girls in cages and men who only knew power.

Not wanting to see the court yet, Ewelina left the shop heading for the dorm. She could have only so many problems in one day. The sound coming from the door as she arrived didn't bode well. Unlocking and opening the door, she found the whole team scattered around her common room in front of the tele. Almost everyone turned to stare at her as she walked in.

"Hey, we are just watching the Princess Diaries if you want to join?" Matt being the first to pipe up.

After the afternoon of reading and remembering, she really didn't want to go back and have to stare at the ceiling and think, so for once she chose a different evil, "Okay."

The whole team seemed to have some semblance of shock on their faces except for Renee. They watched as she strode over and took the empty spot beside Robin, who in turn gave her a friendly tight smile at her chair choice. Ewelina turned to the tele and waited for them all to slowly draw their attention away from her and to the movie. Andrew and Robin were the only two to somewhat keep their attention on her. Robin to which slightly nudged her.

"I'm glad you stayed," Robin whispered in her ear. Ewelina just nodded and turned back to the tele while she pondered if she meant for the movie or for the team.

Chapter Text

Two mornings later, Ewelina wakes up to loud banging on the locker room door. She shuffles fast, wincing at the pain on her right thigh, and scoops up her backpack from the floor beside the bench. She takes a quick survey of the room, quickly grabbing the protein bar wrapper from the night before and pushing it in the side pocket of the door before climbing on the far bench to the door that sat across an opaque window and pushing the window up as fast as she could. She was halfway through the window when the door swung open to reveal a grumpy Wymack.

"You could've left through the door," is the first thing out of Wymack as she stops her attempt to escape. She pulls out her phone before stepping back onto the floor. It was 5:42, she usually woke up in three minutes and made it out of the building before anyone came, she had spent enough time looking outside to see that Wymack usually arrived between 6:30 and 7.

She tries to roll the tension out of her body before clearing her face, making eye contact with her coach, "Thought I would get in some early practicing."

"Just like I am thinking about joining ballet. Come on." He waves at her to follow and turns out of the hallway back towards the entrance.

She made this bed, so she might as well lie in it, is her thought process while she trails behind the coach silently. She doesn't ask questions as he gestures for her to get in his vehicle and starts to drive. Her mind runs, and she notices the direction he is going in is the residential part of the town. She bristles, too many possibilities going through her head when he finally stops at a mid-class American-looking house. She tries to study him as he puts the car in park and turns off the engine, but he only looks tired, maybe a little sorrowful.

As she follows him out of the car, the front door opens to reveal Nurse Abby dressed in pajamas, holding a coffee mug. Abby's eyes study her, and she pulls at all her might to keep her face neutral and steady her gait. "Good morning, Lina."

Ewelina just stares at her, reaching the final point of the porch as she steps out of the way, and Wymack grunts, "Any coffee left?"

"Yes, just made a fresh pot after you called. Have to say I was hoping you were wrong."

Inside the doorway, the house looks achingly normal, much like how the tele portrays an American home. They continue past the staircase and the living room to the end of the hallway that opens up into the kitchen. Sitting at the kitchen island is a woman who looks only slightly older than Wymack and Abby. She's wearing far too many bright colors for any time of the day in Ewelina's opinion.

"Ah, Lina, I assume?" Lina nods the confirmation as Wymack just walks to the coffee pot, and Abby settles against the fridge door. "My name is Dr. Betsy Dobson. I believe we were supposed to meet a little earlier."

"The therapist? I believe that the team nurse's kitchen is a little unprofessional for a therapy session, no?" Ewelina holds eye contact with her as the smaller woman holds her ground.

Dr. Dobson taps her fingers on the mug in her hands, "This isn't a session. I was just stopping by to have morning coffee with a friend."

Ewelina shifts her gaze to Wymack, watches as he sips on the coffee, and moves to stand against the counter, hip to hip with the team's nurse. That quiet declaration of these three's closeness was enough for her, so she pivots back to the front door.

She hears the protest that is nearly immediately out of the nurse’s mouth, but before it is complete, she has the door open. She is a step out when she takes in her surroundings and notices the Weskinski slowing to a jog towards the porch.

“Why does it have to be all of them?” Ewelina mutters in Polish, veering to avoid the boy and attempting a beeline for the road.

She isn’t that lucky. He moves in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

Ewelina again steps out of his path and keeps walking. The front door sounds behind them, but she doesn’t look back. She had just reached the road when an all too familiar black car swung up the road and stopped in front of the house, right in front of her.

“Lina, do you want to come in and have breakfast?” Abby calls after her. She thinks it’s fairly obvious that that isn’t what she wants to do based on this whole morning ordeal, but she keeps that to herself as she rolls her eyes and turns to the open door.

As the short blonde is getting out of the driver's seat, she accuses, “Did Coach really call you all here?”

He glances at her, then past her, “I’m here for Bee.” Then walks past her the red head, looks him over, nods, then continues past Abby inside without saying anything else.

Ewelina watches the last figure disappear into Abby’s house like it’s the edge of a trapdoor. For a moment, she debates bolting again—just taking off down the road and letting the asphalt carry her out of this weirdly choreographed ambush.

But she can feel Wymack watching from the window, can feel Abby’s worry radiating off the porch, and Neil’s passive persistence still behind her like a stone at her back. This whole morning smells like strategy. And she’s tired of playing defense on a board she didn’t set.

So, fine.

She exhales through her nose, slow and tight, and walks back toward the porch like she’s headed into an interrogation room. Every step is deliberate. Calculated. No limp, no tell.

Abby opens the door wider. “Thank you.”

Ewelina ignores that, brushing past her into the kitchen again, where Dr. Dobson is now standing beside the island, hands still clasped around her mug. The smell of toast and coffee makes Ewelina’s stomach cramp with remembered hunger.

She doesn’t sit. Just leans against the furthest patch of counter like a wary cat.

Wymack wordlessly pushes a mug toward her. She looks at it, then at him.

“What, no poisoned sugar packet?”

“It’s black,” he says. “I know better than to insult you with additives.”

A pause, then—against her better judgment—she takes the mug. Doesn’t drink it, but keeps it in her hands.

Dr. Dobson’s tone is light as she says, “If I’d known it’d be a group breakfast, I’d have brought pastries.”

“I didn’t ask for a party,” Ewelina says flatly.

“We’re not a party,” Neil says, just entering the kitchen. “We’re a problem.”

Dr. Dobson snorts softly into her coffee.

Abby, more serious, adds, “You’re not on trial, Lina.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Her voice is steel now. She sets the mug down a little too hard. “You all keep gathering like I’m radioactive and no one wants to be the one holding the Geiger counter.”

“Not radioactive,” Dr. Dobson says calmly. “But high-voltage? Sure. That doesn’t mean we’re here to discharge you.”

“I don’t need therapy,” Ewelina snaps. “I need space. Quiet. A schedule that doesn’t include sneak attacks before six A.M.”

“You’re getting it,” Wymack says. “All of that. But you also get this. Safety isn’t just doors and locks—it’s people, too.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never been stabbed by a person they trusted.”

A long silence follows that one. Neil shifts slightly but doesn’t speak. Andrew—half-visible now, leaning against the hallway wall—tilts his head like he’s studying her, eyes hooded and unreadable.

Dr. Dobson sets down her mug and crosses her arms, not in defense, but in thought.

“I won’t dig,” she says. “You don’t owe me your story. But I’m here. Every Wednesday morning, 7:00. No clipboard. Just coffee. You can come or not.”

Ewelina watches her with the expression of someone used to seeing things twisted later.

“No reports?” she asks. “No little summaries passed along to Coach? No ‘concerned updates’ sent to Abby?”

“I’m bound by confidentiality,” Betsy replies. “Unless you plan on murdering someone in the next 24 hours, everything you say stays with me.”

Andrew finally speaks.

“That’s not entirely true,” he says, cool as ever. “If you tell her you plan to harm yourself, she’s legally obligated to tell Wymack.”

“Is that a warning or an invitation?” Ewelina throws back, eyes narrowing.

Andrew just shrugs. “Whichever one makes you more likely to show up.”

She stares at him. Hard. Then breaks the moment by grabbing the coffee again and taking a sip, wincing as the heat hits her tongue. “I don’t need this.”

“Hatford thinks you do.” Wymack shoots back.

She shrugs that off; what does he know? And continues sipping her coffee.

She sees Andrew move beside Neil and pull out Neil's phone from his running shorts. After a couple of clicks, the ringing sounds.

“Stuart Hatford,” comes from the phone's speaker.

“Oh, fuck you.” She immediately snaps at Andrew.

The sassy British man responds. “Ewelina. After two years? You wound me.”

“I was talking to your nephew's shadow.”

Stuart ignores that, “As fascinating as this is, what do you need?”

Neil finally pipes up, “She hasn’t been going to the therapist. She hasn’t slept in Fox Tower once.”

“Ewelina, may I remind you of the deal? You have two weeks until it’s over. You are our ward until then. I told you of this when you were fifteen and you agreed.”

Ewelina crosses her arm even though Stuart can’t see her, “Logically, it makes little sense to continue that as I am already enrolled in university. What use does a little date have to anything?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the call. For once, Stuart doesn’t have a quip ready.

Then, more seriously: “Because that little date is the only reason you're still here.”

Abby shifts beside the fridge. Wymack doesn’t look up from his coffee. Andrew and Neil are motionless. Only the phone breathes, tinny and alive in Neil’s hand.

“You think you’re already in,” Stuart continues. “But you’re not. This is a trial, and you know it. Two more weeks are generous. Don’t make me regret this.”

“I don’t need babysitters,” Ewelina says, voice sharp. “I need a damn locker room and a reason to run.”

“You’ve got both. Plus housing, teammates, and people who care enough to get up before dawn to make sure you haven’t disappeared.” His voice softens a fraction. “I’m not having last year repeat”

Another beat of silence. She exhales, jaw clenched, eyes flicking toward the floor. The coffee in her hand is cooling fast.

Then, Dr. Dobson cuts in gently, her tone steady but kind: “You don’t have to like me, Ewelina. But I’m not here to fix you. I’m just here.”

“I didn’t ask you to be.”

“No, but someone did. And not because they think you’re broken. Because they think you’re carrying too much.”

Andrew, unhelpful as ever, adds: “So stop pretending you’re made of steel. You’re just a mirror someone threw at a wall.”

She just rolls her eyes. “Cute. Did you rehearse that line in your little murder shed?”

Andrew looks at her blankly, but with a stare, she can see the slight amusement in his eyes.

“I don’t rehearse. I observe.”

Stuart sighs through the speaker. “Look. I don’t care if you talk about your feelings. I care that you follow the deal. You show up to therapy. You sleep at Fox Tower. You don’t start fights. Two weeks of proving you can be a functioning adult in a team environment.”

Ewelina mutters something under her breath in Polish.

“What was that?” Stuart says.

“She said this is bullshit,” Neil supplies helpfully.

“I’m aware,” Stuart says. “Still counts.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, like she’s weighing whether rage is worth the energy.

“Fine,” she finally says. “I’ll go to your fake therapy and sleep in your little athlete tower. You can all stop babysitting me.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “You think this is us trying?”

“I think this is a performance,” she shoots back. “And I’m not applauding.”

Wymack finishes his coffee. Abby moves to the stove top. “Now let's do some breakfast.” Abby’s voice is warm, but Ewelina doesn’t respond. She just walks toward the island and perches on the edge of a stool, careful not to settle fully like she belongs there.

And every breath in the house continues to feel like a trap.

Wymack sets his mug down and stretches his shoulders with a low groan, already checking his watch. “I’ve got a staff meeting. You’ll ride back with Andrew.”

“Wonderful,” she mutters, breaking off a corner of toast. Abby slides in front of her.

Neil pulls his phone from Andrew’s hand again and ends the call. Stuart must’ve hung up the second she agreed. Coward.

Ewelina eats the toast, ignoring the other offerings, and continues sipping the slightly disgusting coffee. Abby watches but doesn’t hover. Betsy is still by the counter, sipping her coffee slowly, giving space like she’s studied the predator-prey dynamic and knows exactly which one Ewelina thinks she is.

After a few minutes, Abby finally says, “The dorm bed will be a lot more comfortable than the locker room's bench.”

Ewelina doesn’t answer. She just dusts her hands off and stands.

“I’ll be in Tower tonight,” she says, tone dry. “Can’t you all lose sleep over my whereabouts?”

Neil rises as well, and Andrew makes no move to follow, already checking the fridge like he plans to live here forever. As they walk to the car, Neil waits until they’re out of earshot before saying, “You know there’s a bed in your room, right? And four walls. A lock on the suite.”

“Yes,” she replies. “And at minimum six people with the same key.”

Neil doesn’t argue. He just unlocks the car and climbs in. They drive in silence.

**

That night, when the sun sets in like a siren that she won't admit to hearing, Ewelina walks into Fox Tower with her hoodie pulled up and her gym bag slung over her shoulder, following the upperclassmen.

She passes the common room without pausing. The TV is turned on, someone starts an argument, and discussions spring up all around. The chaos is normal now. She’s beginning to see that.

The bedroom is almost the same as a couple of days ago when she was last here, except for a couple of stray articles of clothing from Robin or Sheena.

Then she opens the closet, pulls out a few clothes, and shoves them back into her bag. She sits on the bed and starts to read.

***

At 1:37 AM, the camera feed at the main building’s front would show her slipping out of the tower. Streetlights would see her pass. The cameras outside the court's building would catch her approach.

She moves like she’s rehearsed for it. Past the courts, into the locker room, behind the equipment cages and benches, where the overhead light flickers just once before going out completely. She knows which tile creaks, which vent hums, and which shelf has the broken bracket.

She rolls out her hoodie as a makeshift pillow and curls up on the bench like it’s the safest place in the world.

The walls are cold. The silence is familiar.

And for now, that’s enough.

Chapter Text

The following two days resulted in no significant incidents. Practice continues to prove that the team has still not figured out how to work together, night drills continue to show how much of an ass Kevin can be, and both days after practice continue to show Ewelina’s strength of maintaining her annoyance as the team bothers her with this or that.

She had gotten to the end of her patience with dealing with the same sixteen people, and the only solution she could think of was taken from Jane. Her first year, and second, when Jane would come home on the weekends, they would sneak out of the Hatford manor late into the night when no one would suspect them gone. They would find a pub or club with staff that wouldn’t care enough to ask for IDs and would just lose themselves in the idea of being other people.

By the end of her first year in England, she had a persona when going out that a couple of people even recognized. She and Jane were cousins, named Ava and Gemma. They spent weeks practicing scouse accents together and pulled it out on the first night, and slowly got better with time. When people asked, they would say they were visiting family, as they didn’t do this often enough for the drunk individuals they saw out most of the time to dwell on it, or perhaps they didn’t really care too much.

She internally recognized that going back to old habits meant that she was most likely spinning a little bit into a downward spiral, but she convinced herself that she just missed Jane and got dressed in proper clothes after meandering to the suite a couple of hours after practice was over on Friday.

She had learned early in life that you never dress down or up. You dress to blend, to be unnoticed. However, Ewelina was taller than most men, but then again, old habits die hard.

Casual wear was easy to pick out, her hair was brushed and left like that, and her face was bare. It was enough for her teammates not to blink at the attire as she slid her way out of the suite.

The outside air was thick with Southern American humidity, the kind that made one's whole body feel slightly sticky as soon as one stepped outside. Ewelina walked purposely, straightening her shoulders, making her walk seem slightly cocky. She didn’t look behind her as she walked. She kept her face straight, surveying the streets while keeping a bored look.

The streets around campus were only slightly less empty than usual; her guess would be other athletes, summer students, and permanent residents. She avoided them on instinct, taking the edge of the pavement, letting others have a wide berth.

The bar she found was a hole-in-the-wall off Main Street, wedged between a closed tattoo parlor and a crumbling laundromat. The neon sign in the window flickered with the words “The Cave” like it couldn’t decide whether it was on or not. Perfect.

Inside, the lighting was low, the air heavy with cigarette smoke and stale beer. The floor was sticky in a way only a bar could master. The bartender, a woman in her late twenties, barely glanced at her as she slipped onto a stool.

“Whatever ale you have on tap,” Ewelina said, accent clean, neutral, practiced. Tonight, she wasn’t Polish, wasn’t Ewelina, wasn’t anyone worth remembering. She was Ava again. Ava with no past. Ava, who didn’t flinch at loud noises or scan for exits. Ava, who talked with and danced too close to strangers she’d never see again.

The bass in the club had a steady pulse beneath her feet by her third drink, a rhythm she could lose herself in. The lights flashed like warning signs no one quite heard. Ewelina didn’t care. Her hands were in someone else’s hair; her lips pressed against a stranger with a softness that didn’t match the way they moved against each other.

The girl was shorter, dark-skinned, with an eyebrow piercing and smudged glitter along her cheekbones. Her fingers curled tightly into the collar of Ewelina’s shirt, and she was laughing, breathless between kisses, like the world didn’t exist past the edge of the dance floor.

This wasn’t romance.

It was a moment she didn’t have to translate. A name she didn’t have to give. And it felt wonderful.

Which is why when she heard Allison’s voice, her stomach dropped. “Holy Shit. Lina?” Allison’s voice had a shocked, yet amused edge to it.

Ewelina held her instinct in, didn’t turn or acknowledge it in any way. She continued to dance as she had been.

She kissed up the girl's jaw to her ear and whispered, “Would you like to go check out the toilets with me?”

“Yes, yes, very much so,” the girl laughed out in response, slightly breathless.

Ewelina trailed behind her and finally moved her gaze to Allison’s shocked face. It might have been the fake persona she had played all night, but when she made eye contact, she just winked and turned away.

The bathroom was dim and reeked faintly of bleach and cheap perfume, the kind of half-clean that didn’t matter in bars. The girl didn’t hesitate; she pressed Ewelina against the wall between stalls, fingers sliding under her shirt eagerly.

Ewelina let her. Let her hands roam. Let her mouth find the curve of Ewelina’s throat. She tilted her head; lips parted just enough for show. But when the girl’s fingers tugged at the hem of her shirt, Ewelina caught her wrist.

“Don’t,” she said, voice low, even.

The girl blinked up at her, confused. “I thought…”

Ewelina leaned in close, brushing her nose along the girl's jaw in a way that could almost be intimate. “You can touch me anywhere, love. But I won’t be the one taking anything off.”

A pause. Then the girl nodded, eyes dark, slightly surprised, slightly impressed.

They stayed there a little longer, sweat building, glitter transferring, an arched back, until the girl finally pulled away, chest rising with shallow satisfaction. She smiled as she straightened her shirt.

“I should get back to my friends,” she said, touching Ewelina’s wrist. “But thanks for the… detour.”

Ewelina gave her a soft, neutral smile. “Thank you.”

And just like that, the girl disappeared, the door swinging shut behind her with a dull thud that echoed in Ewelina’s ears.

She stared at her reflection for a moment in the rusted mirror. Smudged lipstick, collar skewed, pupils blown wide with too many drinks and not enough air. ‘Ava’ was slowly melting away.

She stepped out of the bathroom and immediately scanned the floor. The girl was gone—already swallowed back into the pulse of the crowd—but Ewelina’s gaze caught on something else.

A familiar profile. Then another.

She froze.

Dan. Matt. Robin. Allison, of course. Nicky, already laughing too loudly. And even Dylan, who rarely smiled, looked slightly stunned as his eyes swept through the room.

Fuck.

They hadn’t just come here. They’d settled here.

Her jaw tightened.

Instead of reacting, she straightened her spine, tugged her shirt into place, and turned, slipping into the shadows and weaving through the crowd toward the far end of the bar. There was an old stool tucked under a flickering sign for a drink special that looked like it hadn’t been updated in two years.

She sat, back to the wall, and a drink to her lips. If they saw her again, they’d see her alone. Unbothered. Composed. Calculated.

But as her eyes scanned the crowd again, and landed briefly on Robin’s confused glance. They were going to ask questions, but she was trained since birth how not to quite answer.

Ewelina kept her eyes locked on the far end of the bar, head tilted just enough to signal disinterest. The bass thrummed like a heartbeat in her skull. She had counted seven seconds, barely enough time to exhale, before she saw a figure come up in the corner of her eyes.

“Alright, you win,” Nicky said, sliding onto the stool beside her like they were old friends, like this was a planned meeting and not a complete ambush. “No one had ‘Lina is gay’ in the pool. Literally not a single one of us.”

Ewelina didn’t look at him. “That implies you were betting on me.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he grinned. “We bet on everyone. Renee said that it was too invasive for you freshies, but unofficially, everyone else made their bets.”

She finally turned her eyes toward him, expression unreadable. “And what did they think?”

“Oh, you were all over the place. Dan and Robin guessed straight. Matt thought you’d murder anyone who tried to flirt with you. I said asexual war goddess with a vengeance arc, personally.”

Her brow lifted just slightly. “So, you’re all idiots.”

“Yes, but observant ones,” he beamed.

A pause.

She didn’t smile, but she didn’t scowl either. That was something.

“I’m not gay,” she said flatly. “I’m complicated.”

“Oh honey,” Nicky said, sipping his drink. “That’s the gayest possible answer.”

Before she could tell Nicky to choke on his rum and coke, Robin and Allison appeared at her side like they'd planned it. Allison slid in with her signature smirk, and Robin hovered just behind, arms crossed in something that looked a lot like concern.

“You know,” Allison said, voice all sugar and spark, “I always thought you had a vibe, but that was… unexpected.”

Ewelina didn’t turn. “Are you stalking me now?”

“Hardly,” Allison pouted. “It’s not our fault this is the best bar in walking distance. You just happened to be putting on a show.”

“It wasn’t a show.” Her voice was flat.

Nicky, already halfway into his second drink, added helpfully, “Oh no, no — it was cinema. The collar grab? The lipstick smear? I mean, I might buy the DVD.”

Ewelina tilted her head toward him with a look that promised violence. “One more word and I break your nose.”

“I’ll be quiet,” he said cheerfully. “Just know I support you. And your entire aura tonight.”

Robin slid onto the stool beside her, a little more careful, a little less invasive. “Do you want us to leave you alone?”

Ewelina blinked. That was unexpected.

She looked over, finally meeting Robin’s eyes. “I don’t care what you do.”

Robin nodded, accepting the non-answer. “Okay.”

Allison, less gentle, sipped her drink. “So, do you always go from ghost to gay icon without warning, or was tonight special?”

“Neither,” Ewelina said. “I was bored. That’s all.”

Allison raised an eyebrow. “Well, if that’s you bored, remind me not to see what you’re like when you’re really trying.”

From behind them, Matt and Dan had finally caught up. Dan stepped forward, smile easy but laced with curiosity.

“Hey,” she said. “You good?”

Ewelina hesitated, then shrugged. “Fine.”

Matt leaned on the bar beside Nicky, lowering his voice slightly. “Just didn’t expect to run into you. Honestly, it’s kinda cool seeing you, like… relax?”

Ewelina didn’t answer.

She just raised her glass and drained the rest of it in one motion, setting it down with a sharp clack that ended the conversation more clearly than any words would have.

The silence that followed stretched a little too long.

Dan, always the translator in moments like this, stepped in. “We’re not here to make it weird, promise. Just… glad you’re not hiding in a locker room tonight.”

Ewelina’s gaze flicked toward her, unreadable. “I wasn’t hiding.”

“Sure,” Nicky said, chipper as ever, “and I don’t secretly wear skincare patches during night drills. We all lie.”

Allison leaned back with a smirk. “Honestly, if this is you ‘not hiding,’ I’m intrigued to see what full transparency looks like.”

“You won’t,” Ewelina said.

There wasn’t even heat behind it. Just a flat certainty.

Robin, watching her quietly from the side, gave a small nod, like that made perfect sense.

The group fell into a lull again, shifting awkwardly at the weight of her distance, until Allison finally sighed and tossed back the last of her drink.

“Well, this was fun. Morally ambiguous club encounters, the team cryptid making a public appearance, and a shocking lack of bloodshed. I’d call it a win.”

Ewelina gave her a slow, thin smile. “There’s still time.”

Nicky laughed. “God, I like you.”

She didn’t respond to that. Just stood from the stool and picked up her drink, only halfway finished now, and said, “If you’re staying, stay. I’ve had my fun.”

And with that, she slipped back toward the edge of the dance floor—no dramatic exit, just a quiet fade into the shadows, exactly the way she liked it.

****

Robin watched her disappear into the crowd, drink still in hand, back straight, head high like nothing about this night had shaken her.

But Robin saw the cracks.

Ewelina didn’t storm out; she slipped away. There was a difference. One meant anger. The other meant something quieter, deeper. And Robin had learned how to listen in silence.

A few minutes passed. Nicky got distracted by the DJ booth. Allison ordered another round. Dan and Matt were pulled into a dance by some drunk local students.

Robin slipped out the side door.

The alley was quiet, lit by a single flickering bulb overhead and the orange glow of a streetlight. Ewelina stood near the wall, one foot up behind her, heel braced against the brick, head tilted back like she was staring down the moon itself.

She didn’t flinch when Robin approached, but she didn’t look over either.

“You followed me,” she said flatly.

“I did.”

“Not subtle.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

Silence again. The bass inside pulsed through the walls like a heartbeat out of sync. Ewelina took a slow sip of her drink, gaze still skyward.

“You’re not going to ask,” she said after a moment.

“No,” Robin said simply. “You’d lie.”

That drew the smallest twitch of a smile. Barely there. But Robin caught it.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t walking home alone.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know. But that’s not why I came.”

Now Ewelina turned her head. Not fully, just enough for Robin to see the tension in her jaw.

“Then why?”

Robin leaned against the wall beside her, careful not to crowd. “Because you looked like you needed someone not to ask. Someone just to... stand still for a minute.”

Ewelina’s eyes scanned her like she was searching for an ulterior motive. But Robin’s expression didn’t shift. She just stood there, arms crossed lightly, head turned toward the empty street like she was waiting for nothing in particular.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Ewelina said.

“Good,” Robin replied. “I’m terrible with kids.”

That earned a quiet huff. A maybe-laugh.

The silence between them softened.

For a long beat, neither said anything. Somewhere nearby, a train wailed. Ewelina tipped her head again, watching her breath curl into the warm air.

Finally, she asked, “You ever feel like you only exist in the in-betweens?”

Robin blinked. “In-between what?”

“In-between people. Expectations. Places. Like you’re never quite in something, just... floating above it, playing your part until no one’s looking.”

Robin took her time before answering.

“Sometimes,” she said. “But I try to remind myself I’m not invisible. Just... hard to place. And that’s not always a bad thing.”

Ewelina looked at her for a long time. Studying. Weighing. Then, almost reluctantly: “You’re not like the others.”

Robin’s voice was soft. “Neither are you.”

They stood like that for a few more minutes, breathing in sync with the night. Not talking. Not needing to.

Eventually, Ewelina pushed off the wall, rolled her shoulders, and muttered, “I’m heading back.”

Robin nodded. “Want company?”

Ewelina hesitated.

Then she shook her head, “Go be part of the team.” And she walked away before Robin could protest.

Chapter Text

After that night time seems to meld away for a while, the upperclassmen try to talk to her more, Robin doesn’t say more but seems to exists slightly closer to her, and she survives the seven am therapist breakfast in silence.

She dreams in memories like she usually does, but this time they are younger and brighter. She dreams of running through a field in the countryside of Poland, with beautiful blue mountains ahead of her, and two older boys running beside her. She dreams of car trips without remembering why they went, instead remembering sneaking away to walk through the towns and cities while the others were occupied. She dreams about when she was allowed to go to school outside of a tutor. Of uniforms and school crushes. She dreams of maypoles and festivals.

It slowly dwindles. Her dreams start to melt back to harsh words. To heirs and spares. To cages. To a plane ride. To markets made of onyx. To men made of trade. And with it, she starts to sleep less and less again. It all comes back slowly.

By a week later, she is the same as before. Like that night hadn’t happened. The bridge between her and them feels longer.

The start of the next week is slower, practice is cancelled for a trial she hadn’t asked about. Monday and Tuesday almost the whole team is gone, so she goes back to The Fox’s Bookshelf those days. She reads in the languages they have, so that she can only focus on the book.

The rest of the week, the team has this weird weight lifted from them. She doesn’t know how to properly explain it, but she also doesn’t ask why.

Suddenly in a blink of an eye, it’s Friday the 27^th of July. Ewelina is eighteen. She’s no longer a ward of the Hatfords. She could leave.

Practice starts like normal, in the weight room. The day drags until it’s after lunch and they have started scrimmages. Her patience is being tested as she plays Dealer for Kevin’s team.

He loves to bicker at her and Neil in French. She loves to ignore him. She makes the mistake of throwing a ball a little too softly at Kevin.

“I know you can play better than this.” Kevin yells at her in that awful French accent of his.

Ewelina rolls her eyes and gets back in position for the play to continue. The ball is released, and she pounces, throwing is at Kevin’s rackets at a force that causes him to step back.

“Is that better for you?” Ewelina growls.

Kevin stalks toward her, racket gripped tight at his side like he’s trying not to break it in half. His jaw is set, lips tight, and there’s a vein in his neck that pulses when he’s properly pissed off.

“Tu fais semblant,” he spits. “You’ve been sandbagging us for days. Weeks.”

Ewelina doesn’t flinch. She stands tall, expression carved from stone. “If you think I’m playing below my level, maybe raise yours.”

“Oh, va te faire foutre,” he snaps, switching back to English. “You think this is a game?”

She takes a step closer, tilting her head slightly. “Yes. That’s literally what Exy is.”

His face twists into something equal parts frustrated and annoyed. “You’re wasting your potential.”

“And you’re wasting oxygen,” she shoots back, voice calm and cold.

The court is quiet now.

Even Neil has stopped, racket resting on one shoulder, watching with narrowed eyes. Andrew stands by the goal, unreadable, but one hand has slipped inside his glove. Robin has frozen mid-drill, eyes flicking between them. Matt and Dan don’t intervene, but Dan’s jaw is clenched. Allison whistles low from the sidelines.

“Maybe we should take a breather,” Dan offers carefully, stepping between them before someone throws a punch. Or a ball.

The court door sounds to an open behind them, and Ewelina turns to head out, but her breath catches at the person standing in the doorway. She forgets about the boy with the awful French and runs full force straight into the girl’s arms- forgetting her racquet behind.

Jane Hatford laughs, “Missed me?”

“What are you doing here?” Ewelina whispers into the shorter girls hair.

“I could miss the closest person I have to a sister's birthday, now, could I?”

The hug is fierce. Ewelina buries her face in Jane’s shoulder and lets herself breathe for the first time in what feels like weeks. Jane smells like English lavender and the awful cherry gum she always chewed when she was nervous. Ewelina hadn’t realized how much she missed that.

Behind them, the court stays frozen.

Kevin looks stunned, still holding his racket like it might anchor him. Allison’s raised eyebrows have practically launched into orbit. Robin shifts slightly, not staring but not exactly looking away either.

Neil, though. Neil blinks. Recognition flickers across his face, then tightens into a deeper, more complicated emotion.

“Jane?” he says, low and incredulous.

“Long time no see, little cousin.” Jane responds with that Hatford sass melting through the words.

The rest of the team inched close enough to overhear. Nicky is the first to speak, “Cousin?”

Neil glances back as Jane starts to fill in, “It doesn’t look like it, but this bloke is more Hatford than-”

“Yeah, don’t finish that. I’m a Josten.” Neil glares, “What are you doing here?”

“Ah little one,” Jane says like she isn’t only two inches taller than him. “This one's not about you. No one could pay me to miss Ewelina’s eighteenth.”

Nicky looks downright scandalized, “Eighteenth?”

At the same time Allison, “There’s no way she was seventeen.”

While Matt helpfully says in the mess, “How did you get served at a bar alone at seventeen?”

Ewelina scoffs slightly and turns back to Jane. She takes in the older girl. It’s only been a month, so she looks almost identical. She then looks past Janes shoulder at Wymack, “Do you have any extra gear?”

***

After some slight arguing that Ewelina doesn’t entertain, Jane is on the court, and she’s just a terror as she always is. The girl never really cared about strategy as much as trying to get people to break their ankles, but for the first time in a while, Ewelina smiles a full-blown smile. And she laughs loudly, when her and Jane are racquet to racquet in a minuet dual.

The practice eventually ends, and the team changes out and ends up in the team lounge for practice wrap up. Wymack doesn’t keep them long, probably because of the eventful week, and soon they are headed out the door.

As soon as the humidity hits her and her eyes focus on the brightness outside, she turns to Jane with wide eyes. The older girl just nods and presses cold metal into Ewelina’s hand.

She takes it and stalks towards the beast. She had ridden on a motorcycle for the first time when she was ten, she had gripped his waist so hard at the beginning, but by the end, her hands were spread wide and everything had melted away. When she was at the Hatfords, it was the first thing she had actually asked for, to properly learn after seeing Jane’s father ride into the manor on one, and after a while she got the hang of it enough for him to let her borrow it occasionally to make trips into town.

“Jane. There’s no way.”

Jane looked at her with sparkling eyes, “It’s yours, I had to pick it up this morning, but dad picked it out.”

“Do you ever stop being surprising?” Allison asked from behind them.

Jane took to answering, “If she ever does let me know.”

“Get on J.” Ewelina starts getting on, testing her seat and starting the ride.

***

They drive through the town before taking the interstate and testing speed for about an hour until the bike leads them in front of Fox Tower at Janes request to see the suite.

Jane had been in town for less than half the day, standing barefoot in Ewelina’s dorm kitchen, sipping orange juice like she lived there, when she caught the flicker of something fraying behind Ewelina’s eyes. She didn’t ask what had happened. She just said: “Closest city is Columbia. I’ve booked a hotel and found clubs. I’ll bring gum and act responsible.”

So now they were riding out, Ewelina’s motorcycle slicing through the soft heat of the South Carolina night. Jane clung to her from behind, helmet pressed to her shoulder, fingers looped easily around her waist.

They didn’t need music. The engine was loud enough to drown anything else out.

The air whipped around them, thick with the scent of wet pavement and gasoline. The lights of downtown flickered past.

Jane shouted over the wind, “You planning on burning out tonight?”

Ewelina didn’t answer. But she gave the throttle a little more.

***

By the time they slipped out and made it to the second club, Ewelina’s lips were red from something she didn’t remember drinking.

Jane kept close. Close enough to pull her out if she needed to. But not close enough to smother.

“You want to get drunk?” Jane asked, voice steady even under the beat of the bass.

Ewelina nodded. “You’ll stay?”

“Always.”

That was all she needed.

She didn’t count the shots. Didn’t learn the name of the girl she kissed. She just followed the hum in her skull and the curve of a stranger’s mouth. Hands ran up her sides. Fingernails dragged across her collarbone.

Jane never stepped in. She just waited at the edge of the crowd, a lighthouse in a storm Ewelina didn’t realize she was walking into.

The girl disappeared into the crowd, either bored or pulled away. Ewelina didn’t notice.

Her skin was flushed, her mouth numb, and when she stumbled through the back door for air, Jane was already there, sitting on an overturned milk crate, smoking something clove-sweet and familiar.

“I lost her,” Ewelina said.

“You lose everyone eventually,” Jane replied.

It wasn’t cruel. Just true.

Ewelina sat next to her on the concrete. Her legs stretched out too far and her spine slumped like the alcohol had found the part of her that still remembered being small.

“Remember that place in Brighton? The one with the broken lock on the bathroom?”

Jane nodded. “You fell asleep in the sink.”

Ewelina huffed. “I miss that.”

“You miss the parts where no one knew your name.”

Ewelina didn’t respond.

They sat in silence. The kind that isn’t really silence: club bass beating through the wall, someone laughing in the distance, the faint buzz of streetlights flickering overhead.

Then, like the words were just lying in wait, “I was twelve.”

Jane didn’t move.

“I’d forgotten what my own name sounded like. When Stuart said it the first time, I thought he had the wrong person.”

Jane didn’t say I know. She just let it sit between them.

Ewelina blinked hard. Her head tipped to rest against Jane’s shoulder, heavy and unguarded.

“They can’t know me,” she muttered. “Not because I’m ashamed. Because it’s not something I can explain.”

“You don’t owe them a shape they can swallow,” Jane said quietly, reaching to brush Ewelina’s curls back behind one ear. “You’re not for their comfort.”

There was a pause. Ewelina stared at the gravel.

Then softly, “I’m tired of being the one who survived.”

Jane leaned her head against hers, weight and warmth and something older than both of them. “Then just be here, with me, without me, just be here.”

That was one thing she could be. She could be here, present, not past, not future, but here.

***

The next morning comes in slowly, Ewelina has slept for longer than she had in weeks. She wakes up slowly, not to an alarm, but to Jane breathing in the other bed.

She slips from her bed, showers, and gets dressed slowly. Keeping quiet to allow for Jane to sleep through her long day yesterday and jet lag.

Quietly opening the door, she makes it to the lobby and onto the street until she finds a coffee shop that could have a hint at decent tea.

On her way back, she walks slowly, allowing her senses to take in her surroundings. The cars going past, the people starting their Saturdays, the shops opening their doors, the sun shining bright, breakfast scents escaping from different restaurants, she takes it all in.

Just be here.

It was a simple request in logic, a more complex request in actuality. The smell of a bakery she walks by reminds her of chruściki, which she hadn’t had since a family member’s fourteenth birthday when she was eight. The sound of a bus stopping behind her reminds her of walking through Birmingham. The sun starting to blind her reminds her of looking through small windows to see the time. The taste of the slightly burnt tea reminds her of the first few weeks in England when she tried to make her own tea. Everything reminds her of something.

She could hear the tele when she approached their hotel room. Jane was up, dressed and all, watching the news as she stepped into the room. Without words, she passed over a tea and sat on her bed after taking off her shoes, pulling the comforter back over her lap.

It was a while before Jane spoke, “Ewelina, I need you to promise me something.” Ewelina nodded for her to continue. “Promise me you’ll try. Try to get to know them, you have nothing to lose by doing so. At minimum, they’ll be a few people you knew a few years. Just try not to hide. Try to just be there, with them. More than just practice- no,” Ewelina had opened her mouth to argue, “I know you. You will complete my request to the bare minimum. You’ll satisfy it by logistics. I know. So please, go to team events, hang out with them, something. I need you to have people here.”

“I don’t understand why. No, you got to speak its my turn.” Ewelina turned to completely face her, “It will make no difference in my life or yours if I know them. In a few years there will be a whisper of a girl that had once played with them, but that’s all, and we both know it. How long do I have? How long does this tattoo hold up? With me being here, does it even anymore?”

Jane looked disappointed; it was the only way Ewelina could describe. “For you now. That’s why, because you are helping no one with what you are doing. Do you not think I’ve heard? I’m the one who taught you how to properly eavesdrop, do you honestly think I haven’t heard Stuart talk about you here?”

Ewelina shook her head. She didn’t want to hear Stuart's opinion, even second hand. “I will try.”

“Thank you.”

***

Until check out time of the hotel, they continue to be lazy. They just sit in their beds and watch random television, having scattered conversations. When they leave, they roam around Columbia on Ewelina’s bike. After grabbing lunch, they end up at Exites with Jane insisting on buying a Palmetto State Exy team shirt, much to Ewelina’s displeasure. And once they tire of exploring the southern city, they made their way back to campus. The drive took longer than before, taking back roads, and finding their way through scattered street signs.

Fox Tower had been getting louder this late in the summer. Ewelina had noticed the increased population slowly, as she didn’t spend enough time in the building to really make a quick note of which teams and rooms were being filled. When Jane and Ewelina got in and headed for the stairwell, they passed a group of people. In the stairs, another few people, and throughout the building, sounds of existence ringing out.

It had made Ewelina both more comfortable and less so at the same time.

Jane pauses at the platform to the door, “We are staying here tonight.”

Ewelina fakes idiocy, “Where else would be stay?”

“Don’t pull that, you know I can read right through you.”

They pass through the door and pass through the hallway until they get to and through her suite doorway. There are multiple people in the common space upon entering. Ewelina barely glances and goes to the kitchen section of the room.

Jane, however, much to Ewelina’s annoyance, accepts their greeting and starts a small talk circus with them. Ewelina only half-listens until she hears her dread.

Dan’s invitation rings loudly, “We are going to go to Matts room in an hour or so when the monsters get back to have a game night. Pretty much just drinking and arguing over game rules, if you guys want to join.”

Ewelina shoots a pleading look at Jane, that she doesn’t see, “We would love to. We just are going to cool down for a bit, we’ll head over after.”

Dan nods, and Ewelina simmers while taking the two glasses of water she had poured into her room without looking to see if Jane is following.

Jane follows a minute later, closing the door softly behind her.

Ewelina hands her a glass and settles cross-legged on the bed, sipping hers in silence. The overhead light is off, the only illumination coming from the closed shades in the middle of the room. It bathes everything in amber, makes the room feel smaller. Quieter.

“I don’t want to go,” Ewelina says eventually. Her voice isn’t a whisper, but it’s close.

Jane flops down beside her, toeing off her shoes. “I know.”

“They’ll ask questions.”

“They already do.”

Ewelina frowns at the wall across from them. It’d filled with photos and papers from her other too roommates. She had never thought of putting something up.

“What if I’m not built for this?” she asks.

“For parties?” Jane asks, smirking around the rim of her glass.

“For people.”

Jane is quiet for a beat. Then, “You are. You’re just out of practice.”

Ewelina closes her eyes. “I’m always out of practice.”

“Well,” Jane sets her glass on the bedside table with a soft clink, “then let tonight be a warm-up.”

“I’m going to regret this.”

“Probably.” Jane leans in, presses a quick kiss to Ewelina’s temple, then stands. “But I’ll be there. And if it gets bad, we leave. Easy.”

Ewelina doesn’t move for a long moment. Then she breathes out, deep and slow, and gets up to change.

***

The hallway smells like popcorn and cheap air freshener. Ewelina trails half a step behind Jane, who walks like she owns the place. She knocks once on Matt’s door before pushing it open without waiting.

The room is already loud.

Music plays from a CD players speaker, there’s an open bag of chips on the desk, and the team is scattered in various stages of lounging: Allison with her legs across Renee’s lap, Nicky perched on the arm of a chair, Neil and Andrew tucked into a corner near the window, a bottle of something suspiciously expensive between them. Kevin sitting against the coach, cradling a bottle of vodka. The others continue in this pattern of chaos.

Jane says, “We brought drinks,” even though they didn’t, and accepts one from Matt a second later like it’s her divine right.

Ewelina finds a space on the floor near the window, knees drawn up, back to the wall.

For a while, it’s background noise: laughter, arguments about rules, three people yelling over whether something counts as a technicality. Jane fits in easily. She always does. She drinks, she jokes, she makes Nicky cackle so hard he almost falls off the arm of the couch.

Ewelina sips slowly from whatever Jane hands her. Something sweet and fizzy. It dulls the corners.

She listens more than she watches.

Dan telling a story about Matt trying to build a shelf and nearly lighting it on fire.

Allison daring Nicky to drink an abomination of a combination and him lecturing her on refined palates.

It starts to feel, well different.

By the time someone suggests Never Have I Ever, there are three empty bottles on the floor and two open bags of snacks in a pile no one claims.

“All right, children,” Allison announces, “you know the rules.”

“I still think it’s a ridiculous game,” Kevin mutters.

“That’s because you have secrets and no fun,” Nicky retorts.

They form a loose circle, on the rug, leaning against furniture, stretching out legs and tossing popcorn.

Jane wiggles her eyebrows at Ewelina, who just raises her cup in a vague acknowledgment. She’s still quiet. Still watching. But there’s a softness now. A looseness.

Robin starts. “Never have I ever dyed my hair.”

Matt drinks. So does Allison. Nicky dramatically flips his curls and downs a gulp.

“Never have I ever broken a bone,” Dan says.

Andrew drinks. Neil hesitates, then does too. Ewelina notices the motion, stores it for later.

Round after round, the confessions start silly, childhood antics, awkward hookups, weird phobias.

Eventually someone (probably Allison) says, “Never have I ever lied about my name.”

There’s a beat.

Ewelina drinks.

The room quiets just a little.

Neil glances at her sideways, and after a second, drinks too.

Jane stays very still.

Nicky’s eyes go wide. “Wait, wait—”

“Next,” Ewelina says, voice low but not sharp. She’s not snapping. She’s just done with that one.

It continues. More laughter. More confessions.

And then someone, again, probably Allison, grins wickedly and says, “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

Ewelina doesn’t hesitate. She drinks.

It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic. But it is the first thing she’s offered all night.

Robin drinks too. Quietly.

Allison raises her brows with interest. “Okay, Foxes. Suddenly this game is getting good.”

Ewelina just shrugs. Her cup is half empty now, her legs stretched out across the rug, and her posture has started to mirror Jane’s: unbothered, unconcerned.

Neil lifts his drink toward her in an almost-salute. She doesn’t return it, but she doesn’t ignore it either.

It’s the first time she doesn’t feel completely separate.

The game drifts.

Rules blur around the edges, replaced by storytelling and side comments. The bottle keeps making its way around the circle, passed lazily from hand to hand. Someone’s lying half on top of someone else. Nicky’s started narrating people’s expressions in dramatic accents. Kevin has resorted to nursing a glass of vodka in silence.

Jane leans her shoulder against Ewelina’s, their legs stretched out in a mirror of each other’s.

At some point, Robin says, “Never have I ever planned on living this long.”

The words hang there a little too long. Long enough to sting.

Matt drinks. Then Nicky. Allison. Dan. Jack.

Nobody says anything. Nobody has to say what it means for those who didn’t drink.

Not at first.

Then Allison, unusually subdued, offers, “Well. That got real.”

“Sometimes real is the only thing worth playing for,” Jane replies, voice softer than usual, all warmth and no bite.

Ewelina exhales through her nose. “That’s not how you used to play.”

“No,” Jane agrees. “But we’re not who we used to be.”

That pulls a faint smile out of Ewelina; quick, blink-and-miss-it, but genuine.

Robin watches her over the rim of her cup.

Eventually, Nicky says, with a strained cheerfulness that doesn’t quite cover the emotion lingering in the room, “Okay, someone please say something ridiculous before I start trauma-bonding with all of you.”

“Never have I ever peed in a pool,” Matt says, deadpan.

Groans echo around the room. Half the group drinks. Nicky looks personally betrayed.

“Y’all are monsters,” he mutters, drinking anyway.

The energy lifts just a little, floats back toward safer ground. Not quite light, not quite heavy. Just… honest.

Ewelina doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t look like she’s holding her breath anymore. She watches the group move around each other, caught in the strange balance of sarcasm and sincerity they’ve perfected.

She doesn't laugh, not loudly, but the corners of her mouth twitch more often now. She refills her cup without needing Jane to push it toward her. She leans back on her elbows, ankles crossed, hair falling loose down her back.

Jane shifts beside her and whispers, “You’re doing great.”

Ewelina rolls her eyes.

“Still counts,” Jane adds, bumping her shoulder lightly.

Across the circle, Robin catches her eye. There’s no smile, not exactly,but there’s something patient and open in her expression. Like she’s offering space, not asking for it.

Ewelina holds her gaze for a beat. Then two.

And then, for the first time, she says something unprompted. Quiet, almost like testing her voice in the air.

“Never have I ever… thought about joining a team voluntarily.”

The silence that follows is different. Not heavy. Not shocked. Just… reverent.

Nicky breaks it, voice low. “Well, shit.”

Matt drinks. So does Dan. After a pause, Neil does too.

No one asks Ewelina to explain. No one tries to make it a moment.

And maybe that’s what makes it one.

By the time the circle breaks and people start drifting to the couch, the kitchen, the floor for stretch breaks and second rounds, the mood has settled into something familiar. Not effortless, but not tense either.

Ewelina ends up on the floor near the couch, one leg stretched out, Jane braiding her curls absently from behind while arguing with Kevin about coaching salaries.

Robin sits beside her, nursing a beer she hasn’t touched in a while.

“You okay?” Robin asks, voice low enough for just them.

Ewelina nods. It’s not defensive this time. Just true.

“They want to know you,” Robin adds.

They not we. Ewelina didn’t answer.

***

Later that night Ewelina, Jane, and Robin stumbled back into her and Robin’s room. Ewelina made little protest to getting in bed, thinking she would make the out she usually did, but then Jane gestered for her to scoot over.

That night was the first time Ewelina slept in the dorm, and she had slept through the night, with Jane acting as a barrier. The next day, Jane left early, and Ewelina escaped to ‘The Fox’s Bookshelf’ without any acknowledgement to her team.

Chapter Text

The summer continues both slowly in a sense and fast. Ewelina continues to keep her distance but keeps her promise of trying. She doesn’t add to conversations, or to games. Without Jane there, there’s less of a need for her to feel like she must.

She continues to go to the morning therapist once a week, even though she’s now eighteen. She doesn’t add to the conversation much but listens to the doctor and the nurse.

Practices become more and more intense as the school year gets closer. Kevin gets harder to deal with. Neil and Dan start to gain more and more overall authority to the team. Ewelina is official in the position of dealer by halfway through the summer. Well, she was probably more officially labeled in that position at the beginning, but had thought they would play her more as striker and backliner.

It wasn’t a decision made in one night. Ewelina didn’t wake up from the bench suddenly craving pipettes and protein synthesis. There wasn’t a book moment; no lighting bolt, no pep talk, no dramatic music swelling under her gaze while watching a chemistry set bubble in slow motion.

It started, like most things with her, in silence.

She’d been sitting on the floor of The Fox’s Bookshelf, the corner near the foreign language section that smelled faintly of mildew and old paper. Her back against a shelf, a dog eared copy of ‘With Fire and Sword’ in her lap, half unread. Her eyes wandered for a moment, after being startled out of a memory, langing on a girl cross-legged in front of the science shelf.

The girl looked tired in a specific way that meant the exhaustion was more then just lack of sleep; stained hoodie, half-eaten muffin, and a binder full of highlighted notes. She was muttering terms under her breath like she could conjure them into memory through sheer stubbornness.

“…glycolysis…adenosine triphosphate…cytokines…fuck.”

Ewelina watched for exactly thirty-seven seconds.

Then, withouthing thinking, she stood, pluched the textbook off the self beside the girl, and opened it to the section being referenced. She crouched, scanned it, then pointed at the diaram of a cell.

“ATP is mostly generated in the mitochondria,” she said flatly.

The girl startled. “Uh… yeah. I know. I just can’t remember what triggers the shift into anaerobic glycolysis during hypoxia.”

Ewelina stared. Then: “You’d want to look at the HIF pathway. Hypoxia-inducible factors. It’s usually covered later in the chapter.”

The girl blinked. “Are you in the pre-med program?”

“No.”

The girl paused. “But you… know this stuff?”

Ewelina stood, returned the textbook to its shelf. “No,” she said again.

She left the bookstore right after, but later that night, she found herself flipping through the course cataloge she was given a month prior, skimming through programs. She read through sports science. Dismissed it. Psychology. No. History. Absolutely not.

Biochemistry.

Something about it stuck.

There was a brutality to it—cell death, metabolic pathways, the body turning on itself, chemistry in the dark. It was precise, cold, and brutally honest. No fluff. No performance.

It reminded her of upbringing. Of order.

It also reminded her of something else. Of being ten years old and breaking open a fish in a biology lesson, poking at the innards while the other girls gagged. She remembered asking the tutor why the blood smelled like iron. He had smiled, pleased she noticed, and explained hemoglobin.

She had never forgotten that word. Other things she had, yes. But not that lesson.

Biochemistry, then.

The week before the term official began, she went to the registar’s office during a lunch break in practice, filled out the forms, and declared the major. It was only when she walked out with the printed confirmation that she started to feel something she hadn’t in so many years, pride.

***

Classes started, and she slowly started to understand how much better having no time to breathe actually was. No free time meant no time to think, no time to remember.

Practice started at 6. Not optional. Not negotiable. Every day.

By 5:10, Ewelina was always ready and out running, stretching and preforming drills. Then by six she would make it to the gym in time for the team to show up in their scattered lateness.

She didn’t talk or joke with the others, but she didn’t ignore them anymore.

She just did the motions, with precision that bordered on mechanical.

The others gave her space. They had slowly given up more and more after Ewelina had resulted in attending team events and keeping to herself. She had promised Jane she would try after all.

She didn’t hate practice. She hated the time it stole.

Two hours in the morning. Four again in the evening. Her muscles screamed, her wrists ached, and the amount of laundry she did weekly made her consider abandoning clothing entirely.

But it made her faster.

Sharper.

Exy demanded aggression, yes—but it also demanded systems. You didn’t survive unless you understood spacing, timing, reaction patterns. It wasn’t unlike biochemistry: everything depended on input and response. Every mistake had a chain reaction.

It suited her.

Even if she went home bruised and exhausted every night.

Even if her study hours started to be bled into 2 a.m.

She built a routine around the chaos: Wake at 4:45. Practice at 6. Shower, eat, class. Study during breaks. Another practice. Dinner if she remembered. Biochem until her eyes throbbed.

She didn’t speak to her teammates unless necessary. She didn’t walk with them to the locker room. She never, ever lingered.

But she was reliable.

That earned her something like trust.

***

The first game came faster than she expected.

Friday night. Away match. Packed stands. Heat pulsing under stadium lights like a second sun.

She wasn’t nervous. Nerves were for people with doubt. Ewelina had no space for doubt. Only execution.

Her helmet went on like armour.

The Foxes were jittery—Dan rallying them, Matt bouncing on his heels, Nicky chewing gum like it owed him rent. Even Aaron looked tenser than usual.

She just adjusted her gloves.

Ewelina took her place in center court, buzzed with readiness.

The whistle blew.

She moved.

***

Exy wasn’t graceful. It was vicious.

Bodies collided like atoms mid-explosion. Every second was calculated chaos; passes, intercepts, blocks. Sprint, pivot, lunge, recover.

Ewelina thrived. She wasn’t the biggest. Or the fastest. But she was precise. Unrelenting.

The other team underestimated her once—just once—and she stole the ball clean from their striker and shot it across the court with terrifying calm.

It hit the net with a hollow crack. The bench exploded in noise.

Ewelina turned, jogged back into formation like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just scored her first collegiate point. Like it didn’t matter. She didn’t smile. But her hands finally stopped shaking.

They won. Barely.

Kevin was furious anyway, but Dan clapped her on the shoulder as they walked off the court. “You played like a machine,” she said, grinning.

Ewelina nodded once. “Thanks.” That was all.

She didn’t stay for the bus ride celebration. She curled against the window, earbuds in, reviewing enzyme inhibitors on her tablet.

***

On Sunday, Ewelina had ended up in the library due to the pouring rain outside, not wanting to make the trek to The Fox’s Bookshelf. Her shoulders still ached from Friday’s game, and she’d already done morning drills despite Wymack cancelling formal practice. She wasn’t sure why, habit, maybe. Or momentum.

She settled in at a corner table with her biochem binder, her phone at 14% battery, and a half-finished protein bar she didn’t want but knew she had to eat.

She wasn’t expecting company.

But they came anyway.

A cluster of voices. Sneakers squeaking wet on tile. Laughter muffled by soaked sweatshirts.

The Vixens.

She recognized them immediately, school jackets, ponytails, that exhausted-but-glowing look of athletes who’d been up too early and smiled too much. She didn’t move when they claimed the table beside her. Didn’t flinch when someone dragged a chair across the tile directly across from her.

She kept her eyes on her notes, even as the group unpacked binders, highlighters, and caffeine. They were loud. Not rudely. Just… comfortably. They didn’t seem to notice her at first.

Until one of them did.

“Hey, you’re the freshman dealer, right?”

Ewelina looked up. A blonde girl with a purple scrunchie was blinking at her like she’d just remembered something important.

“You’re Lina. You scored that point on Friday.”

She nodded once. “Yes.”

The girl smiled and turned to her friends. “Told you. That shot was insane.”

Ewelina wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she didn’t. She looked back down at her notes.

A few minutes passed. Then: “You can stay, if you want. We come here after Sunday lifts. There’s outlets and nobody bugs us.”

Ewelina didn’t respond. But she didn’t leave either.

That was how it started.

They didn’t talk to her much after that—just let her occupy the corner of the table, in silence, highlighting pathways and sketching notes into long paragraphs because diagrams never stuck. She couldn’t memorize images. Just words.

It suited her.

They were loud sometimes, but they didn’t interrupt her. Occasionally, someone would pass her a charger without being asked, or a granola bar, or an extra pen when hers broke.

No one asked about her schedule. No one brought up Exy or her major or her silence.

They just… let her sit.

A few weeks passed like that. She continued her routine. The only excitable difference would be the outrageous game against the Ravens. Even someone like Ewelina would never show that much lack of sportsmanship, but the team kept playing and the injured players healed.

She became part of the Vixens’ study corner the same way she did with the team, by not leaving. By being consistent. Quiet. Functional.

No one questioned it.

Until one afternoon, when she arrived late, dripping from practice and exhausted, and someone was already in her seat.

Aaron Minyard.

She froze in place for a second too long. He looked up, eyebrows drawn. Recognition clicked behind his eyes.

“You,” he said.

Ewelina blinked. “You’re in my seat.”

He didn’t move.

Katelyn looked up from her book and snorted. “Aaron. Be less weird.”

“I’m not weird,” he said flatly, but he stood, sliding his bag over to the side. “Didn’t know it was claimed.”

“It is,” Ewelina said simply, and dropped into it without looking at him again.

But that was how he started showing up too.

At first, it was rare. Once a week. Then twice. Then suddenly, he was just… there. Part of the background noise. Quiet, focused, equally sleep-deprived. He didn’t try to talk to her. He didn’t ask questions.

She appreciated that.

Sometimes, she noticed him glancing at her notes. Not in a mocking way, just curious. And once, when she corrected the direction of his neural diagram without looking up, he didn’t argue.

He just fixed it.

And passed her a clean printout of a biochemical flowchart two days later.

It became routine.

Exy. Class. Study. Repeat.

There were no late-night parties. No bonding circles. No slow realizations that they were friends. It was just another piece of structure. And Ewelina, despite herself, relied on structure like oxygen.

So, she kept showing up. So did Aaron. So did the vixens.

Chapter Text

The, according to her team, infamous fall banquet was originally delayed after the raven’s match. Ewelina had thought she could just luck her way out of not attending. The whole thing could get cancelled, and she could maintain the schedule she has held. However, the ERC officials seem to have it out for her.
The fall banquet ended up being rescheduled to the last weekend in September at the University of South Carolina. USC is in Columbia, which means Ewelina thought she could get away with riding her bike down to the event. Wymack denied that request almost immediately.
As the weeks progressed to the end of September, Ewelina was more focused on her first round of exams than the event, but Allison was the one to remind her of the impending event. The last Tuesday of September, Ewelina had ended up in the team lounge for a last minute, team meeting after evening practice.
“Lina, who are you taking to the banquet?”
Ewelina glanced at Allison, “Why would I take someone?”
Allison stared like she was trying to decide if Ewelina was joking. “Because it’s a banquet. People bring dates.”
“I’m not people,” Ewelina said, standing to grab her bag.

Allison’s voice followed her toward the door. “Suit yourself, but if you show up alone and sit with me, I’m making you wear lipstick.”
Ewelina didn’t bother replying.
⸻
The week passed without her thinking about it much. Exams took priority, and practice took everything else. Wymack kept them in the court until their shirts clung and the walls seemed to vibrate from the sound of shoes on hardwood. Kevin was worse than usual, but Ewelina found the rhythm, morning drills, class, study, evening drills, was enough to keep her from dwelling on the weekend.
Friday’s home game drew a full crowd. The court was all heat and noise, the air smelling of resin, sweat, and the sharp tang of sports tape. The match was brutal but precise, and by the final buzzer, the Foxes had pulled ahead by three goals.
They didn’t linger on the win. Wymack’s post-game talk was short.
“Banquet tomorrow. Black tie. And I swear, if any of you embarrass me, I’ll have you running drills until your legs give out.”
Dan grinned at them on the way out. “Let’s just hope this one is less exciting than last years.”

Ewelina didn’t mind not knowing what she was referencing. From what she could make out these last couple months, it probably had to do with the Americanized Wesninski.
She showered, went to the dorm, and laid out the plain black dress Jane had sent when she even whispered of the impending ordeal. She hadn’t planned to make an impression. She just wanted to meet the minimum requirement and keep the evening as short as possible.
Tomorrow was already scheduled in her head: arrive, sit, eat, leave.
***
The banquet was at seven. Wymack had them loaded onto the bus by five-thirty, pressed into semi-formal clothes that looked unnatural on most of the Foxes.
Ewelina took a window seat halfway back. The streetlamps outside flickered across the glass as they pulled away from campus. She had a book in her lap, but the pages stayed unturned. Her mind kept circling through the list of other district teams that would be there.
Across the aisle, Matt and Dan were trading bets on how many speeches they’d have to sit through. Kevin was scrolling through stat sheets like they’d be quizzing him before dessert.
The seat beside her dipped, and she looked up to find Renee Walker smiling as she settled in.

“You clean up well,” Renee said lightly.
Ewelina glanced down at her black dress. “Jane is insistent.”
“Ah, so you talk about us.” Renee folded her hands in her lap. She was in a pale blue dress that made her look even more unreal than usual, soft where the rest of the team looked sharp-edged.
“Not really.”
“Well, at least you talk about team events.”
Ewelina didn’t respond. Her gaze returned to the blur of the street outside, but Renee didn’t seem bothered by the silence.
A few minutes passed before Renee spoke again, quieter this time. “It’s easier than you think. Banquets, I mean. Everyone’s pretending to be more comfortable than they are. Once you realize that, it stops mattering.”
Ewelina considered that, filing it away without promising to agree.
The bus hummed along the interstate, carrying them toward Columbia and a night she hadn’t asked for.
The bus pulled up outside the University of South Carolina’s event hall, a glass-and-stone building lit from within like a display case. The air was heavy with humidity, thick enough to curl hair and cling to fabric.
Inside, the main room was already loud. The ceiling stretched too high, and the lighting was bright enough to make everything feel staged. Round tables draped in white cloth filled the floor, each set with polished silverware and a folded program.
They walked in together; Dan leading, Neil right behind like he owned the place. People turned to look. Ewelina felt the prickle of attention on the back of her neck, the way it always came when the Foxes entered a space that wasn’t theirs.
Her eyes moved without thinking, cataloguing.
Ravens in black and silver at the far right, uniform even without uniforms. They were all posture and precision, eyes like glass. The USC team clustered in blue jackets at the left, leaning in toward each other like they shared one long-running joke. A scattering of other district teams took the remaining tables.
She caught snippets as they passed:
“That’s the Minyard twin that was on trial… ”
“…dealer’s faster than she looks…”
“…Foxes probably just got lucky last…”
“The Baltimore Butcher…”
No one addressed her directly. They didn’t have to. She was used to being discussed like weather, something to note but not engage with, and it seemed like her team had quite the controversy amongst the crowd.
Their table was near the middle, close enough to the podium that she could see the name cards, but not so close that the officials could hear their conversations. Wymack dropped them off at the table, plopping a drink menu roughly by the upperclassman’s seats, and went off to the Coach’s table.
Ewelina slid into a chair between Renee and Nicky. Renee offered her a calm smile. Nicky was already leaning forward, stage-whispering about how many of these events he’d survived without falling asleep.
She took the program in front of her and scanned it. Speeches. Awards. Dinner. More speeches. A closing statement from an ERC official she’d never heard of.
She paused only when she noticed the special guest. Deborah Brown. Coach of the National Team of England who had no business being a special guest here. Her name placed beside another listed as the US National Teams coach.
When she looked up again, she caught one of the Ravens glancing her way. His face didn’t shift when she met his eyes. She didn’t drop her gaze either. Eventually, he looked away first.
The room dimmed a fraction as someone tapped the microphone at the podium. The banquet was officially starting.
After dinner, the room broke apart like a snapped play; tables shifting, chairs scraping, voices swelling in loose clusters.
Ewelina stayed in her seat longer than most, watching the movement. USC’s players gravitated toward the center like they owned it, hands on shoulders, laughter flashing like camera bulbs. The Ravens stayed in a tight knot near the wall, sharp and cold even without the court under them.
Kevin was already drunk. Not sloppy-drunk, precision gone but arrogance intact. His glass was never empty, and his hand gestures got sharper with every sentence. A player from Belmonte stood with arms crossed, nodding with the vague politeness of someone enduring a lecture. Kevin didn’t notice.
Ewelina tracked him for a minute, purely out of curiosity, before her eyes caught on Andrew. He and Neil were gone. Not walked away, gone. One minute they were near the drinks table, Neil leaning against the wall, Andrew unmoving beside him; the next, there was only empty space and a pair of abandoned cups.
She didn’t wonder where they’d gone. She assumed it was somewhere quieter, or more private, or both.
The noise level kept climbing. She slipped through the edges of the room, not joining anyone, just letting her presence pass unnoticed. She caught scraps of conversation: statistics, half-remembered plays, arguments about ERC rule changes.
Renee found her near the exit, smiling faintly. “You could at least pretend to enjoy yourself.”
“I could,” Ewelina said. She didn’t elaborate.
Renee’s smile didn’t falter. “Don’t stay invisible forever. Some of these people are worth knowing.”

Ewelina didn’t respond, and Renee didn’t press.
Before Renee could slip back away, Coach Brown neared, with Kevin and the US Coach behind.
“Ewelina my dear, we’ve missed you this summer.” The coach cooed as she got close.
Coach Brown’s accent made Ewelina flash back to the courts at Loughborough, her accent precise, measured, with that undercurrent of dry humour she used to disguise instructions as casual comments. She stopped a step away, smiling like she knew a joke Ewelina hadn’t heard yet.
“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you on this side of the Atlantic,” The coach chuckled. “And without you sidekick much less.”
Ewelina kept her hands wrapped around the stem of her glass. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
“Two summers and the years weekends, and you think I’d forget?” Brown’s eyes warmed, but there was steal underneath. “You were the only one in those sessions who could shut down Lucas without breaking a sweat. That sticks with a coach. We always kept a close eye on you guys, needed to know who would be joining us on the real court.”
Kevin made a slight movement beside her, like this was a conversation he was waiting for.
“Your drills,” Brown went on, “still as sharp as they were back home?”
“This team has different drills.”
“Good.” Brown’s smile thinned, approving in a way that didn’t need praise. “Change keeps you unpredictable. “You’ll need that here, more teams, different regulations.”
Ewelina tilted her head slightly, “Yes Coach.”
Brown chuckled, “I imagine they will prepare you well for your return to our court.”
The US coach intervened then, his voice smoother but carrying the kind of weight that made people stop talking.
“Careful, Deborah. You’ll have Wymack accusing you of poaching before dessert.”
Brown’s mouth curved like the remark amused her more than it should. “Just reminding her of where she belongs.”
Ewelina’s grip on her glass tightened. “For the time being my contract with the foxes holds. No use in debating national teams when I’m yet to play at that standard.”
The US coach smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Yet.”
Brown’s gaze flickered to the US coach then back to Ewelina. “When England calls again, I expect you to answer.”
“I’ll answer when there’s a proposition worth the response,” Ewelina said, the edge in her tone drawing the faintest twitch in the frown on Andrew’s face, who had appeard at Kevins side without her noticing.
The US coach let out a soft chuckle. “She’s got a bite. Bet she fits into your team well, Day.”
Kevin just laughed a fake laugh.
Brown straightened, her smile slipping back into something more diplomatic. “Enjoy your evening, Ewelina. I will try to catch you before my flight out.”
Ewelina let out a slow breath. Kevin and Andrew were watching her like she was wearing a full Team England Kit. “You could have mention you trained with her.”
“I never trained with her.”
His jaw worked once, twice, before Andrew nodded at him to follow and Kevin trailed behind to the nearest drink table.
The noise of the room pressed in again. Someone started an impromptu photo session near the podium. USC’s captain had apparently decided the banquet needed music and was now arguing with an ERC rep about plugging in a speaker. And the wall Ewelina was keeping up could stand on its own.
Ewelina slipped away.
She found the hallway to the bathrooms without needing directions. Inside, the lighting was too bright, and the air smelled faintly of cheap soap. It was blissfully empty.
She locked herself into the last stall, sat down fully clothed, and pulled a worn paperback from her bag. L’Étranger by Camus. The French text was sharp and familiar, the rhythm of the sentences anchoring her more than the meaning itself.
She lost track of time; pages turning, the muffled roar of conversation fading to nothing behind the door.
It wasn’t until a knock rattled the stall that she looked up.
“Lina?” Dan’s voice.
Ewelina shut the book. “Yes.”
“We’re leaving. Bus is loaded.”
She stood, tucking the paperback away before unlocking the door. Dan was leaning against the sink, still in her heels, hair starting to slip from its braid.
“You’ve been in here for half an hour,” Dan said, not accusing, just stating.
“It was quiet,” Ewelina said simply.
Dan smiled a little, shaking her head. “Come on. Before coach makes the whole team run ten miles for leaving too late.”
Ewelina followed her out, the noise of the banquet room briefly swallowing them before they stepped into the cooler night air.
The bus was loud in the way only a half-drunk team could be—voices overlapping, laughter echoing off the ceiling, music attempting to play from someone’s phone speaker but constantly cutting out.
Ewelina had a window seat midway back, knees against the seat in front of her, bag in her lap. She wasn’t tired exactly, just… finished.
Nicky stumbled into the aisle seat across from her, his banquet jacket hanging halfway off his shoulders. His date—tall, clean-cut, clearly not from Palmetto—slid in beside him. The guy grinned like the world was perpetually amusing.
He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the seatback. “Hey. Where’s your accent from?”
Ewelina looked up slowly. “I don’t have one.”
He laughed. “Uh, yeah, you do. It’s… I can’t place it, but it’s definitely not American.”
Nicky smirked. “Told you she’s a mystery. I’ve been working on this puzzle for months.”
“Polish?” the date guessed.
“French,” Matt called from a few rows up without turning around.
“Neither,” Ewelina said.
Someone snorted. “It’s both, isn’t it?”
“And something else,” Renee added from the front. “I hear North African.”
Ewelina’s eyes flicked toward her. “Algerian.”

Neil piped in, “Algerian?” Ewelina did not move at the accusation in his voice.
Nicky’s date lit up like he’d won a prize. “See? I knew it was layered. That’s… what, three?”
“In ways,” she corrected. “Polish, French, Algerian… and others.”
That earned a chorus of “Others?” from a few directions. She didn’t answer, turning her gaze back to the blur of highway lights in the window.
“God, she’s impossible,” Nicky groaned, but he was grinning.
The rest of the bus rolled back into chaotic conversation, the topic already shifting to whether Kevin was going to survive the night without choking on his own ego. She could feel Neil’s accusation at the back of her head. Ewelina let it all fade into background hum.
By the time they pulled into Fox Tower’s lot, half the team was asleep, the other half arguing over who was betting over who will be the latest to practice.
Andrew stepped in front of her before she could get into the building. “You are coming with us next weekend.”
Neil piped in from the side, “The team rented a house at the beach.”
“We just got back from a team trip,” Ewelina sighed
Andrew didn’t blink. “That wasn’t a trip.”
“I don’t travel for events I’m not required to be at.”
“Not an event,” he said. “Fall break.”
Before she could ask why that mattered, Nicky appeared at his shoulder like he’d been waiting for his cue. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he said brightly. “Four whole days with no practices, no Wymack, no drills—just a nice little road trip to Beach. Fancy house due to Allison, and” his grin widened, “—there’ll be a few University of Southern California players visiting for the weekend. It’s going to be fun.”
“Weird definition of fun,” Ewelina said flatly.
“That’s why you need to come,” Nicky countered. “Good food, new people, maybe some very bad decisions. The right kind of fun.”
“Sounds like hell.”
Andrew didn’t even glance at Nicky. “You don’t have a choice.”
Ewelina narrowed her eyes. “And if I say no?”
“You won’t,” Andrew said simply, as if the matter was already settled.
Nicky clapped his hands once, delighted. “Great! I’ll text you the packing list—”
“There’s a list?”
“Obviously,” Nicky said. “You don’t just show up at a fall-break weekend unprepared. You need at least three outfits for…”
Ewelina had already brushed past him, heading for the stairs. “Text whatever you want. I’ll ignore it.”
“Sure, you will,” Nicky called after her, sounding far too confident.
After an hour in the dorm, Ewelina was back on the stairs of the building heading down. The air outside had cooled, but not enough to cut the lingering humidity from Columbia. She’d swapped the dress for shorts and a worn hoodie, hair pulled into a loose knot at the base of her neck.
The common room was half-lit, voices spilling from the kitchen where a few teammates were picking through post-banquet leftovers. Nicky’s laughter carried over the low hum of conversation, followed by Allison’s sharper, more pointed tone.
She didn’t linger to find out what they were arguing about. Instead, she cut through the room toward the side door, her phone buzzing once in her pocket.
A text from Nicky lit the screen:
packing list pt. 1…
She didn’t bother replying.
Outside, the lot was nearly empty, the air thick with the smell of wet pavement from an earlier drizzle. She leaned against the railing, the quiet pressing in after the chaos of the evening. Four days stuck in a rented beach house with the Foxes, a handful of strangers from USC, and Nicky’s self-declared “fun” sounded like the kind of thing that would fray her nerves in under an hour.
And yet, Andrew’s you don’t have a choice kept replaying in her head—flat, certain, immovable.
By the time she made it to the stadium, Nicky had sent pt. 2 of the list.
She deleted both messages without opening them.