John takes a long sip of water, shaking damp curls out of his eyes. “Yeah, kind of. Obviously you don’t want to be afraid to release, because if you never throw at all, the other team is going to figure out that you’re not a threat. But you threw your bludger away on some pointless plays.”
I bristle, even though I know he’s right.
“What you really need to work on now is your trick move—your pump fake,” John says. He lunges at me, one hand swinging toward my face, stopping midair only after I’ve flinched away. He raises his eyebrows and gives a cocky grin, which makes me realize how close he’s standing. “Practice making it look like you’re going to throw, and then you won’t have to.”
“Sub!” Lindsay calls, and John tips his headband at me and waits on the sideline until Lindsay is all the way off the pitch before running in to play. I roll my eyes at his perfect substitution.
“Good job,” Lindsay gasps, patting me on the shoulder. “We kept control forever out there.”
“Thanks to you,” I say, but the compliment makes me grin.
“Still,” Lindsay starts, but she interrupts herself with a click of her tongue, her eyes glued to the pitch. “No, stay on the quaffle,” she whispers, and then as Melissa and Chris charge toward the goal she shouts it, “John! Quaffle!”
The advice comes too late for John, far to the right of the hoops, fighting with a tiny blonde blur that is Erin. Chris speeds through our defense and scores easily. Lindsay shakes her head and clicks her tongue again. “Oh well, chasers could’ve stopped him.”
“You would’ve been there, though,” I guess.
“I tend to prioritize defense.” Lindsay shrugs. “There are advantages and disadvantages. John’s great at making space for the chasers on offense—he used to play soccer and football, so he’s trained to find those openings. He just gets tunnel vision when someone challenges him.”
This game has a lot more thinking than I realized. I smile, watching Elizabeth sub in and attack John’s ball, trying to pull him away from the center of the pitch again. It’s strategy. Beaters are all about strategy and being in the right position. It’s like chess. Or, better yet, it’s like Connect Four, which Dad and I used to play all the time when I was little. He bought me a set as soon as I learned to tie tic-tac-toe consistently, promising me a game that was harder to solve.
I think I could play quidditch forever and never solve it.
* * *
• • •
We vote on the location for team dinner while I negotiate a curfew with Dad through text.
“We pretty much cycle through the same three places,” Chris explains to Melissa and me, “because Carlos can’t eat wheat and Aaron can’t eat meat that isn’t kosher, and nobody wants to drive very far. But vote for the vegan-friendly place.”
I worry that the vegan-friendly Pine Café will be out of my price range (which is the twelve bucks and some quarters I have in my wallet). But when Melissa parks in front of the tiny restaurant in the tiny strip shopping center, the counter service and cheap plastic chairs put me at ease. The menu, which is all vegetarian and clearly marks vegan dishes, make me feel downright welcome.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know this place existed,” I say as we approach the counter.
Melissa sighs loudly behind me because this restaurant does not cater to her love of consuming animal flesh (even though she agrees that the food industry is pretty messed up . . . she hasn’t given up bacon).
The little old lady behind the counter looks just as excited to have us as Melissa is to be here. Fifteen or so rowdy teens probably aren’t her ideal customers. Plus, and I say this with all the love and delicacy in the world, some of us really stink.
We push tables together in the back corner while the rest of the team orders, and I slide into the seat between Jackson and Lindsay, across from Melissa, Chris, and Karey. The food comes out quickly, and as our flustered servers try to match plates to people, I catch Melissa’s eye across the table and sing-whisper, “So that’s five miso soup, four seaweed salad, three soy-burger dinner, two tofu-dog platter—”
“And one pasta with meatless balls!” Beside me, Lindsay joins in to complete the line from Rent’s best musical number. She holds her hand up for a high five, and I get that rush of excitement that comes with meeting a fellow musical nerd. “I always get that song stuck in my head when we come here.”
“I mean, isn’t that why we love this place?” Karey asks, her grin crooked. “Meatless balls?”
“I feel like you need that on a bro tank,” Lindsay teases. “Karey Yates: No Meat, All Balls.”
“Please, no more balls,” Jackson sighs on my right, poking his noodles with exaggerated sorrow. “I’ve had enough balls for one day, thank you very much. I am completely balled out.” His shirt today is Power Rangers, and it’s streaked with dirt and grass. Poor kid seems to be a magnet for tackles and face-beats.
“You just need to get comfortable with the balls.” Lindsay shrugs and raises one eyebrow.
Jackson sputters for a second, until John appears behind him to clap him on the shoulder. “Sounds like Lindsay’s offering ball-handling lessons. If I were you, I wouldn’t pass that up.”
Karey groans and Lindsay sticks her tongue out at John, her freckled ears maybe the tiniest bit pink.
I’m about to apologize for beating Jackson in the throat during drills today (probably contributing to his growing fear of out-of-control balls), but before I can, John drags a chair up between us.
“Scoot down,” he instructs Jackson. “Make room, dude.”
I scoot my own chair, but there’s nowhere to go without climbing into Lindsay’s lap, so I tuck my elbows against my ribs and lean away as John settles into the too-small space, his arms and knees spreading until I can feel his heat on my skin. Good thing he doesn’t smell bad.
I hope I don’t smell bad.
“Don’t worry,” Chris says, leaning as though to whisper in Melissa’s ear but talking loud enough for everyone to hear. “You grow immune to all the ball jokes after a while.”
“And the stick puns,” John adds, his elbow finding my ribs and his eyebrows waggling.
“And scoring, obviously,” someone calls from the opposite end of the group.
“The snitch snatch . . .”
“Dudes beating each other . . .”
“Making passes . . .”
“Okay, yes, we get it!” Karey yells. “Please, let’s try not to scare the new people off this early in the summer, y’all.”