Campus Player - Jennifer Sucevic Page 0,18

was a competition both on and off the field. It’s gotten to the point of uncomfortableness. I’ve tried ignoring her, hoping she would grow up and realize we’re on the same team, but my silence has had the opposite effect and emboldened her.

“Oops, sorry.” The smirk tells me that she’s not the least bit remorseful and her bumping into me wasn’t an accident.

“Watch where you’re going,” Sydney snaps.

As captain, I try to lead by example. That tactic hasn’t worked with Annica. She’s mistaken my silence for weakness. I’m not delusional enough to think that all twenty-six girls on this team will mesh, but we need to work together for the greater good. I’ve attempted to put the best interest of this team above my own personal feelings for any one individual.

A couple of younger players flank Annica. I’ve noticed that she’s become the piped piper for the freshman and sophomore girls. It’s like she’s carefully gathering forces for a coup. Any day, they’ll come for me, and I’ll be beheaded.

“Didn’t I tell you from day one that girl would be a problem?” Sydney mutters.

It’s warily that I watch both her and her minions strut their stuff to the locker room. Even though it pains me to do so, I have to begrudgingly give Sydney credit where it’s due. She was spot on in her assessment. My bestie took an instant dislike to Annica and kept trying to tell me that the younger girl was playing me like a fiddle. I thought Sydney was paranoid (maybe a little jealous) and refused to listen.

“Yup, you did.”

“One of these days, you’re going to have to knock her down to size.”

A sigh escapes from my lips with the realization that she’s not wrong. As much as I’m dreading a confrontation with the other girl, it’s been brewing for a while. And I can’t let it go much longer. Teams that are fractured from within don’t bring home championships.

And this is my senior year. Maybe the last one I have to play soccer. So, coming in second or losing in the playoffs isn’t an option.

We either get our shit together or we don’t bother at all.

End of story.

8

Demi

Sydney throws open the front door to the house and yells over her shoulder, “Now this is what I’m talking about!”

There’s a massive off-campus party in full swing on Spring Street. It’s only one of many happening tonight. There are six players who live at this residence, including Rowan. This particular group of guys are well known for their out of control victory celebrations. I expect total craziness to ensue since the Wildcats football team crushed their opponents this afternoon on the field. It’s nine o’clock, and this place is already standing room only.

Sydney throws her arm around my neck and pulls me close before blazing a trail through the thick crush of bodies. Music pumps, reverberating off the walls and inside my skull. People are drinking and laughing, cutting loose after a long week of classes.

Not only is Western University renowned for its rigorous academics, it’s also known as one of the top party schools in the country. The students here like to blow off steam as much as they study. Maybe more so. I’ve never been much of a partier. As you might suspect, Sydney is more of a social butterfly than I am. She’s the one dragging me out most weekends. It’s not like I don’t enjoy going out, but I’m just as content to order a pizza and watch a movie in my pajamas.

Maybe I’m too aware that most of the student body knows who I am, and my behavior is a direct reflection of my father. I make it a point to never get trashed or out of control. Those are the last things I need making its way around campus or getting back to Dad. Most of these kids don’t have to worry about their parents finding out about what they’re up to. They’re able to live by that old adage of—what happens at college, stays at college.

Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for me. Dad is on campus as much as I am. Probably more. It’s easier for all concerned if I stay out of the limelight. I’ve gotten burned in the past when girls have gotten jealous and spread rumors that I was screwing around with some of the football players, which is precisely why I keep everything strictly platonic with them.

In true Sydney fashion, she plows her way to

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