"Who the hell is this guy?" Ethan's words trailed after Maya long after the tryout ended, echoing in her head with each step toward the athletic building.
The boys were buzzing as they headed into the locker room, voices mixing in that particular combination of trash talk and grudging respect that followed every good practice. Maya kept her head down, clutching her duffel bag like it was a shield against the chaos she was about to enter.
Just get through this. Get changed. Get out.
Inside, the air hit her like a wall—thick with sweat, cheap body spray, and steam from showers already running full blast. The place was alive with the kind of energy that came from twenty teenage boys high on adrenaline and competition. Laughter bounced off white-tiled walls, towels snapped against skin in mock attacks, cleats clattered across the concrete floor like machine gun fire.
And Maya stood on the edge of it all, an intruder wearing the wrong skin.
She dropped onto the wooden bench by her assigned locker, carefully choosing one on the far end of the row, close to the wall where shadows gathered. Out of the way. Invisible, if she could manage it. The metal door swung open with a rusty creak, revealing the empty space that was supposed to belong to Alex Rivera.
This is fine. This is normal. Just another day in paradise.
Shirts flew off around her, revealing the kind of lean muscle that came from years of serious training. Guys compared biceps, flexed for invisible audiences, shoved each other in mock wrestling matches that probably weren't entirely mock. Normal teenage boy stuff. The kind of casual physical intimacy that Maya could observe but never, ever participate in.
She peeled off her practice jersey slowly, movements deliberate and controlled, leaving the compression shirt glued to her torso like a second skin. Her excuse was always ready, practiced in the mirror until it sounded natural: "Back support. Old injury." Nobody had questioned it yet, but the season was young.
Please don't let today be the day someone gets curious.
Maya focused on unlacing her cleats with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb, pretending not to notice the glances sliding her way. Quick looks, measuring stares, the kind of attention that came with being the new guy who'd just embarrassed half the varsity squad on their home field.
"Yo, Rivera." A voice from across the room made her look up. Jake Something—she hadn't caught his last name—was pulling on a fresh t-shirt, his expression caught somewhere between awe and suspicion. "You play like that every day, or was that just showing off for tryouts?"
Maya shrugged, keeping her voice carefully low. "Guess so."
More laughter erupted from a group near the showers, someone getting towel-whipped for dropping soap. The sound was sharp and bright, but it didn't reach Maya's corner of the room. Her heart hammered against her ribs, every second stretching like taffy. Because the showers were getting louder, steam rolling out in thick clouds, and sooner or later someone was going to notice that the new transfer student hadn't taken a single step toward them.
Think. What would Alex do? What's his excuse?
Maya grabbed her towel from the locker, made a show of checking her phone, anything to buy herself a few more minutes. Just let them clear out. Let the room empty so she could figure out how to navigate this particular minefield.
But even as she stalled, more players finished changing and headed for the exit, sweaty practice clothes stuffed into gym bags, hair still damp from quick rinses. The crowd was thinning. Soon it would just be her and whoever was left, and her avoidance would become obvious.
Almost there. Just a few more minutes.
Maya had just convinced herself she might actually make it out unscathed when she heard the voice that made her blood freeze.
"Hey."
The word cut sharp through the diminishing chatter.
Maya's entire body went rigid. She turned slowly, like someone had put a gun to her head.
One of the players—Mateo Herrera, she thought, the one with dark eyes that seemed to see too much—was leaning against the row of lockers, arms crossed, watching her with the kind of focus that meant trouble. He was older, probably a senior, with the confidence that came from knowing exactly where he stood in the social hierarchy.
His gaze dropped deliberately to the towel clutched tight in Maya's hands, then shifted toward the showers where steam continued to billow out, then back to her face. Reading her like a book she didn't want opened.
"You're avoiding them, huh?" he said, his voice quiet but pointed, loaded with implications that made Maya's stomach drop into her shoes.
Deny everything. Play dumb. Be Alex.
"Avoiding what?" Maya managed, but even to her own ears the words sounded thin, unconvincing.
Mateo pushed off from the lockers and took a step closer, and Maya fought every instinct that screamed at her to run. His expression wasn't hostile exactly, but it wasn't friendly either. It was calculating, like he was working through a puzzle and didn't like the picture forming.
"The showers, man. You've been stalling for ten minutes." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Got something you don't want us to see?"
The question hung in the steamy air between them like a blade. Around them, the few remaining players continued their conversations, oblivious to the confrontation happening in the corner. But Maya could feel the attention starting to shift, curious glances thrown their way.
This is it. This is how it ends. Day one and I'm already blown.
"Just waiting for them to clear out," Maya said, forcing her voice to stay steady. "Not really into the whole group shower thing."
It was a weak excuse, but it was all she had. Some guys were shy. Some had body image issues. It wasn't completely unheard of, right?
Mateo's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. "Right. Privacy. I get it." He paused, letting the words settle. "Funny thing though—most guys who are shy about their bodies? They find ways to shower when no one's around. They don't just... not shower."
Maya's mouth went completely dry. Because he was right, and they both knew it. Her stalling had a pattern, and someone sharp enough was bound to notice eventually.
Say something. Anything.
"I'll shower back at the dorm," she said. "Prefer my own space."
"Sure you will." Mateo's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Just friendly advice, Rivera? Whatever game you're playing? Some secrets are harder to keep than others."
He turned and walked toward the exit, leaving Maya standing frozen by her locker, towel still clutched in sweaty hands. But just before he disappeared around the corner, he called back over his shoulder.
"See you at practice tomorrow. Should be... interesting."
The locker room emptied after that, leaving Maya alone with the sound of dripping faucets and her own ragged breathing. She sank onto the bench, legs suddenly unsteady.
He knows. He doesn't know what he knows, but he knows something's wrong.
And tomorrow, he'd be watching even closer.