4. Dylan

Chapter 4

Dylan

M onday morning, I trudge alongside Jacob and Ford as we make our way to school, my feet dragging with each step. The weekend ended too soon, and I'm already dreading the reality waiting for me at home. It's going to be hard to face Matthew after the carefree few days I've spent with my guys. I can't help but think about college, hoping we'll end up together at the same university, and can find a place of our own instead of cramming into the dorms.

We reach my locker, and they wait while I grab my books. A few of our classmates walk past, slapping the three of us on the back and congratulating us on our win. Seems I'm not so invisible now, which I should have known after I took my helmet off. We walk to our homeroom, and I take my seat between Ford and Jacob. With a sheepish grin, Jacob pulls out his Trigonometry homework, the pages slightly crumpled from being stuffed in his backpack.

"Help me out, Dylan? This stuff is gibberish," he scoffs, pushing the paper across the desk to me.

Smiling, I take the paper and patiently explain each step to him. "You just need to remember the acronym SOHCAHTOA. Sine, cosine, and tangent are all about the ratios of sides in a right triangle."

He nods, jotting down notes. Ford watches us with a mischievous smirk on his face. "You're a lifesaver. Without you, Jacob would probably flunk."

Jacob punches him lightly on the arm. "Hey, I'd survive. Maybe."

I laugh, but a part of me feels a pang of sadness. How much longer will we get to do this? Just a few more weeks, and we could be scattered in different colleges, different futures. I hope we don't, but it's out of our hands.

The bell rings, signaling the end of homeroom. Ford kisses me goodbye, a quick, sweet peck that leaves my lips tingling. Jacob and I make our way to our first class, World History.

The next hour is as slow and dull as ever. Mr. Hanson drones on about the Treaty of Versailles, his voice a monotonous hum that lulls half the class into a daze. I try to pay attention, but my mind keeps wandering. Only a few weeks left, and I'll be free from this place, graduating with honors and stepping into the next chapter of my life. But what if I'm not ready? What if everything changes too fast?

When the bell finally rings, I quickly gather my belongings and head toward the exit. Jacob walks me to Anatomy, his hand brushing against mine in a silent gesture of support. He's off to PE, leaving me to navigate the intricacies of the human body.

Mrs. Cider is in the middle of a lesson on the cardiovascular system when the intercom crackles. "Is Dylan Murphy in class today?" Mrs. Cordray's voice echoes through the room.

Mrs. Cider looks at the speaker, frowning before she pushes the button to reply. "She is."

"Can you send her to the office, please?"

"She's on her way." Mrs. Cider's gaze lands on me, and I feel the weight of everyone's eyes as I gather my things.

What could this be about?

A wave of panic washes over me, causing my heart to race. The only thing that comes to mind is the lacrosse game this weekend. Did the principal find out? Every step toward the office feels heavier, my stomach churning with anxiety.

Miss Cordray greets me with a tight smile. "Wait here, please. I'll tell Principal Nosta you're here."

I sit, picking at a callous on my hand, a constant reminder of the countless hours spent gripping my lacrosse stick. I feel a sudden prickling sensation on the back of my neck and turn as the door I just walked through opens. My mother walks in, her face a mask of concern and irritation.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice shaky.

"They called me about you," she replies, her tone clipped.

Principal Nosta opens his door, motioning us in. "Dylan, Miss Murphy, please come in."

We sit in the chairs across from his desk, my mother and I side by side. Principal Nosta steeples his fingers, a serious expression on his face.

"Miss Murphy, thank you for coming on such short notice. We need to discuss Dylan's participation on the boys' lacrosse team."

My mother's eyes widen in surprise. "That's absurd. While she is active in the book club and a few other extracurriculars, sports is not a part of her schedule."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Dylan has played lacrosse all season. She participated in the championship game this weekend. That's how I found out. Coach Blue and her teammates kept it well hidden. The team they played in the championship is calling for an overturn of the win."

"They can't do that!" I burst out. "We won fair and square. There's no rule against a girl being on the team. I checked the handbook. No one ever asked me to remove my helmet, and I gave my real name, Dylan Murphy. It could have been a typo, putting an M for gender instead of F."

"Will there be trouble? Beyond the possibility of overturning the win?" my mother asks, her voice tight.

Principal Nosta sighs. "It's not against the rules, but I'm not pleased with the deception. The other team is arguing on grounds of fairness."

My heart gallops in my chest as cold sweat breaks out all over my body. What if they strip us of our win? What if this ruins everything? Lacrosse is my ticket to college, to freedom. Without it, what do I have left?

My mom glares at me, then turns to Principal Nosta. "Can I take her home for the day? We need to have a discussion."

"Of course."

We stand, and my stomach knots as we walk to the parking lot. Once we're at the car, my mom grabs my shirt, pulling me close.

"What were you thinking, Dylan?" she asks, her voice low and controlled. "You're in big trouble, young lady."

"I was thinking that I love lacrosse and I'm good at it. I wanted to prove myself."

"You could have gotten hurt. Or worse." She lets me go, and I climb into the passenger seat. The drive home is silent, tension crackling in the air.

"The season is over, Mom. There's nothing more to talk about."

"What was the end goal here? Why lie and hide to play such a barbaric sport?" she finally asks, her voice trembling with anger.

"You know why, Mom. I love it. My goal was to earn a scholarship for playing lacrosse at the college level. I had to try."

"There's no way you're playing lacrosse if you expect me to pay for your school."

"Hence the scholarship. You never understand. You don't even try. I'm not some prim and proper lady like you want. I'm me. While I enjoy getting dressed up, I equally adore lacrosse. Why can't I be both?"

"Ladies don't wield sticks and fight. That's what that sport is. No more. You're done." She turns onto our street. "As your mother, it's my job to decide what's best for you."

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. "I'm eighteen and about to leave for college. I need you to support me and let me make my own decisions. I need your love, nothing else."

She glances over at me. "It's not that simple. It was reckless. You are grounded. So very grounded."

We pull into the driveway, and my heart sinks. I'm dreading seeing Matthew, but at least being grounded means I'll be forced to stay in my room, away from him. The downside is I won't get to see Jacob and Ford. But I'll hold on to the memories of the weekend to keep me going through this prison sentence.

Walking through the front door, I forcefully slam it behind us.

"Young lady, this is not the end of our discussion. You are done seeing those boys and grounded to your room indefinitely."

"You are the literal worst. How about a congrats on winning the lacrosse championship? Or I'm upset you lied, but proud of you. You must be serious about the sport. How can I support you? "

"I will not support my daughter playing some heathen sport with sticks and tackling. I told you cheerleading would be acceptable."

"Ugh, I can't wait to go to college and leave here for good." I storm up to my room and slam the door.

I lie back on my bed, the weight of the day pressing down on me. My mind drifts back to the weekend, to the stolen moments with Ford and Jacob. I can still feel Ford's kiss on my lips, the warmth of Jacob's hand in mine. I close my eyes, letting the memories wash over me. The way Ford's eyes lit up when he came, the sound of Jacob's groaning, the feeling of being wrapped in their arms. For now, those moments are enough. They have to be since I'm apparently locked in this cell indefinitely.

I mock my mother's tone in my head. "Ladies don't wield sticks and fight. That's what that sport is. No more. You're done. And grounded. So very grounded." I roll my eyes, exasperated by her narrow-mindedness.

Why can't she understand that I can be both strong and feminine, that I can excel in a sport I love without compromising who I am?

Tears prick at my eyes, and I blink them away furiously. I refuse to let her see me cry, to give her the satisfaction of thinking she's broken me. I grab my phone and text, Ford and Jacob, needing their support more than ever.

My phone buzzes, and I grab it eagerly, thinking it's a message from Jacob or Ford. Instead, it's Matthew.

Matthew: We need to talk.

My stomach flip flops. I knew this was coming, but that doesn't make it any easier.