"At least they gave you a tutu. You'd look ridiculous just wearing a leotard," Emily offered, trying to show me the bright side. The bright side was that I wasn't dressed as a giant brown loofah.
"How about when we get back from practice, we burn our outfits and use the ashes to put a curse on Tara," Becca suggested as we put on our long soccer socks and running shoes.
"Rookies, thirty seconds to be back down here!" Tara’s voice rang out.
The three of us rolled our eyes and hopped up, slinging our cleats over our shoulders. One glance in the mirror was too much. Puke yellow was not my color and the tutu made me look like a nine-year-old.
When we made it back downstairs, it was clear that Emily had been right. Everyone else was wizards. Well, most everyone. One girl was dressed up as a broomstick. Or maybe just a stick. It was hard to tell.
A senior girl walked up to Emily when we were in line and drew a lightning bolt on her forehead with a fat Crayola marker. Then she moved on to me and Becca. She put a giant "S" on my chest and a giant "Q" on Becca's chest. Seriously, were the costumes not enough at this point?
"We’ll give you breakfast when we get to the practice field, but only if you make it there. The upperclassmen will drive next to you guys while you run a designated route that ends at the fields. If you fall behind, the entire team has to run extra, so stay with the group."
I fought back a groan.
“Oh, and everyone will grab a broom on the way out,” Tara declared.
“For what?” one of the rookie girls asked.
Tara scoffed at her. “Because you’re dressed up as people from Harry Potter, dumbass.”
So, yeah, the entire time we ran, we had to carry a broom between our legs. Have you ever had a splinter on your inner thigh? Neither have I. Because that’s not where I got them. Think a little higher. It wasn’t pretty, people. When I got home, I was going to tear apart this itchy yellow material piece by piece.
"At least you both have boobs," Emily pointed out as she ran next to Becca and me.
"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked between breaths.
"Liam will definitely notice them in that leotard, believe me."
"Oh shit!" I'd completely forgotten that he would see us like this. Crap. Crap. Crap. Tara had probably done it on purpose. I looked over to where she was driving the car next to us. She was in a cute workout outfit and had even applied a light layer of makeup. That scheming whore.
If only we actually were in Harry Potter. I’d totally Crucio her ass. Yeah, that’s right, I’d use one of the Unforgivable Curses. Come at me, Ministry of Magic.
Chapter Five
Five minutes before six o’clock, we finally made it to the practice fields. We all fought to catch our breaths while the upperclassmen parked their cars and hopped out looking like they’d just returned from a relaxing vacation.
"Here, Rookies, eat up," Tara said, tossing a box of granola bars onto the ground where we were resting.
"Why am I finding it hard to like her?" Becca murmured. I nodded with narrowed eyes. I wondered how far she’d take the rookie initiation.
We all grabbed a granola bar and our water bottles and trekked into the field house for our morning meeting.
"I'll meet you guys in there, I'm going to the bathroom," I nodded to Becca and Emily.
I splashed water on my face and redid my messy ponytail in the bathroom. There was really nothing I could do to fix my appearance at that point, which was quite a shame because when I pushed the bathroom door open, Liam was leaning down, getting a drink from the water fountain. The second he caught my yellow leotard out of the corner of his eye, he straightened up and took in the entire outfit.
He had on a dark grey shirt over black sweatpants and somehow he still looked like he was modeling in a GQ ad. I looked like a drugged out ballerina.
"Wow. Is that what girls are wearing to practice these days?" he asked, rubbing a hand across his strong jaw.
I looked behind him to make sure we were alone in the hallway.
"It's part of rookie initiation," I answered. "I'm a snitch from Harry Potter."
His eyes glanced down to the "S" written across my chest, and Emily's earlier mention about my cleavage ran through my mind.
But when he glanced back up, I couldn't discern the emotion behind his eyes.
"I think I liked the birthday crown better," he smirked.
I mashed my lips together and nodded. What was he thinking? Did he remember me flirting with him at the party? Or was he flirted with so often that I was merely a blip on his radar?