"Nice play back there." Coach Mars patted Sara's back as she slumped down on the bench.

"Thanks, Coach!" Sara called. She picked up her water bottle and took a much-needed swig. 

When Coach Mars was having a good day, he was simply, Coach Mars. On a bad day, he was known not so affectionately as 'The Martian'. But no one dared call him that to his face. As a very thin, very hairy man, Coach Mars looked like a skinny ape versus a Martian. And when he got angry, his face turned bright red to the point where you could almost see smoke coming out of his ears. 

The rest of the field hockey players trotted off the field. "Great goal, Sara. You saved the day," a fellow player named Polly said as she removed her mouth guard.

"Right back at you! Your goal first half helped tie up the score," Sara replied. She untied the laces of her shoe and pulled it off. Blood was caked to her sock. A nasty blister had formed on the back of her ankle. Gross, she thought in disgust. She had bought the turf shoes only last weekend and still hadn't been able to break them in. 

She scanned the field for her friends. Erin and Pam were busy chatting with the referee. Erin always talked to the refs. She claimed that if you wanted to win games, you had to get on a ref's good side. 

Sara pulled off her sweaty field hockey uniform top. Number 2 was her favorite number and she requested it every year since she was a freshman. She touched the 2 on the jersey softly with her thumb. Second is the best, she thought. 

The wind picked up. She shivered, and stood to head over to the showers. Grabbing her sports bag and field hockey stick, she stuffed her bruised feet into flip flops and limped towards the field house on the other side of the turf, to clean up. 

A soccer practice was in session on the opposite field. Groups of shirtless guys sprinted around cones. Several other players who looked exhausted from recent drills, stretched out by the benches.

 As Sara limped by in her flip flops, she noticed one particular pair of exposed shoulders had quickly turned away from her as she drew near. The guy's back was so unbelievably chiseled and tan, it was almost a disgrace for any of the other guys around him to be shirtless. 

But the fact that the person in question had turned so severely and so hastily around, made it obvious he had been watching the end of the field hockey game. Sara knew without having to look harder that the nice back belonged to the 'boy with the beautiful name.' Bentley played soccer, too? Ugh, his perfection was so unfair. Was there anything he couldn't do? she wondered.

"Yo, Sara Sweet. Groovy goal. Bet that keeper has a hole in the back of her net after that high- powered shot." Trevor grinned at her as he juggled a soccer ball on his knees. 

"Thanks, Trevor," Sara said, smiling. She detested that nickname he gave her. 

She focused on trying to walk as quickly as possible towards the field house. But she could feel eyes on her from someone in particular. 

No way Bentley is watching me, she thought. Why would he? I mean nothing to him. But when she glanced over, Bentley suddenly spun his head in the opposite direction. 

Maybe I was wrong? Sara thought, feeling a slight blush form on her cheeks. Maybe he had been watching? She realized she was only half-dressed in her white sports bra and navy field hockey skirt. Normally she wouldn't have cared how she looked. Aside from Trevor, who shouldn't even count as a guy because he was so weird, no guys ever paid much attention to her. 

But if Bentley would be out on the fields every day now after school for soccer, she would have to start looking better. Oh why had she decided to wear this unattractive, baggy sports bra? She knew she had a million better ones at home. Then she remembered most of her sports clothes still needed a wash. This was the last clean one. "Rotten luck," she muttered to herself with a giggle. Her sweaty hair stuck to her face, as it had come undone out of her rubber hair tie. She was a mess. 

When she looked at Bentley again, he was doing a series of burpees. His expression was set in a hard, angry scowl. He wouldn't meet her gaze. 

He hates me, she realized. Oh well. Better luck in the next life. She forced herself to laugh. 

As she bent to fasten her loose sandal, a loud voice startled her. "Sara! Watch out!"