#Score by Kerrigan Grant Page A

college?"
    “He mentioned something about a super draft, whatever that is. I think he graduated from college and now they're looking to draft him into the major leagues? I don't really know much about it."
    Jasmine quickly leans forward and gasps. "Ramy, you know my dad's like a huge, huge football fan, right? He's been following the L.A. Universe for years now. He's met the whole team and has all these autographs across his office walls. I was just over there in the main house last night eating dinner with them, and he was talking to my uncle about the newest player for the Universe. I swear I heard him say the name Benji. You don't think . . . "
    My heart squeezes. There's no way, it was just all a matter of bad timing and I had to just leave it at that. I wasn't about to put myself through any kind of turmoil that would lead to another broken heart. "Doubtful. I mean, what are the chances?"
    Jasmine nods, but I can tell she doesn't believe me or even agree with me.
    Even as we curl up beside each other and flip through old B-rated horror movies on Netflix, I can't help but wonder if maybe she's right and what exactly that might mean for me.

Chapter 11
    B enji

    " F uck you , dude. I totally made that shot."
    Joshua banks the next one, and the little white ping-pong ball lands right in a cup. He lets out a whoop and thrusts his arms into the air. "Told you, motherfucker. Don't mess with the reigning beer pong champ and expect to win."
    Reigning champion my ass. I roll my eyes, because what else can I do? I'm supposed to be worrying about nothing but getting ready for pre-season with my new team, yet here I am, losing at beer pong. "Oh whatever, I'm just off of my game. I’ll get you on the next round."
    "Yeah, you're right, Lundgren. You're off your game. Better make sure to pick it up before you leave for L.A. next week," he says, giving me a pointed look. "It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain girl, would it?"
    Shit. Like I'm going to admit to something like that. "No way, man. I don't stress over chicks like that. We just need a rematch." Whatever it takes to get this fool off my case.
    Joshua takes a sip of a nearby red cup and turns it upside down, a single drop of beer dripping onto the floor. "And I need a better drink than this stale ass beer. Hold that thought."
    He walks into our small apartment kitchen and I brace myself against the ping-pong table, trying to clear my head.
    I haven't been letting any of these changes get to me. Not leaving my home behind, not being a legit adult all of the sudden, and not even being separated from friends like him. I've been able to keep it cool, not worrying about any of it. But when he brings her up, it just irritates something deep in my brain, pulling up all the cool-with-it roots and making me nervous.
    I shake my head at myself, trying to beat the apprehension out. Who the hell am I? I need to get my shit together and quit messing around with these stupid thoughts.
    “Hey man, you feel like going out tonight?” he calls out from the kitchen.
    Ah. That might be the perfect answer to putting the brakes on all my issues.

    * * *
    I think L.A.'s spoiled me. Joshua springs for an Uber and we roll up to the only big dance club, and I realize what a difference there is between here and there. I don't want to seem like I've got my head up my ass or anything, but it's kind of sad that this place is the best we have here in Clemson.
    "It's still hard to believe that after four years of playing on the same team, we're going to be on different ones."
    I barely hear him over the music that's playing through the speakers right outside the front entrance. "Yeah . . . I guess that is kind of hard to believe. It'll be alright and everything though. I promise I'll go easy on you. At least the first game, anyway," I say, grinning over at Joshua.
    "Damn man, always ruining the moment, huh? Yet again you keep talking that mess. We'll see how far you get when you're playing with