Blair, Summer, And Mateo Secrets

The whistle for first period practice blew across Westview High, and the gym smelled like warm rubber and old wood floor polish. Blair stepped onto the volleyball court with her knee pads pushed up under her shorts and her hair tied tight, blonde highlights catching the overhead lights. The net looked straight as a ruler, and the lines on the floor felt like paths she knew by heart.

“Blair! Over here!” Coach Ramirez called, clapping once to get everyone’s attention. His whistle clicked again, quick and bright. Blair grabbed the ball from the basket, bounced it twice, and let the sound steady her. She liked when the day had a rhythm-serve, bump, set, spike-like a song you could sing without thinking too hard.

“Hey,” a voice said close to her shoulder. Summer’s perfume was light and sweet, like clean soap. She leaned in with a smile that looked friendly on the outside, even if Blair sometimes felt like Summer was always watching the room. “I saved you a spot by the water cooler.”

Blair blinked, surprised. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

Summer shrugged, like it was no big deal, and pointed toward the hall where the school’s noise echoed-locker doors clacking, sneakers squeaking, students laughing in bursts. “We’re twins. You always forget you’ll get thirsty.”

Blair laughed a little, because it sounded like something Summer would say. Then she glanced toward the doors, half expecting to see Mateo in the hallway with his football stuff. Mateo was on the other side of the school today-football practice in the same time window as volleyball-so Blair didn’t see him much during the day. Still, she felt his absence like a missing beat in her music.

Summer followed her gaze and smiled again, but her eyes didn’t stay on Blair for long. They drifted toward the hallway, toward where Mateo would pass at some point. Blair didn’t notice the way Summer’s smile changed when she thought no one was watching. Blair only noticed the gym, the net, and the way the ball felt warm in her hands.

“Ready?” Coach Ramirez asked.

Blair set her feet, lifted her arm, and served. The ball arced over the net with a clean thump when it landed in bounds. Her teammates moved-bumping low, setting up high-and for a while the world felt simple.

Then a soft sound came from the bleachers: the tap of a phone case, the quick rustle of a bag zipper. Blair’s eyes flicked that way. Summer had her bag open, and she was pulling out a small water bottle and a folded cloth-something like a towel-like she had planned it.

Blair felt a tiny twist in her chest. It wasn’t bad. It was just… odd. Summer didn’t usually bring extra things to practice. Summer usually just showed up and talked.

As the drill changed, Blair rotated to the back line and took another serve. After she sent the ball over, she jogged to the sideline to breathe and wipe sweat off her forehead with her wrist. Summer held out the folded cloth like a gift.

“Here,” Summer said. “Your hair keeps sticking to your forehead.”

Blair took the cloth and looked at it. It was plain and clean, but the way Summer offered it made Blair feel cared for, like Summer was really trying. “You’re being nice today.”

Summer’s cheeks lifted into a smile. “I’m always nice.”

Blair didn’t argue. She pressed the cloth to her skin, feeling it cool against the heat, and went back to practice. The ball kept flying, the gym kept humming, and the day stayed warm and normal.

Until the bell for the end of practice rang.

Blair walked toward the bench, swinging her ponytail loose as the sweat cooled on her neck. She reached into her volleyball bag for her extra hair ties and her water bottle-and her fingers hit only fabric, not the plastic bottle she’d packed.

Her stomach dropped.

“I-wait,” Blair said, turning her bag upside down. Her extra hair ties slid out first, then a rolled sock. No water bottle. No spare bottle.

Summer stepped closer, still holding her folded cloth. “What’s wrong?”

“My bottle,” Blair said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I packed it. It’s not here.”

Summer bent down to look, her hair falling forward as she searched. “Maybe you left it by the water cooler.”

Blair’s cheeks felt hot, not from sweat this time. “I checked there.”

Summer’s eyes moved quickly, scanning the court like she could spot the bottle from far away. “Then maybe it fell under the bench.”

Blair crouched and peered under the bench. Dust and tiny bits of grit sat there, but no bottle. The gym floor smelled like rubber and sweat, and the sound of other teams winding down swelled around them-shouts, shoes on the wood, the squeak of a cart.

Blair stood up slower. “I don’t want to use someone else’s bottle.”

Summer made a thoughtful sound, like she was listening to Blair’s worry. “You don’t have to,” she said. “We can fix it.”

Blair’s eyebrows lifted. “How?”

Summer pointed toward the hallway where the water station was. “We’ll check again. And if it’s not there… I have an extra.”

“Your extra?” Blair asked....