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Gideon doesn’t care that her captain needs help getting home after someone on the opposing team “accidentally” kicked the ball at her face and gave her a concussion. She doesn’t. Actually, you know what? It totally serves her right! Since Gideon’s joined, Harrow has been nothing but a stone-cold bitch to her. Gideon doesn’t get it.
If she'd gotten an academic scholarship, she wouldn't have to worry about it. As it is, her scholarship is only good if she stays on the team. She would have quit after the first time Harrow made her run drills until she was sick, otherwise. All Gideon had done was crack a fucking joke! And the worst part? Coach let her.
So no, when Coach asks Gideon because the other girls all have someplace to be afterward, she says, “how do you know I don’t have somewhere to be?”
Coach gives her a withering look. “You’re telling me you have a family engagement? All the other girls do. Take Harrow home, Nav.”
Ouch. That hurts. Coach knows that Gideon is—was—a foster kid. “Fine.” She really can’t jeopardize that scholarship.
The ride to Harrow’s apartment from the stadium, instructions provided by Coach, is anything but pleasant. For one, Harrow is even quieter than usual, which Gideon thinks may be some sort of world record of petulance.
“Hey, you need to keep talking to me for me to make sure you don’t have brain damage, Nonagesimus.”
“I hate you.”
“There you go.” That’s better than the uncanny quiet, at least for Gideon.
Eventually, they get to the apartment complex, and Gideon opens the door for Harrow out of some misguided sense of chivalry. She shouldn’t have bothered.
“I don’t need your help, Griddle,” Harrow says, and she doesn’t really look like she needs help, but still.
“Let me get you inside or Coach is gonna kill me,” she says.
It’s not particularly persuasive, but Harrow looks up at her and then shrugs. “Fine.”
Harrow is on the bottom floor, which is a relief because after that game, Gideon doesn’t have the patience for dragging her up God-knows how many stairs.
Harrow’s hands are shaking as she tries to open the door, and Gideon takes the key more out of impatience than kindness. Harrow doesn’t protest. Weird.
“Careful opening the door. Ortus could escape,” is all Harrow says.
“Who?”
She gets her answer when she opens the door and a fluffy, fat, gray cat shoots out. Out of instinct, Gideon reaches for it and grabs it before it can get very far.
The cat doesn’t like that. Gideon gets scratched up in the few seconds it takes for Harrow to grab the cat off of her with more affection than Gideon had thought she was capable of.
“I didn’t know you had a cat.”
Harrow shrugs and walks inside, petting the cat’s head as it purrs.
“Bye Nav,” and slams the door on Gideon’s face.
Gideon scowls. Watch her help Harrow out again, she thinks, kicking the ground and heading back to her car.