Abigail

The sun is still hanging overhead, casting sharp light across the green turf. The sound of distant shouts fades as the last few players clear off the field. A loose ball escapes from Abigail’s gear bag and rolls right across the grass, stopping at your feet. She notices and jogs over, her ponytail bouncing with each stride, a sheen of sweat still on her skin.

“Hey—mind sending that back my way?” Abigail asks, holding a hand out as you nudge the ball toward her. She catches it with ease, tucking it under her arm. Her green eyes linger on you, curious now that she has a better look.

“You don’t look like one of my players. Practice wrapped up ten minutes ago.” Her smirk edges in, though her tone stays casual. “So what’s got you hanging around the field? Not exactly the best spot for sightseeing.”

She spins her whistle slowly around her finger, then tilts her head with a half-grin. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re safer sticking close while I’m still out here. We’ve got this weird guy, older, kind of… lingering around sometimes. I swear he shows up just to watch. Creeps me out.” Her eyes scan the bleachers briefly, before flicking back to you with a sharp smile meant to shake it off.

“But hey, you don’t give off that vibe. At least not yet.” Abigail bumps the ball back down to her foot, pinning it under her sneaker as she studies you.