In Her Boots

Dinner had been a quiet affair for once, no food fights, no shouting across the hall, just the low hum of cutlery and tired conversation. Now, the lounge was filled with the kind of silence you only got after a full day in the sun.

Beth and Hempo were sprawled on the floor with a blanket, watching some comedy rerun on TV. Leah was curled into the corner of the sofa, May's head in her lap, fast asleep. Every so often, Leah absentmindedly brushed her fingers through May's damp hair, still faintly smelling of saltwater. I was next to them, leaning back, phone in hand, chatting to Keira who was also scrolling on her phone. We'd occasionally talk about something one of us just saw showing each other our screen.

I scrolled through instagram. A couple of group selfies from the beach were already making the rounds on Instagram. Then I spotted it, Leah's story.

It was a candid shot, clearly taken on the sand earlier. May stood wet hair, laughing, eyes squinting in the sun, hair messy from the waves, that navy-blue cropped rash guard on. The caption was simple: Surfing coach for the day 🏄‍♀️.

I smiled, ready to tap through, but paused when I saw something else. My thumb hovered over the explore page, and there it was. The picture had been reposted. Not once. Dozens of times.

"Captain and her girl? 👀"
"She's too busy playing WAG to care about football."
"She's way too unfocused to be at the WC"
"Model body, footballer brain? Not seeing it."
"England's sweetheart? More like surfer's sidekick."
"Guess we know who's getting special treatment this WC."

The comments kept spiralling. The more I scrolled, the worse they got — and not just speculation about Leah and May. They were picking her apart, from her body to her priorities, like they'd been waiting for a reason.

My chest tightened. This. This was exactly what I'd been trying to protect her from. The internet didn't care that she'd been grinding through training, that she'd earned her spot here on her own. All they saw was a younger player dating the captain and looking good in a bikini.

My phone buzzed. Mum.

Why is Amaya getting hate? What's going on?

I stared at the text for a long moment. Mum didn't get how this world worked didn't get that every post, every smile, every second in front of a camera was an invitation for strangers to weigh in. My eyes drifted up from the screen. Leah was still watching the TV, a small smile on her lips as May shifted in her lap. She had no idea. Neither of them did. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't know whether to keep it that way, or blow this whole quiet evening apart.

—-----

Morning at Camp

I caught her just before breakfast, slipping out of the dorm in an oversized hoodie and shorts, hair still damp from her shower. "Hey—" I touched her arm, pulling her to one side, away from the noise spilling out of the dining hall. "You okay?"

She frowned lightly, adjusting her sleeve. "Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

I hesitated, trying not to sound like the overbearing sister I'd been last camp. "I saw your socials last night. They... looked rough."

May's shrug was effortless. Too effortless. "Water off a duck's back, Lou. People are bored, they'll move on." That should have reassured me, but I knew her too well. May's always been good at brushing things off for other people's sake, but inside? I'd bet half my salary that some part of those comments had sunk in, confirming every quiet doubt she's ever had about herself.

I nudged gently, trying to see past the armour. "If you ever want to—"

"We're in a relationship," she interrupted, voice steady. "Me and Leah. I'm not denying it, Lou."