Counter tackle

The next day, rain chased them off the ropes courses and trapped them in the cabin, where the others chatted and played cards. After lunch, some of the boys started a tackle game on the field with an oblong ball, and Ryn thought it would be a relief to do something away from Naomi. She asked to join and they fought over who would take her until one with a twangy accent rolled his eyes at the bickering and invited her to his side.
Her toes curled when she spotted Patrick on the other team.
Intuiting the rules from a few plays, she waited for the ball to snap and darted across the field, separating from the others in a burst of speed. The thrower who had invited her to his team fired from back in the rain, ball spiraling wide of her trajectory. She sensed Patrick coming up on her, caught the scent of his exertion—it tasted aggressive and wrong somehow.
Pivoting in the mud, she cut hard and the ball thudded into her outstretched hand. Its spin squeaked in her wet grip and cheers shot abruptly from the sideline—the girls were watching. Naomi is watching.
Patrick dove at her from behind. Ryn flicked low and nailed his middle with her shoulder. As he folded into her and went rolling over top, she used her strength to fling him higher so that he sailed end-over-end. When he hit earth, he skidded, flipped, skidded again, and splashed into an enormous mud puddle.
She had no idea what was wrong with Patrick, but her gut told her something was. Untrustworthy. Glancing up at Naomi, though, she saw the auburn-haired teen’s mouth was an angry, straight line. Ryn tossed her wet hair over one shoulder, meeting her friend’s glare.
The thrower who’d invited her to play jogged over, helping Patrick up. Patrick groaned, stumbling.
“Let’s… let’s play two-hand touch,” the thrower said, with nervous looks at Ryn.


Chapter 19, Page 299-300