Warren had been your typical track and field star. A bit of a dick, but everyone overlooked it because he could throw a ball further than anyone else his age. Hell, “overlooked” was an understatement. “Outright ignored” would have been more accurate. He was popular with most of the guys, a lot of the girls and a significant portion of the teachers. There were whispers of sports scholarships to prestigious universities in the future, should he play his cards right.

So, play them right he did. He studied just enough to pass, but not so much that it interrupted his training. He ran laps every day, swam twice a week and never, ever, skipped leg day. Saturdays were spent on the football field, and Saturday nights were spent at parties at various team member’s houses. While some might think this was achieved by sneaking out, it was actually done at his own father’s insistence.

“Networking is important, boy,” Mr Connor pontificated from behind his massive mahogany desk, “so go out and make friends. Not with losers though, ye ken?”

Warren had sat in the uncomfortable chair opposite, his eyes stinging slightly from his father’s cigar smoke. “Aye father. No point cozying up to the weak link on the team, just makes it harder to cut them when needed.”

Old man Connor tapped the side of his nose with the hand holding his Scotch tumbler, sloshing the golden liquid inside, then pointed at Warren. Clearly the response had his approval.

Warren’s mother chose this moment to poke her head into the study. “Come on laddie, you’re gon’ be late.”

When his father gave an assenting nod, Warren stood and followed his mother out the door. Tonight’s going to be epic, he thought to himself. Chad’s pool parties always are.

After an amount of primping and preening that would have your average dad asking “is there a girl in there?” Warren exited the house trailing a cloud of Axe body spray thick enough to choke a goat. He jumped into the passenger side of his Tesla Model 15 and threw the seat so far back he was practically lying down. “Chad’s place. Party mix, volume eighty percent.”

The car pulled away from the driveway with a delightful sensation of harnessed power, the acceleration pushing him deeper into the soft seat cushions. Various pop songs blared out of the speakers and Warren bopped along, singing at the top of his lungs, getting lyrics wrong and caring not a whit. The guidance system onboard had long been perfected and the car moved through the traffic like a fish through a stream, dodging slower, manual driven vehicles. The joy of being better off than others trilled through him with every smooth overtake manoeuvre.

The music quietened and a soothing electronic melody overlaid the faster tempo pop song. “Answer!” Warren ordered.

“Dude!” Chad’s surfer drawl of a voice replaced the melody. “Where are you? Steve’s bro brought these aaahsome drinks and we’re all getting blasted by the pool!”

“Which one was Steve again?” Warren asked. “He the guy with the blond hair or the guy from Canada?”

“Canada. So, you nearly here or what?”

“Nearly, I’ll be about five minutes according to the car.” Warren replied, checking the dash display. “See you then.” With a wave he dismissed the call and returned to the music.

Fifteen minutes later he rolled into the drive of Chad’s parent’s mansion. A glitch in the road management system had caused a delay getting off the highway and made the car take the next off-ramp to what he should have, then had to navigate through the suburbs with all their pedestrians and kids playing in the street. He didn’t let it get to him, just vibed with the tunes.

The moment the car door opened Warren commando rolled out onto the gravel, bounded up the stairs, bowled through the doors and yelled “Beer me!” A cold can arced through the air to slap into his outstretched hand. With a flourish, Warren popped the ring pull and downed the contents in a single chug. He belched loud enough to echo off the entrance hall’s impressive roof, momentarily drowning out the music, and crushed the can on his head. Some traditions never change, ingrained in the collective psyche by generations of teen movies as they have been. And, as per tradition, in the next moment he was inundated by a crowd of adoring fans, offering red cups of unnamable drinks and chest bumps that made whatever had been in the cups slosh all over the floor.

“Brah! You made it!” A Californian surf god, a Hemsworth in red boardies, called down the hall from the back door. “We’re out here, and there’s a cold one with your name on it!”

“Chadwell, put a shirt on. Hauld on a wee, I’ll be out in a sec.”

Like the Red Sea parting before an ancient Jewish prophet, a way cleared for Warren to strut through the house, through the kitchen so well stocked that it could have fed an army - yet looked entirely unused for actual cooking - and out onto the back patio. Somewhere along the way a fresh cup appeared in his hand, and he even managed to drink some of it before throwing himself into a beach chair beside the pool. It was only a cheap cola though, so he tipped the brown liquid on the grass behind him and checked out his surroundings, seeking something more appropriate to quench his thirst.

A decent sized pool dominated the yard, with a volleyball net that spanned the midpoint and a two storey structure that sported not one but two waterslides. A spa area at one end was already frothing up around the bodies of the occupants crammed around the table in the centre, a table loaded with cups, cans and chips. Warren noted some swimwear had already been surreptitiously stashed in the bushes around the spa, and briefly wondered what the bubbles were concealing. But that was a problem for Future Warren. Present Warren was still scanning for the promised “aaahsome” drinks, and found his mark in a cooler packed with ice on the main table over by the grill. Chad was holding court with one of the bottles from the cooler as his sceptre, an iridescent glass shaft that shifted between green, purple and gold as it shimmered in the late afternoon sun.

Warren let Chad have his moment, pretending to sip from his empty cup while he listened with half an ear to what a breathlessly excited girl was trying to tell him as he surveyed the lay of the land, getting a feel for the cliques and the flow of the party. The whole team was here, even the guys that warmed the bench every game in the hopes that one day Coach would let them have a run. Everyone had brought at least a plus one, usually plus two or three, girls, guys, neither and both. Some were just here to be seen to be here, so Warren made a note to avoid them. Some were here in the hope that they could have the top players influence Coach and maybe get to play one day. Those were worth watching for rising stars, it wouldn’t do to be on the outs with one of those. Stars together shine brighter after all.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Then, of course, there were the regulars. Most of them sat with Chad, sipping from those enticing bottles and loading their plates with meat from the grill. Warren trained and played with them six days a week and he knew them like the back of his hand. He knew their strengths and weaknesses, as they knew his. They were a team of winners and they knew it.

And he was their captain. They knew that too. So as he levered himself out of the deckchair, made his excuses to the girl, and approached the table he was immediately offered food and the seat at the head. Chad popped the top off a fresh bottle with a loud fsst and proffered it. “Here Cuz, I was starting to think you’d forgotten about us.”

“Aye, I nearly did. You’re so well camouflaged over here. How are Auntie Hellen and Uncle Michael?” Warren took the drink and examined the side of the bottle closely, but apart from the shimmering coating there didn’t seem to be anything written on it. He raised an eyebrow, the unspoken What is this?hanging in the air.

“Like, so chill. Mom’s chinchilla yoga studio is totally taking off and you know how Pops is, everyone workin’ for Gramps like they do. Sometimes I think you see my Pops more than I do.” Chad took a long swig and sighed. “That’s what Mom reckons, anyway. Tells me I need to do good in school so if Gramps leaves the business to Pops then I can inherit it when I’m old enough. I just want to see Bell’s Beach and catch that One Wave before I do. Yah know?”

This was the first Warren had ever heard of Seanair leaving the company to anyone but his own father, but he chose to bite his tongue for now. He knew the politics of “favourite child” mixed with “big business” was a whole other level to what he was used to. He resolved to ask his father about it later and moved on. “You’ll do it, I’m sure.” Warren tried the drink, finding it to be fizzy and mildly like watermelon. A similar effect would be achieved by taking a single melon ball, placing it in a bathtub worth of water and blending. At least it wasn’t sharp like pure carbonated water would have been. A gentle warmth suffused Warren’s tongue and chased the drink down his throat, confirming that it was indeed an alcoholic drink at least.

A plate piled with ribs and coated in sauce clattered to the table in front of him and a pair of tongs clacked over them. “You been to India?” the tong wielder asked in a lazy Australian drawl. “No? Well get that India.” Barry, the international student from the land down under, had taken over the manning of the grill from the moment he joined the team and nobody had ever regretted it. His mastery of the “barbie arts” as he called them ensured a good feed all round. He could even grill Beyond meats so well you’d think they were genuine cow.

“Thanks Baz, smells great.” Warren tucked into the meal as the conversation resumed around him. He listened to discussions ranging from the previous night’s sportscast to comparisons of new motorcycles to relationship woes. Warren knew a good captain kept his fingers on the pulse of the team, that which happened off the field could be as crucial to winning as what happened during the game. If they were going to take the trophy home he needed all cylinders firing, as his father said. When asked what that meant, Warren had been treated to a multi-hour lecture on internal combustion engines and their place in history. What he’d taken away was that every good team works like a well-oiled machine with every part performing its role perfectly.

“Steve, I know your brother is a good guy at heart,” Warren interjected, “but you need to have a word with him about that. Take the whole defensive line if you need to, but clear out that garage and then call the cops. Mandy shouldn’t be asking him to hold on to that sort of thing.”

Steve, sitting on the other side of the table and several seats down, blinked in surprise. “Uh, thanks cap. I didn’t know you heard.”

“Tis no' a bother,” Warren waved away the thanks. “I’ll talk to DeShaun myself to organise a time if you need. We’re a team here, we’ve all got your back if you need it.”

Steve ducked his head in thanks and then held out his drink in a salute. It was just one of many such issues that cropped up between hormonal teenagers, all hell-bent on living their lives to the maximum before school ended and they had to get homes and careers and other such boring things. Like the event being co-ordinated at the other end of the pool for example. Ten of the party-goers had already lined themselves up on opposite sides of the pool with more splashing over to join in. One held a ball and would toss it over the middle of the water, with alternating contestants leaping to catch it and toss it to the next as they crashed into the water below. The ball passed from hand to hand along the pool until the final diver completely failed to dunk it in the plastic basketball hoop, so they all hauled themselves onto the side to try again. At least three of the uninvolved were climbing fences, trees, trellises, anything for a better vantage to record the next attempt to post to social media.

“I’m going to go show them how it’s done. Wildcats, who’s with me?” Warren stood up suddenly, crossing his arms, tapping his closed fist against his shoulder twice and then miming a cat scratching.

“Wildcats HO!” The rest of the team leapt to their feet and repeated the move. They shouldered their way through the crowd, firmly but not harshly displacing anyone in the way. The team split themselves evenly in half without talking, just nods and grunts. When they were in place, Warren hollered “HO!” and the ball was launched over the centre of the pool. The boys smoothly passed the wet orb down the line until it reached Warren, who dunked it with a meteoric splash.

Whoops and cheers echoed all around as he surfaced, water streaming from his muscular body and he flexed, giving the crowd the show they were demanding. Laughing and hooting, Warren launched himself onto the rim of the pool like a walrus where he flopped around and bathed in the adoration. When the novelty wore off he sauntered back to the table and grabbed his drink, finishing the bottle in a single throw and using the table edge to pop the lid off a fresh one. These really go down easy, don’t they? he mused, tossing a chip in the air and catching it in his mouth. More members of the team squelched over, some towelling off, some air drying or hugging random party-goers to use their clothes to absorb the water. Squeals and giggles followed the latter, and a few grumbles from the party poopers. This is going to be EPIC! The thought echoed in his head as he chugged the delicious liquid.

Warren found the bottle in his hand empty and peered suspiciously through the neck in case the drink had found a way to sneak out without him noticing. He blinked and shook his head to clear it of the buzzing and looked around. He felt a bit tired, as though he’d been running drills and there was dirt on his chest for some reason. He reached for another chip and the bowl was empty as well, so he stood up slightly unsteadily, grabbed a chip from a bowl further down the table and plunged his hand into the drinks cooler. The sting of the ice brought back memories in a rush, the impromptu game of football they’d played, the challenge to see who could do the most laps of the pool without surfacing, the Nerf war. Oh, the Nerf war. Warren spaced out for a moment as the events played back in this mind. I definitely owe what’s-her-name a new blouse. Who flushes a position with an esky of Gatorade anyway?

Chad dropped a heavy hand on Warren's shoulder, making him jump out of his skin. Warren whipped up the bottle in his hand, pointing it like a Nerf blaster and trying to pull the non-existent trigger. A thin stream of ice cold water splashed into Chad’s eyes, causing him to blink and pull a face. “Woah, Chad. Where’d you come from?”

“Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much…” Chad started, “I came from around the side.” He trailed off lamely. “Hey, Cuz, we’re all out of drinks and no-one’s sober enough to drive. Can we take yours? It drives itself.”

"You know none of us are old enough to buy drinks, right?” Warren asked.

“Oh, we’re not buying. I’ve alreay sorted the drinks. We just have to pick them up.” Chad flashed that winning smile of his. He was almost as good with people as Warren was, he’d probably even be captain of the team if Warren hadn’t been there. “We just need you behind the wheel or it won’t go anywhere.”

Warren took a look at the almost empty bottle in his hand and shrugged. “Well, in that case, I could do with another.”