3. Elodie
Chapter 3
Elodie
I rushed through the hallway, my steps echoing against the cold tile floors of Crestwood Academy. The clock on my phone mocked me; I was running late. Again. My stepmother had kept me busy all morning, no doubt punishment for the incident last night. I didn’t even get a chance to finish my homework.
The girls’ locker room was a mess. Clothes and towels strewn about like the aftermath of a storm, shampoo bottles left open, and the distinct smell of sweat mingled with floral body spray filled the air. I got to work quickly, folding towels and picking up discarded gym clothes, my mind half-focused on an essay due tomorrow.
After what felt like an eternity, I was finally done. My shift wasn’t over yet, though; I still had to check the boys' locker room. I approached the door, knocking firmly.
“Hello? It’s Elodie. Coming in to clean,” I called out, waiting for any sign that someone might still be inside.
Silence greeted me. With a deep breath, I pushed the door open.
The boys' locker room hit me like a wall of heat and stench. The heavy odor of sweat and old socks mingled with the sharp scent of disinfectant barely masking it. It was different from the girls' locker room—more raw, more intense. I stepped inside, nose wrinkling as I adjusted to the smell.
Lockers stood ajar with crumpled uniforms spilling out like secrets unwillingly revealed. Empty water bottles rolled on the floor alongside crumpled papers and sports gear. The air felt thick and humid, making each breath feel laborious.
I started with the benches, stacking forgotten jerseys and wiping down surfaces slick with moisture. The floor came next; a combination of mud tracks and dried sweat formed an unpleasant mosaic underfoot.
A loud clang echoed from deeper within the locker room, snapping me back to reality.
“Is someone there?” My voice sounded smaller than intended against the tiled walls.
No response came, just the hum of fluorescent lights overhead and distant laughter from students in other parts of the building.
I continued cleaning, my hands moving methodically despite my racing thoughts. This place was suffocating at times—both Crestwood Academy and home—but I couldn’t afford to falter now. Not when every day felt like another step closer to escape.
As I moved deeper into the locker room, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Maybe it was just my nerves playing tricks on me. I shook it off and kept working, focusing on each task to keep my mind occupied.
When I reached the bathroom, I pushed the door open with my hip, balancing a stack of towels in one arm and a spray bottle in the other. The door swung open silently, revealing the tiled expanse within.
My heart stopped. One of the players stood there, his back against the wall, eyes half-closed in pleasure. Kneeling before him was a girl, her head bobbing rhythmically.
I froze, my face heating up instantly. For a split second, I thought about sneaking out quietly, hoping they hadn’t noticed me. But fate had other plans.
My foot caught on the edge of a bench as I tried to backpedal, and I went sprawling forward. Towels flew everywhere, the spray bottle clattering loudly against the tiles.
The girl screamed, jerking away and scrambling to her feet. She didn’t look back as she bolted out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of shock and embarrassment in her wake.
The guy’s eyes snapped open and locked onto mine. He didn’t say anything at first—just stared at me with a mix of curiosity and amusement. My face burned hotter as I fumbled to pick up the scattered towels and supplies.
He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
Not in this context.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, not daring to meet his gaze directly.
He didn’t move from his spot except to adjust himself, watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, his voice calm and low.
I grabbed the last towel and stood up, clutching everything tightly to my chest as if it could shield me from this mortifying moment. I’d never been this embarrassed before; it felt like my whole body was on fire.
The guy leaned against the wall, his messy hair and dark circles giving him a wild, almost unkempt appearance. His uniform hung loosely on his lanky frame, and there was a smirk playing on his lips that made my stomach twist in knots.
"Who are you?" His voice was gruff, curiosity lacing each word. "I've never seen you before."
"I work here." My voice was barely above a whisper. "Locker room attendant."
"Name?"
I almost looked over my shoulder. I knew he was talking to me, but it still felt weird. No one really asked unless it was a professor or something.
"Elodie," I said.
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Well, Elodie, you sure know how to make an entrance." He smirked. “I’m Keaton… Keaton Douglas.”
I did know him. He played hockey.. among other things.
My face burned hotter as I tried to gather myself. "That... that was really unhygienic," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "Doing... that... in a public locker room."
His eyes widened slightly in surprise, then he chuckled, the sound low and rough like gravel. "Unhygienic, huh? You'd be surprised what you'd do knowing how good it'd feel." He leaned forward slightly. "Is that something you know?"
My heart pounded in my chest as I met his gaze, mortification creeping up my spine. "Are you asking me if I'm a virgin?" The words spilled out before I could filter them.
His smirk turned into a full grin. "You are, aren't you?"
I tightened my grip on the towels, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "That's none of your business."
He shrugged casually but kept his eyes on me, an amused glint in them. "Touchy subject?"
"Just inappropriate," I snapped back, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. "You don't even know me."
"Fair enough," he said with a lazy shrug. "Didn't mean to offend your delicate sensibilities." His tone dripped with sarcasm.
I stood up straighter, forcing myself to hold his gaze despite the flush creeping up my neck. "Well, you did."
For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then he pushed off the wall and walked past me towards the exit. He paused at the door and looked back over his shoulder.
"See you around, Elodie," he said with a wink before disappearing into the hallway.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I'd been holding and quickly gathered the rest of my things.
My heart still pounded as I gathered the scattered towels, my hands shaking slightly. The embarrassment from the encounter with that boy—whoever he was—clung to me like a second skin. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, wiping down benches and mopping up stray puddles of water. My mind kept replaying the conversation, his smirk, and that infuriating wink.
The locker room seemed to close in around me, the walls pressing in as I hurried to finish. I moved quickly, my eyes darting to the door every few seconds. The last thing I needed was for him to come back and catch me still here. I could practically feel his gaze on me even though he was gone.
The meticulous attention to detail I usually prided myself on was absent today; all I wanted was to get out of there. My hands fumbled with the spray bottle as I wiped down the last sink, my thoughts still tangled with images of his mocking grin.
Despite my best efforts, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Who was he? Why had he been so amused by our encounter? And why did his presence affect me so much? The questions buzzed in my mind like persistent gnats, refusing to be swatted away.
I threw the last of the dirty towels into the laundry bin and wiped my hands on my apron. Taking a deep breath, I surveyed the room one last time. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. My nerves were too frayed to care about perfection right now.
I grabbed my cleaning supplies and hurried out of the locker room, not stopping until I reached the relative safety of the hallway. Leaning against the cool tile wall, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, willing myself to calm down.
His face flashed in my mind again—the lazy smirk, the challenging eyes—and an inexplicable warmth spread through me. It annoyed me how easily he had gotten under my skin. He had no right to make me feel this way.
Shaking off the lingering thoughts, I pushed myself away from the wall and started walking towards my next task. There was no time for distractions or mysterious boys with infuriating grins. I had work to do and a scholarship to maintain.
But as much as I tried to push him from my mind, his image lingered stubbornly in the back of my thoughts, refusing to be ignored.
I rushed into the classroom just as class began, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. The faint smell of sweat clung to me, a reminder of my rushed morning. There had been no time for a shower after my locker room duties, and I worried that it might be noticeable.
The sociology classroom was spacious, with rows of desks arranged in a semi-circle facing the front where Professor Turner stood. Posters about various social movements and historical events decorated the walls, adding color to the otherwise plain room. Large windows along one side let in plenty of natural light, giving the space a warm and inviting atmosphere.
I quickly found my usual seat next to Peter. He had a boyish charm, with soft features. His dark hair was always slightly tousled, and his blue eyes sparkled with a quiet intelligence.
As I slid into my seat, I couldn't help but blush. My heart fluttered nervously as I hoped I looked decent enough despite my disheveled state. Peter was already absorbed in his notes, his pen moving swiftly across the page. I admired his dedication and often found myself wishing I could muster the same level of focus.
"Hey, Elodie," he greeted without looking up from his notebook.
"Hey, Peter," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
I opened my own notebook and pretended to be engrossed in it, but my mind kept wandering back to him. His presence always made me feel both excited and anxious—a strange mix of emotions that left me feeling off-balance.
Professor Turner began the lecture, diving into the topic of social stratification. Her voice was clear and authoritative as she explained the different theories and perspectives on how societies are structured. I tried to concentrate on her words, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Peter sitting next to me.
I stole glances at him out of the corner of my eye, hoping he wouldn't notice. His focused expression only made him more endearing, and I found myself captivated by the way he absorbed information so effortlessly.
As Professor Turner continued her lecture, I did my best to take notes and keep up with the discussion. But no matter how hard I tried to focus on sociology, Peter's presence was a constant distraction—a pleasant yet frustrating reminder of my unspoken feelings for him.
"That's it," Turner finished. "Class dismissed."
I hurriedly packed up my things, my mind still a whirl of sociology theories and Peter’s proximity.
I stood at the bus stop, clutching my worn-out backpack and shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement, and I could feel its warmth on my back. A few other students from Crestwood Academy waited nearby, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. I kept to myself, as usual, staring down the road and willing the bus to appear.
Just then, I saw Keaton walking toward his car. My heart rate spiked. His tall frame moved with a casual confidence that made him stand out even among Crestwood's elite. His blond hair was tousled in that effortlessly cool way, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the parking lot.
Panic gripped me. I nearly jumped out of my skin as I ducked behind the bus stop sign, trying to make myself invisible. My pulse hammered in my ears as I watched him approach his car—a sleek Maserati that gleamed under the sun.
I felt a twinge of envy. Not for the car itself, but for the freedom it represented—freedom from waiting for buses and dealing with my stepfamily's demands. For a moment, I allowed myself to dream of what it would be like to live without those burdens.
Just as I thought I might go unnoticed, Keaton glanced over and caught sight of me huddled awkwardly behind the sign. His intense blue eyes met mine, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He arched an eyebrow, clearly amused by my attempt to hide.
Heat rushed to my face, and I fumbled with my backpack strap, trying to look busy and nonchalant.
Keaton’s smirk widened into a grin as he unlocked his car and slid into the driver’s seat with an easy grace that only seemed to highlight how out of place I felt.
He revved the engine—a deep, throaty roar that turned heads—and then peeled off with a screech of tires that left a cloud of dust in its wake.
I watched him go, feeling both relieved and embarrassed. The bus finally arrived, its brakes hissing as it came to a stop in front of me. As I climbed aboard and found a seat near the back, I couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to have everything handed to you so effortlessly.
With a sigh, I settled into my seat and tried to push thoughts of Keaton out of my mind, focusing instead on getting home and facing whatever new challenges awaited me there.
I walked up the steps to the house, feeling the weight of another long day pressing down on me. The familiar creak of the porch under my feet was a small comfort, but it didn’t prepare me for what I saw when I opened the door.
My stepmother, Marion, stood in the living room, her usual stern expression replaced with an unsettling smile. She was talking to a man I didn’t recognize—a wiry figure with graying hair slicked back and a suit that looked slightly too big for his skinny frame. His eyes roamed around the room before landing on me, and a chill ran down my spine.
"Oh, Elodie, there you are," Marion said, her tone unusually warm. She crossed the room and placed a stiff hand on my shoulder. "Come on. Always the dutiful student."
I stared at her, bewildered by her sudden change in demeanor. Her grip on my shoulder was firm, almost possessive, as she guided me further into the room.
“Elodie,” the man said in a low voice that sent shivers down my spine. “So good to meet you finally. Your mother here has told me about you.”
He extended a hand, and I forced myself to take it. His skin felt clammy against mine, and I had to resist the urge to pull away immediately.
“ Step mother,” I corrected automatically. I glanced back at Marion, hoping for some sort of explanation. Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Elodie,” she said with an almost sickly sweetness, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’d like you to meet William Harding… your new fiancé.”
The words hung in the air like a bad odor. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to process what she had just said.
“Fiancé?” I echoed, barely able to believe my ears.
“Yes,” she replied, her grip tightening on my shoulder. “Mr. Harding has agreed to take care of our financial troubles… in exchange for your hand in marriage.”
William’s smile broadened as he watched me struggle with the revelation.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “We’ll get along just fine.”