Chapter 5 — No Distractions
Sabrina Yu liked hallways because they didn’t ask questions.
They were in-between places. Neutral. Clean. Predictable.
She walked through the athletics building with her clipboard tucked under her arm, her schedule in her head, her shoulders set the way they always were when she was trying not to absorb other people’s noise.
Outside the performance office, the hallway widened into a small intersection of doors—training room to the left, coaches’ offices down the corridor, weight room double-doors on the right.
And straight ahead, mounted on the wall like a warning sign, the board.
Big. Laminated. Permanent-looking.
LOCKER ROOM RULES: NO DISTRACTIONS.
Sabrina had passed it before. Everyone had.
It was part of the building, like the smell of disinfectant and the scuff marks on the floor.
But today, something beneath the main text caught her eye.
A new line, written in black marker, slightly slanted, like someone had done it fast and meant it.
PLAY FOR SOMETHING REAL.
Sabrina slowed.
Then stopped.
Her first reaction surprised her—not skepticism, not annoyance.
Honesty, she thought.
It was almost… earnest.
Which was rare in a place where everyone was trained to act unbothered.
She leaned in a fraction, reading it again like it might change the second time.
PLAY FOR SOMETHING REAL.
It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t clever. It wasn’t safe.
It sounded like a person who was tired of pretending.
Sabrina’s grip tightened on her clipboard without her permission.
She didn’t know who wrote it, but she could guess who would hate it.
She kept walking, but she carried the words with her through the rest of her morning—through check-ins, through quick conversations with coaches, through the quiet hum of the training room where athletes pretended they weren’t scared.
By afternoon, she was back in the hallway, heading toward her office.
Max Delgado was there.
Not waiting by the door like last time.
Standing a few feet from the rules board, shoulders tense, jaw set, hands in his pockets like they were the only thing keeping him from doing something loud.
He wasn’t looking at his phone.
He was looking at the board.
Like it had personally offended him.
Sabrina slowed her pace without making it obvious.
Max muttered under his breath.
“Play for something real,” he said, the words rough and sarcastic. “Like that fixes anything.”
Sabrina stopped a few feet away.
Max didn’t turn yet. His posture went sharper anyway, like he felt her presence the way some people felt weather change.
Sabrina spoke calmly. “It’s not trying to fix anything.”
Max’s head tilted slightly, still not looking at her. “Sure.”
Sabrina kept her voice even. “It’s a reminder.”
Max’s laugh came out short. “A reminder to do what. Be a good guy.”
Sabrina stepped closer by one measured step, keeping distance without pretending she wasn’t there.
“Be a person,” she said.
Max finally turned.
His eyes hit hers like he wanted to win the moment by sheer force.
“This place doesn’t want people,” he said. “It wants results.”
Sabrina didn’t disagree. She just nodded once. “And you want results too.”
Max’s jaw worked. “Yeah.”
Sabrina’s gaze flicked to the handwriting under the rule. “So why does that line bother you.”
Max stared at it again, like it was a dare.
“It’s cheesy,” he said.
Sabrina waited.
Max’s shoulders rose and fell once, fast. “It’s… loud.”
Sabrina’s expression stayed steady. “Loud how.”
Max’s mouth twisted, irritation tightening his face. “Like it’s telling you what you’re supposed to care about.”
Sabrina nodded. “And you don’t like being told.”
Max’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
Sabrina let the silence sit long enough for the truth to float up.
Then she said, gently but clear, “Or you don’t like that it’s true.”
Max’s stare went hard.
For one second, it looked like he might snap.
Then his gaze flicked away, quick, like it cost him something.
“Whatever,” he muttered.
Sabrina didn’t move. She didn’t chase him down the hall. She didn’t soften what she’d said.
She just looked at the board one more time—at the printed rule and the handwritten line beneath it—and felt the quiet weight of it settle.
PLAY FOR SOMETHING REAL.
Max walked away like he had somewhere to be.
Sabrina watched him go, then stepped into her office and shut the door behind her.
A buzz hit her phone a minute later.
The anonymous campus gossip feed.
She didn’t follow it, but someone always sent screenshots, like gossip was another kind of weather that people tracked for safety.
The post was simple, with a photo of the board taken from an angle, the marker line centered like evidence.
“The rules board got updated. Who wrote that??”
Sabrina stared at it for a beat.
Then she locked her phone and set it face down.
If someone wrote it because they meant it, they deserved one thing.
Not to be turned into entertainment.