14 - Elizabeth
Elizabeth
The first thing I noticed when I stepped onto campus was the noise.
It wasn’t the usual hustle and bustle we had all gotten used to.
There were no shuffles of backpacks as students shoved past each other.
You could usually hear students sipping their first morning coffees, but even that had died down.
And the half-awake conversations were basically nonexistent.
But the sound that was there was loud and rhythmic. Like they were having an early morning prep rally. It was deliberate and intense, like a statement demanding to be made. Confused, I rounded the corner to Havenport’s main quad, and when my eyes landed on the commotion, I stopped short.
A fraternity had lined the brick walkway leading to the administration building as if they were on a parade route.
There were fifteen or maybe even twenty guys standing shoulder to shoulder.
They had red and blue lettered jackets thrown over sweatpants, and each of them had a large cup of coffee in their hands.
They all had their phones out, waiting for a viral moment to fall into their laps.
That alone made it clear they weren’t hanging around for any good reason.
Then they said something that gave it all away.
“Twentyyy-four to seventeen!”
The chant rolled down the line like an exaggerated sing-song.
“Defense is optional!” one of them shouted.
“Rose for MVP! Most Valuable Pick,” someone else added.
The crowd erupted in laughter, but my reaction was nowhere near the same. Something in my stomach dropped hard enough to physically hurt. And suddenly I felt sick. Their behavior was disgusting, and yet they didn’t seem to care.
A few of the guys came into the gauntlet, and the sight broke my heart. Their backpacks hung low. They all wore headphones and fixed their eyes on their destination.
Dylan was the first to react. He blew a kiss at the loudest guy, bowed dramatically and said, “Autographs later, boys!”
Lucas clapped once and spread his arms triumphantly. “We’re flattered, really. We had no idea that we actually had a fan club!”
The frat boys got even louder, hurling one insult on top of another. Not paying any mind to the fact that no one could understand what they were saying when they spoke over each other.
Malik walked past with no reaction at all, but I could see that he was clenching his jaw. And finally, was poor old Cam. He was a few steps behind the other guys. He pulled his hoodie over his head despite the mild weather, and glued his gaze to the pavement.
One of the frat boys stepped out with his phone held high and said, “Hey kicker! Maybe you should try aiming for the posts next time!”
Cam didn’t react. It was the right thing to do, but it made things so much worse. My heart shattered at the sight, but I didn’t follow them. If I wanted to find out what happened, I’d need to do it in another way because the guys already had enough on their plates.
Suddenly Jenna slid up behind me, desperately trying to catch her breath. “Have you checked your phone?”
“Should I have?” I asked numbly.
Jenna shook her head and shoved her cell into my hand. “Look.”
The screen lit up with a meme. It was a slow-motion screenshot of Ethan getting hit just after release. His body was twisted mid-impact, and the ball was still in the frame.
Someone captioned it, “When you carry the whole team but forget to carry the ball.”
A wave of heat rushed over my cheeks, and I swallowed hard. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Did someone really go that far just to humiliate the guys? Was that what caused the outburst? Jenna swiped and things only got worse.
It was a still of the defense missing a tackle. And the caption read, “Sponsored by Swiss Cheese.”
She swiped again, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I saw a poll.
Is Ozzy Harris:
A basketball coach in the wrong building.
A social experiment.
Fired by Thanksgiving.
The post had over eight hundred likes, and sadly, most of the people voted C. It felt like my heart was going to crumble, but then Jenna swiped again. I closed my eyes, not knowing how much more I could take.
It was a video edit of Ethan’s interception. The editor cut it at the worst moment, and it replayed on a loop. And to make matters worse, it had circus music layered over it. The commenters on this one went overboard.
“QB thinks he’s the man,” one person said.
“The transfer portal must look real tempting at this point,” another added.
“Bench Rose and let someone who knows how to play in a team try.”
Jenna tried to swipe again, but I grabbed her wrist and returned the phone.
Why is this happening?” I asked softly.
“It’s called @HighlanderDisasterClass,” Jenna said as she took in the surrounding riot. “The page launched last night and already has eight hundred followers. It’s climbing by the minute.”
I felt something ignite beneath my ribs, but I wasn’t sure if it was a fire fueled by rage, or a crush caused by the devastating impact this had.
Yet none of that mattered because Ethan invaded my mind.
I knew how personally he took every loss and how much he beat himself up because of them.
He was probably doing it already. I had seen the way he avoided me after the game and how his shoulders tensed during his interview with Penny.
This must’ve been eating him up. It wasn’t just a couple of silly photos like Lucas did with his prank. This was a public execution of epic proportions.
“I need to find him,” I mumbled.
Jenna caught my arm. “El, wait…”
But I quickly pulled out of her grasp and kept moving.
My gaze moved between classes as if I were looking for a missing person.
I stormed through the business building, but there was no sign of him.
Then I went to the library, but our study spot was empty.
I went to the student center next, and laughter and flashing phone screens met me.
Every single time someone snickered near me, my skin crawled, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I had to keep my focus on Ethan because if I didn’t, I would end up doing something I’d regret.
By the time I reached the field, the day was ending.
The air felt heavier. Practice was underway, and the bleachers were full.
They weren’t completely packed, but they held enough people to make an impact.
There was a cluster of students who lounged across three rows.
And every single one of them had a phone pointed at the field.
The guys’ every move came with some form of commentary, and exaggerated groans met every incomplete pass.
“Rose! That guy is wearing the same color as you!” one of them shouted.
“Coach! It’s time to return to the court! Basketball practice has started!” someone else added.
One of them even got a printed, blown-up still of Ethan mid-interception. And he taped it to a cardboard sign that said, “No ‘I’ in team! But there is one in interception!”
Their laughter cut deeper than a sharp blade.
I stopped at the base of the bleachers and watched Ethan take the snap.
There was a quick drop and a throw over the middle.
It was slightly high, but Lucas adjusted.
Unfortunately, the ball tipped off his fingertips and fell incomplete. Naturally, the bleachers erupted.
“Wow! He found his own guy and still missed!”
Darkness invaded my vision, and heat coursed through my veins. My ears rang, and I didn’t remember deciding to move. Before I knew it, I was climbing the bleachers. My movements were fast and hard, demanding attention.
I stopped directly in front of the loudest guy, who also happened to be the one with the sign.
“Say that again,” I sneered. The words came out low, almost like a growl.
He blinked in confusion. “Uh…”
“Say it again,” I repeated, louder this time.
Everyone around us became quiet, unsure of what to expect next.
“It’s a joke,” someone muttered.
I laughed, but it wasn’t soft or kind. It was sharp and very creepy. Like a villain in a Marvel movie.
“You think this is funny?” I snapped. “Do you really think standing here and filming these guys like they’re a bunch of zoo animals makes you superior? Does it feel good to milk people who are trying their absolute best because of their mistakes?”
A few of them averted their gazes while others looked around uncomfortably.
“It’s a public practice session,” one girl shot back defensively. “We’re allowed to be here.”
“If you want to use that right, then sit there and shut up like any normal supporter would.”
The guy with the sign scoffed. “Chill out, cheerleader. They suck and we’re allowed to say that.”
Something inside me broke as he said that. I didn’t know what it was, but I was sure that it wouldn’t end well.
“Allowed?” I shouted.
The word echoed across the bleachers like thunder. Heads turned on the field, and Coach Harris paused mid-instruction, but at that point none of it mattered. I moved forward until I was inches away from his face.
“Do you think you have the right to talk about what sucks?” I asked. “You’re standing here at three in the afternoon heckling your home team because a meme page told you it’s funny. And you think you’re an expert judge of character? You’re pathetic!”
The guy swallowed hard, but he said nothing. He barely moved.
“Do you think you can handle hits like the ones they took last night?” I continued, raising my voice. “Do you think you could get back on your feet after someone as big as Malik flattens you? And then do it again and again and again until the final whistle blows?”
No one answered, but my hands were shaking with the force of my fury.
“You want content?” I asked, grabbing his phone. “Go out onto that field and try it. Put on a helmet and some extra padding, and we’ll see how long you take to run to Tara crying for help.”
Someone snorted nervously, and my angry eyes shot in his general direction. He apologized quietly before looking away.
“Or better yet,” I went on, my voice cracking but still carrying as loud as ever. “Drop out of college and go major in being an internet troll. At least then you can use your disgusting skills for something.”
The silence hung heavily in the air. The silence was so bad that even the wind seemed too scared to blow. But that was okay because I had nothing more to say to them.
“Get off the bleachers,” I said through clenched teeth.
No one moved. And yet my eyes were wild. I could feel it, but that wasn’t all I could feel. There was something else. Something dark and unfamiliar pushed through my chest.
“Get. Off.”
The first guy moved, and he was quickly followed by another. And that was the beginning of their escape. They all filed past me with their eyes on the ground and muttered words falling from their lips. A shoulder clipped me deliberately, but I didn’t mind, as long as they stopped their madness.
As the last girl walked past me, she pushed a newspaper into my chest and said, “You should read this.”
I looked down, and the front page sent my fury to a whole new level. In big, bold letters it said, “Highlanders in Freefall: Is it inexperience or ego? By Penny Donovan.”
I was way too angry to read the whole thing, so I just scanned it. And a few of the things she said really stood out.
“... an unproven coach experimenting with systems unsuited for Division play…”
“... And at the center, quarterback Ethan Rose, whose hero-ball tendencies raise serious concern about leadership…”
“... There’s no ‘I’ in team, but there appears to be one in offense.”
My throat closed, and unbidden tears blurred my eyes.
Down on the field, a whistle blew sharply, drawing my attention.
I looked up. Ethan stood near the forty-yard line.
His helmet was off and his chest was heaving.
Sweat darkened his hair at the temples. Lucas animatedly said something to him, then Ethan looked up.
Our eyes locked, and for the briefest of moments, I thought he might’ve seen me.
That he saw the empty bleachers and knew what I had done for them, but something flashed across his face.
It wasn’t gratitude or relief. It was frustration and embarrassment.
He shook his head once, small and sharp, before looking away.
All I could do was stand there, newspaper crumpled in my fist, heart still pounding with my rage and wonder. Did my actions help?
Or did they make everything worse?