The Game
(Trigger warning it's getting emotional!)
"Wow, Maria, this is incredible," I murmur as we finally step onto the school campus.
I turn in a slow circle, taking it all in. The school has been transformed—team colors are everywhere, banners are strung between every available surface, and food stalls line the walkways. The air is already thick with the specific, electric energy of something that has been building all week.
Getting here had been an event in itself. It took us twenty minutes to find a parking spot, which Maria had predicted and I had not believed until we were on our third lap of the lot.
"I told you I did a killer job setting this up," Maria confirms, already raising her phone for a selfie.
"When does the game start?"
"About fifteen minutes. We need to move if we want a good spot." She grabs my arm and we push through the crowd toward the bleachers.
From up here, the massive scale of it becomes clear.
The cheerleaders are already on the field warming up, Vivien among them, her movements sharp and precise, her high ponytail catching the stadium lights.
Several teachers are scattered through the stands.
I think about the insane school fees and where they actually go, and suddenly the high-end catering stalls, the marching band, and the professional-grade lighting make a lot more sense.
"Oh my god, it's starting" Maria grabs my arm.
The crowd around us surges to its feet, a deafening roar echoing through the stadium. I turn back to the field, my pulse quickening.
I have never been to an American football game before.
This is like a festival crossed with a gladiator battle. The air smells of burnt popcorn and damp grass, and the school marching band is playing a brassy anthem that vibrates straight up through the soles of my sneakers.
Suddenly, the crowd around me erupts into a deafening roar as the team bursts through a massive paper banner. They look enormous, armor-clad—their plastic pads and silver helmets catching the blinding glare of the floodlights.
My eyes find number seven immediately.
He jogs onto the grass, the stadium lights glinting off his silver helmet, and something in my chest does the exact thing I have been trying to make it stop doing.
Once the game starts, I am completely lost.
People around me are screaming about first downs and blitzes, and I have no idea what any of it means.
To me, it just looks like a violent, organized collision of bodies.
But every single time Lorenzo takes the ball, the air leaves my lungs.
The loud, brutal crack of pads hitting pads makes me flinch every single time.
Beside me, Maria snaps one photo after another, screaming with pure excitement.
At a timeout, the players move toward the sideline. I watch Vivien weave through the crowd of jerseys. Before he has even fully removed his helmet, she throws her arms around Lorenzo's neck, pulling him down into a deep, possessive kiss.
A strange, bitter knot tightens in my stomach. There is absolutely no reason for it to bother me, I tell myself, forcing my hands into my pockets so I don't ball them into fists. I don't care.
"Are you hungry?" Maria asks, her voice cutting through my spiral.
"Yes," I say, instantly turning my back on the field. "Good idea."
"Come on, let's find James first." She stands and pulls me down the bleachers with her.
We push through the crowd near the sideline. I keep my eyes glued straight ahead, keeping my expression entirely neutral as we pass Lorenzo and Vivien. I concentrate every ounce of my energy on pretending I don't even know they exist.
"You were incredible!" Maria tells James the moment we reach him, throwing her arms around his neck.
"It looked really brutal out there," I agree, hugging him tightly too. "But you're doing amazing."
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I feel Lorenzo's eyes on me. It's a heavy, physical sensation. I turn my head just enough to catch his dark gaze for one fraction of a second before quickly snapping my attention back to James.
"You both look stunning," James says, his eyes widening slightly as he gestures to our customized outfits.
"It's Clara's work," Maria beams, doing a playful little spin.
"Stunning," James repeats. This time, his eyes lock onto mine, softer.
Before I can reply, the head coach shouts a command, and the team turns as one. James grins, giving us a quick salute, and jogs back to the huddle. We call our goodbyes after him.
I turn around to head toward the food stalls and walk directly into a solid wall of plastic and muscle.
Lorenzo has materialized right behind me.
I gasp, stumbling back a half-step. I look up. He looks down at me.
The stadium noise seems to dull into a distant hum. It's one of those seconds that stretches out far longer than it should, thick with an unspoken, electric heat. He smells like sweat, crushed grass, and the faint trace of that sharp mint from the rooftop.
Then, his dark eyes slowly travel down, tracking over my cropped jersey, down to the pleated skirt, and back up. He does it with that specific, unhurried attention he deploys when he wants you to know exactly what he's looking at. A traitorous flush creeps up my neck.
"Watch where you're going, stalker," he murmurs smoothly.
He pulls his helmet back over his dark hair and strides past me. His shoulder brushes mine a contact so heavy and deliberate it leaves my skin tingling.
A few feet away, Vivien shoots me a look of pure, unadulterated venom.
"He is doing that on purpose," I hiss to Maria, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I watch his retreating back.
"I'm telling you, he likes you," Maria says, casually walking right past a glaring Vivien without a care in the world.
"Don't say that so loud"
"Oh, don't worry. It's so loud out here nobody can hear us anyway," Maria laughs, grabbing my arm. "Relax, Sophi. Enjoy one night."
She's right. It's my first game. I need to get out of my own head.
"Do you want a hot dog?" Maria asks, already navigating us toward the crowded food stalls.
"Yes...but I'm going to the bathroom quickly," I say, needing a desperate moment alone to breathe. "I'll meet you back here."
"Don't take long!"
"I won't," I call back, already forcing my legs to move away from the noise, the lights, and the dangerous pull of number seven, heading toward the quiet safety of the main building.
The heavy double doors are propped wide open for the game, swallowing the frantic energy of the stadium.
Inside, the roar of the crowd fades into a distant, muffled hum.
The cold tiles beneath my Flipflops feel grounding.
I take a long, shaky breath of the quiet air before pushing open the bathroom door.
I stand at the sink, watching my hands tremble under the running water.
But before I can grab a paper towel, the door clicks open.
In the mirror, flashes of dark green and white cheerleader uniforms cut through the harsh fluorescent light. My stomach drops as I turn around to meet Vivien's eyes.
A sharp, defensive fire flares up in my chest, burning away my fear. I am so tired of this. I am so sick of feeling like prey in these hallways.
"Listen, Vivien, I'm not in the mood for this today," I say, my voice cutting sharper than usual as I swing my small bag over my shoulder.
The three girls exchange looks and burst into cruel, synchronized laughter. The sound makes the hairs on my arms stand up.
"Stay. Away.From him," Vivien says, taking a slow, menacing step into my personal space.
A bitter laugh escapes my throat before I can stop it. "There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Lorenzo."
"Stop lying," she snaps, her eyes flashing. She gives a slight jerk of her chin to the girl behind her.
When her friend pulls her hand out from behind her back, the air is instantly punched out of my lungs. My eyes lock onto the worn, black cardboard cover.
The frayed edges. The colorful rubber band holding it together.
My sketchbook.
"So it was you," the words tear out of me, raw and desperate.
"Give it back!"
I lunge forward, my fingers reaching for the cover, but a sudden, violent fistful of my hair yanks me backward.
White-hot pain explodes across my scalp.
My spine crashes hard against the edge of the porcelain sink, and the world tilts as I hit the cold floor.
Pain radiates up my back, blinding and suffocating.
"What is wrong with you?!" I gasp, pressing a hand to my aching lower back, scrambling for oxygen.
Vivien kneels down, her shadow blotting out the light, trapping me beneath her.
"You. You are my problem . You're a freak," she whispers. Her manicured fingernail digs hard into my forehead, forcing my head back against the rigid tiles.
She snatches the book from her friend, and with a loud, sickening RIP, she tears out the first page.
"No! Stop!" I scream, trying to push myself up, but two pairs of hands grab my arms, pinning my shoulders ruthlessly against the wall. The rough fabric of their uniforms scrapes against my skin as I fight them. "Please, don't!"
I am completely helpless. I can only watch as Vivien tears one page after another, her lips curved into a smug, flawless smile. She dumps the crumpled sheets of paper into the sink and hits the faucet.
The water rushes out. My throat tightens until it hurts to breathe. Every single memory of my parents.
My old life.
The only pieces of them I had left.
"You are so pathetic. It actually makes me sick." Vivien tosses the empty, ruined binder onto the floor. "You don't belong at this school. Just accept it."
She gives me one last, icy look before turning on her heel and walking out. The other two girls drop my arms, letting me slide helplessly down the wall, before they vanish into the hallway.
The door shuts, but the silence screams.
I crawl forward on my hands and knees, my breath coming in short, hysterical gasps. I reach into the wet sink, my fingers wrapping around the soaked, mushy paper.
The ink is running down the drain like dark, bleeding memories.
I desperately pull out a torn sheet, trying to smooth it against the floor, but the wet paper disintegrates under my trembling touch.
It's the drawing from Canada. The Niagara Falls trip.
I can almost taste the cold mist. I can almost hear my mother's laugh echoing over the roaring water.
Now, her face is just a grey smudge of wet charcoal.
"I'm sorry, Mom," I whisper, clutching the soaking wet piece of paper against my chest, right over my heart. The cold water seeps through my shirt, freezing against my skin. "I'm sorry, Dad... I'm not strong enough. I can't do this."
The urge to run after them, to scream in Vivien's face, to strike back until my own knuckles are bloody, burns like battery acid in my veins.
But a phantom touch stops me.
A memory of a sterile hospital room, the smell of bleach, and the fading, fragile warmth of my father's hands .
Stay kind Sophi. And most importantly, stay strong.
Be kind and strong
Kind
And
Strong
The promise feels like a heavy iron chain wrapped around my neck. Because it hurts so bad. It hurts to keep a promise to people who aren't here to see you bleed for it.
"Ahhh!"
A raw, animalistic scream rips into the empty restroom, tearing at my vocal cords.
I didn't strike back because of them. I keep my mouth shut every single day, swallowing their venom, because I am trying so hard to be the person they raised.
I apologized to Lorenzo because that is what kind people do.
Right?
So why?
Why is the universe making it so painfully hard to keep a promise to the dead?