Law of Attraction

5| Nyx

Edited.

My sports media law and ethics class dragged on for what felt like hours. The chair was hurting my ass and the lecturer's voice was blander than the tea Indigo once made me. It was agonising. Perhaps class would've been better if Nailea was there, but she was absent because she drank so much on Saturday that the hangover was still with her. Or maybe she was just lazy.

I'd gotten used to the seat next to me being empty. The only times it was filled were during the classes I shared with Nailea. She was majoring in sports journalism, so we had some classes in common, such as sports media law and ethics, public relations and advertising, sports marketing and business, and investigating journalism. She was the only one who bothered to speak to me, probably because I didn't exactly look friendly. And even more so today.

The cut in the corner of my mouth was red, even though I'd received it in the hourly hours of Sunday morning when I arrived home. At least the bruise on my cheekbone was fading, but I still covered it with some makeup. To be safe. When my lecturer announced class was over, I nearly leapt out of my seat. Shoving my notes in my bag, I rushed out of the classroom.

It was a fifteen-minute walk to the edge of campus where the ice rink was. Carrying two bags, one filled with files and the other with clothes; my shoulders were hurting. I was sweating by the time I arrived and had already removed my jacket, but I knew I'd be freezing soon. Entering the building, I passed the rink, still vacant. Loud laughter was coming from the locker room, and I rolled my eyes. Passing the door, I headed to Coach Benson's office.

I found him seated behind his desk. Last night, I decided that the two of us weren't enemies. We were both working towards the same thing, the team's success. So I no longer had to be stingy with my knowledge. And he could do much more with that knowledge than I could, seeing as he was the coach.

Dropping my gym bag onto the floor and the other onto his desk, I startled him, and he looked up with irritation in his eyes. Ignoring him, I rummaged through my bag, taking out a thick file and handing it to him. "My notes," I told him, gesturing for him to take it. He took it hesitantly, seemingly bewildered. "You and I both know that majority of Coach Floyd's plans stayed where it originated - in his head."

Benson opened the file, shock replacing the irritation. "Miss Taylor-"

"He'd make physical copies of the drafts but once he added his revisions and finalisations, the drafts went into the trash and his mind absorbed his new idea," I continued, taking out another file and thinking back to how Floyd was like a sponge. "My plan for this year was to help Coach Floyd, before he left, of course. I knew he was protective of his team and unwilling to let just any stranger close to them. I had to gain his trust and respect before he'd let me close his boys. So I did what I do best; I studied my ass off."