You win

Sofia - care less

Once again...

 I find myself perched in the familiar green velvet chair, facing the dean across his desk. It's become a routine—my plea for greater support for the UFN women's soccer team and his polite, yet ultimately dismissive, responses. He's a master of weaving 'maybes' and 'hopefully in the near future' together, leaving me with nothing concrete.

"I wish there was more I could do, Sofia, but it's out of my hands," Dean Dick, as I like to call him, utters, seated in his self-important stance, his wrinkled white fingers elegantly laced together.

He sells it well. If only I were naive enough to believe that every wealthy white man genuinely wanted to help. Yet, the fact that it is literally in his hands gives it away too.

"Yeah, sure," I mutter, pushing myself up from the velvet chair.

I head toward the wooden door, hoping for a last-minute revelation—a "wait, Sofia" or a "there's something." But nothing follows. Not even a faint hint of possibility.

"Im sorry, Sofia," bullshit, I turn back and give a forced sympathetic smile back. I sigh and walk through the door.

As I step out, the secretary's desk lies to my left, and on my right, I catch sight of, unsurprisingly, in the office for the wrong reasons, Stephen Westerman, sitting in the waiting area, his leg bouncing with impatience.

"Westerman," Cally announces with a hint of warmth, breaking the monotony. She's not your stereotypical aloof desk lady with her vibrant short red hair and funky glasses; she's one of the genuinely nice people around here.

"Sorry, kid," she adds, looking back at me, her smile sympathetic and understanding.

"All good, maybe next one," I reply with a forced smile, though my frustration could make me turn around and throw a chair across the room or, better yet, across Dean Dick's head.

"Absolutely," she responds kindly.

"Westerman!" She now glares at the boy, and he slowly stands up, clearly tired and zoned out.

He could literally disappear for a month and still manage to be the center of attention in this school. He contributes next to nothing apart from ensuring his team's victories. I do the same for mine, yet there's a stark difference: he's Westerman, the guy, and I'm simply irrelevant. Which gives me reason enough to envy and dislike the guy.

"I'll catch you later," I tap Cally's desk, tearing my gaze away from Westerman's figure and heading for the door.

"I'm sure you will."

The faint squeak of the office door opening is followed by a loud cheer from Dean Dick.

"Westerman, my man!"

Shutting the door behind me, I join Jordan, our team's right winger and my closest friend. I meet her almond eyes, and it stings to admit that I've failed once more. In jest, I grab her sleek black hair and use it as a makeshift mustache.

"Fuck your soccer team," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Ugh, what does he know?" she retorts.

"Apparently, how not to give a damn," I sigh, and we step out of the university, heading toward our dorms.

She rambles about our upcoming match against UCLA, mostly because of her ex-best friend or something along those lines. But her voice becomes background noise as I plot my next steps to get what the team needs, although the best game plan seems to be to win and force attention on us so much that the Dean is begging to help us.

I drop Jordan off first and continue my walk to my dorm, which happens to be on the opposite side of campus. I don't mind the long walk. I pass the on-campus cafe, which is now closed, and get to admire the empty soccer field on the way there. It's peaceful.

I grab my key out of my bag and unlock my dorm I almost immediately tackle my bed and take a deep sigh. Thankfully, my roommate is staying with her boyfriend this week, so I have the room to myself. I pull out my phone, where I can indefinitely scroll for hours.

"Stephan_Westerman has requested to follow you," I mumble as the notification pops up on the top of my screen. Now, normally anyone else would be fawning that Mr. Stephan Westerman looked at their page and wanted to follow, but honestly, I don't like Westerman one bit; he's ignorant, rude, careless, cocky, immature, and gets anything he wants handed to him without lifting a finger. which is why it was so simple for me to delete the request, because im not interested nor will his many parties and ab pictures be of any use on my feed.

I couldn't care less about his wealth, looks, athleticism, or height. Westerman is a dick, and I don't associate myself with pretentious assholes like himself.