Shattered Asylum

Chapter 15

Today is Thursday, and I have my first soccer game after school. As 4:30 inches closer, the knots in my stomach stat doing backflips. I'm in history class, nervously bouncing my leg while Nora rambles about how we got stuck with the refs who notoriously hate our school.

Great. Just great.

She's sitting across from me, twirling her pen in her hand, while Noah sits directly in front of her. Grayson is in front of me, leaning back in his chair as usual, and Madison is in front of him, scrolling on her phone.

Vinnie, meanwhile, has been missing all day after pulling his latest prank, putting thumbtacks on Principal Doyle's chair. Honestly, I can't believe he thought that would go unnoticed.

Madison and Nora haven't really spoke since the awkward incident at Grayson's on Saturday. The tension between them is like an unspoken elephant in the room, but thankfully, Grayson turns around to break the silence.

"I'm coming to your game today," he says casually, his hazel eyes locking with mine.

I blink at him. "You are? Why?" Does he even like soccer?

"To see if you're good or not." He bends over to grab his history notebook from his bag, and his shirt rides up just enough to reveal the waistband of his briefs.

"Don't get your hopes up," I say, shrugging like I'm not silently hyping myself up. I've always been decent at soccer, mostly playing defends but getting moved around wherever I'm needed.

"Don't worry. They're not," he replies, his lips curling into that signature smirk that makes his dimples pop.

I roll my eyes but can't stop the small laugh that escapes as I lightly swat his arm. When he turns back around, I glance over at Nora, only to find her staring at me with wide eyes, her jaw practically on the desk.

"What?" I ask, furrowing my brow.

She snaps her mouth shut, shaking her head like she's trying to hide something. "Oh, nothing, my dear friend," she says, a little too innocently, before whipping out her phone and typing furiously. Her thumbs move so fast it's a wonder she doesn't get cramps.

I narrow my eyes at her. She's so weird sometimes. I can't help but wonder what foes on inside her head...or what she's texting.

Before I can pry, My. Dahlke strides into the room and begins his lecture, commanding everyone's attention. I sink back into my seat, the nerves about the game still bubbling under the surface.

~

We are warming up for the game, the tension in the air palpable as everyone locks into focus. The start is only fifteen minutes away, and my stomach feels like it's performing Olympic level somersaults. I'm starting at left defense, and right now, we're running a drill called keep away.

I'm in the middle, darting between three teammates who are passing the ball around me, trying to keep it out of my reach. It's like a high-stakes game of monkey in the middle, and the pressure is on.

My cleats scrape against the turf as I pivot and lunge for the ball. Finally, I manage to intercept a pass, sending the girl who lost possession to the middle with a smug grin.

We keep practicing, the rhythm of our movements syncing up as game time inches closer. By the time Coach blows the whistle, signaling a break, we've got just five minutes left.

She gathers the team in a tight circle, clipboard in hand, running through the starting lineup and reminding us what to watch out for against this team. Her voice is firm but encouraging, grounding us in the strategy we've drilled into our heads all week.