The Masked Killer - A.T Ben Saad || English

Chapter 1: Lola (The past)

"Jesus, what a disaster! Lost again!" I mutter under my breath, frustration gnawing at me. Our team has been struggling lately, and it's only gotten worse with my father's nerves on edge. Whenever he's supposed to coach us during a match, he's completely distracted by the boys' team training on the field opposite ours. It's beyond infuriating! We only seem to have good games when we're guests at other clubs. I let out a heavy sigh and angrily unfasten my shin guards. The scorching sun burns into my neck, intensifying my irritation. A bead of sweat snakes down my neck and slides down my back, adding to my discomfort.

I toss my shin guards aside and spot my water bottle sitting in the last patch of shade. I hurry over, grab my pink bottle, and start drinking eagerly. The lukewarm water does little to quench my thirst. As I finish the last drops, I gasp for air. I exhale loudly and push the stray strands of hair back, too exhausted to redo my ponytail. I glance over at my father, still fixated on the boys' team. I've had enough. What is his problem? Irritated, I storm over to him and give him a sharp tap on the arm. He winces and glares at me with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. Finally, some interaction.

"What's going on?" he snaps, his tone sharp. His bald, sunburned head gleams under the glaring sunlight. "What's going on?" I repeat, my voice rising with anger. "That's what I should be asking you! If you're so keen on coaching that boys' team, just say so! I don't know if you've noticed lately, but we've been losing every match since you've been so... distracted or whatever!" My voice cracks with frustration. I feel the eyes of the spectators on us, their gazes piercing through me like the sun's rays. My father glances around, confirming my unease, before finally meeting my gaze again. He places a hand on my shoulder.

"Listen, sweetheart, I know our team is having a rough patch right now. Dad is doing his best, okay?" he says quickly. 'Dad is doing his best'? I'm not a five-year-old child! I sigh heavily. Maybe the recent tension between Mom and Dad is affecting him.

"Fine, whatever. Just make sure you get it together because our team needs a coach. The girls are expecting me to sort things out with you and are putting ridiculous amounts of pressure on me," I say quietly. My father doesn't even look at me. He's staring at the boys' team again. That's it—I'm really fed up. I turn around and see the boys packing up their gear. I sigh heavily. "Dad, I don't know what's going on with you, but make sure you're ready for the next game, okay?" I look at him hopefully. He nods without meeting my eyes. I lower my gaze and walk away, my sigh echoing with defeat. My bright pink soccer shoes stand out sharply against the green grass. I glance up and see the girls huddled together, some of them casting disparaging looks at me.

"Not again?" Rebecca asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Nope, sorry girls, I don't know what's up with him," I reply, feeling utterly defeated as I sit down on the bench. Maud places a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Lola, I know you can't do anything about it, but he is your father, and we can't just tell him to leave, you know?" she says, her gaze following my father as he leaves the field. If only I could do something.

As I'm packing up my gear, I see Noah from the boys' team entering the clubhouse. His expression is wild, his eyes darting around with a troubled look. My brow furrows. He's definitely up to something—perhaps alcohol or drugs. I shake my head and stuff my water bottle into my large sports bag. When I look up, I notice my father hurrying into the clubhouse as well. "Caught," I mutter to myself, a small, grim smile curling on my lips.