The Assistant Coach (BOOK 1: OMEN KING SERIES)

|𝟼𝟺|

Leia Welsh

I stroll into the classroom, exuding an air of indifference

as I make my way to the back row. With a nonchalant attitude, I flop down in my seat, letting my backpack drop haphazardly to the floor beside me.

Jenny catches my eye, looking like a vision in her lilac skirt and white crop top that accentuates her sun-kissed skin. To top it off, she has a delicate white butterfly clip adorning her sleek, flowing blonde hair that tumbles down her back in perfect waves.

Her captivating sapphire eyes are fixed on me, her impeccably shaped dark eyebrows silently questioning my recent absence. Yes, I've been absent from class a few times recently. But with bills to pay and a job hunt in full swing, school has taken a backseat for now.

I refuse to rely on Miranda's generosity, especially after what went down the other day. Plus, Warren, the resident heartthrob, has been a pleasant distraction lately. Not that I mind the eye candy, of course. Jenny's concern seeps through her perfectly put together exterior as she leans in closer. Her perfectly manicured nails tap on the table, a sign of her nervous energy. "You've been MIA. Everything alright?" she asks, her tone on the harsher side, but that's just Jenny.

I nod, my head bobbing up and down like a bobblehead, my messy bun slightly askew. I try to muster a small, half-hearted smile, my eyes darting around the room.

She reaches into her backpack and pulls out her notebook. The notebook is slightly worn around the edges, a sign of its frequent use. She extends it towards me, her hand steady.

"You're a lifesaver," I remark, a hint of gratitude lacing my words, as I snatch my phone from my pocket. I can feel the weight of her gaze on me, her concern palpable in the air between us.

Jenny Johnson, Coach Johnson's daughter, I've never really paid her no mind. Jenny and I aren't exactly besties; we're more like acquaintances who exchange notes and occasionally chat, and since we've got the same classes, we're practically study buddies by default.

I've always known her to be around, I just never made an effort to actually befriend her, vice versa.

With a flick of my thumb, I skim through her meticulously written notes, snapping pictures of the ones I missed from the previous classes. Jenny lets out a weary sigh, her gaze fixated on some random boy's head, likely lost in her own daydream.

"I know, I know," she mutters to me, her voice tinged with resignation. Her lips turn down in a small frown.

I reluctantly hand back the notebook, stuffing my phone into the pockets of my light blue hoodie.

The fabric is soft against my skin, and I can't help but feel a sense of comfort in its familiarity. As I absentmindedly twirl a stray curl that escaped my messy bun, I feel the weight of someone plopping down right beside me.

I glance over, my eyes widening slightly as I come face to face with Henson Parker. He's sporting cargo jeans and a white polo shirt, his ugly almond eyes locking onto me with pure disgust.

When the hell was he in this class? He's got a real big head; I wouldn't have missed it. He must have transferred into this class recently.

"Late night?" he asks, before he lets out a squeaky sound that indicates he doesn't really care.

"When did you transfer to this class?" I ask as he pulls out two notebooks, three pencils, and a laptop.

"I've always been in this class, but some moron is sitting in my seat at the front," he replies, glaring at the back of a girl's head.