HIGHSCHOOL CHAOS!Homework, Hormones and Horrible Timing

NINE

CHAPTER 9

It's game day!

I'm staring at my reflection in the locker room mirror, trying to psych myself up. My ankle still twinges a bit, but I've convinced myself it's nothing serious. The adrenaline from the tournament has me ready to push through anything. No way am I sitting this one out.

I pull on my jersey and head out to the gym, where the stands are filling up fast. The noise is already deafening. . . . students, friends, and family all buzzing with anticipation. I scan the crowd and spot the usual crew: Clara and then there's Isabel. She's sitting quietly with them, her presence steady, yet somehow calming. Unlike the others, she's not shouting or waving, just watching.

I try to focus on warming up, but knowing she's here, that she came to support me, brings a subtle but growing awareness I can't quite shake.

After a few drills, I head back to the locker room for some final prep. My ankle needs to be rewrapped, and as I sit down to deal with it, the door creaks open softly. I look up and see Isabel standing there.

What is she doing here?

Has she come here for me?

Looking a little hesitant, like she's not entirely sure if she should've come in.

"Hey," she says quietly, staying by the door.

"Hey," I reply, a little surprised. Isabel doesn't usually go out of her way to talk, so her showing up now feels significant, though I'm not entirely sure why.

"I, um, just wanted to check on you. Your ankle....how's it holding up?"

Her voice is soft, and there's a genuine concern in her eyes that catches me off guard. Isabel has always been more reserved, keeping her feelings close. She's not one to broadcast her emotions like Clara or make teasing jokes like Ryan and Jake.

It makes moments like this. . . . when she chooses to speak. . . . feel weightier, like every word counts.

"It's okay," I say, though the ache tells me otherwise. "Just a little sore."

Isabel steps a little closer, her gaze dropping to my ankle. "Are you sure you should be playing?" she asks, her brow furrowing in that way she does when she's worried but doesn't want to push too hard.

I shrug, trying to play it off. "I'll be fine. Can't sit this one out."

She looks like she's about to say something but stops herself. Instead, she walks over and kneels down next to me, just close enough for me to catch the faint scent of jasmine she wears. I wasn't expecting her to get this close, and suddenly, the space between us feels much smaller.

Isabel reaches for the wrap on my ankle, pausing just before touching it. "Is it okay if I...?"

I nod, my throat a little dry. She carefully adjusts the bandage, her movements deliberate, focused. Her fingertips brush against my skin lightly as she tightens the wrap, and even though it's the smallest, most innocent touch, it sends a rush of warmth through me. I don't know why, but every time her fingers graze mine, I feel... something.

The room is quiet except for the faint rustling of the bandage, and the moment feels suspended, like it's just the two of us, both aware of something unspoken, but neither of us willing to say it out loud.

"There," she says softly when she's done. She pulls back, her hand lingering for just a second longer than necessary. It's not much, not really intimate in the traditional sense, but it leaves me feeling more exposed than I expect. Like something just shifted between us without either of us meaning for it to.