We walked toward our next class in a hurry, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a swarm of angry bees. My heart thumped in my chest, not from the rush of sprinting, but from the collective tension settling across the hall. Scott and I shared a sidelong glance, anxiety evident in our eyes.
"I have to stay away from her," Scott said, his voice a low, urgent whisper.
"Yes, we have to," I agreed, though part of me was curious about what would happen if we didn't. But curiosity wasn't enough to push us towards that edge. We needed to focus on surviving the next period, not add fuel to the burning drama that had ignited around us.
We entered the classroom, and Coach Finstock glared at us from the front, arms folded tightly over his chest. His disapproval was palpable as we shuffled to our seats, were only marginally late, yet somehow it felt like a capital crime.
The classroom buzzed with chatter as we settled in. Stiles sat down next to me, his usual goofy smile plastered on his face. "What's up, buddy?" he asked innocently.
"No, Stiles, take the seat behind me." Scott's command cut through the room, but it was too late. Allison had already claimed the empty seat behind him and was engaged in a spirited conversation with Stiles, her laughter bright and infectious.
"This is not going to end well, especially here," I muttered, shooting Scott a meaningful glare. We both turned our thoughts inward, contemplating the storm brewing just beneath the surface of our daily lives.
"Don't worry, everything will be fine," Stiles said, oblivious to the weight we were carrying.
"I hope so," I replied, scanning the room for any signs of impending chaos.
"Alright, settle down. Let's start with a quick summary of last night's reading. Greenberg, put your hand down. Everybody knows you did the reading. How about... McCall?" Coach Finstock's voice sliced through the chatter like a knife.
"Yea?" I replied, feigning confidence to cover for Scott, who looked lost and panicky.
"Not the clever one, Scott?" The coach shot back, his annoyance evident.
"Huh?" Scott answered, his eyes wide and bewildered.
"The reading, McCall." Coach pushed, his brow furrowing deeper.
Blank stares were exchanged, and in the tense silence, I could practically hear Scott's pulse racing.
"Last night's reading?" he asked, as if hoping to somehow save the situation.
"No, the reading of the Gettysburg Address. What? That was sarcasm, McCall. Familiar with the concept?"
"Very," Scott replied defensively, glancing at me and Stiles, who were trying to suppress laughter-not quite succeeding.
"Did you do the reading or not?" Coach pressed again.
"I think I forgot," Scott admitted, his shoulders drooping.
"Okay, then. Nice work. Because it's not like you're averaging a D in this class. You do know I can't keep you on the team with a D, McCall?" His voice dripped with disappointment.
The room crackled with tension as everyone stared at Scott, who seemed to shrink into his chair, the weight of his friends' expectations fully upon him. Stiles' phone vibrated on the desk beside me, an insistent beep cutting through the growing awkwardness.
I glanced down, my heart plummeting as I saw Scott's heart rate rising steadily on the wrist monitor. "No, no, no- not now," I mumbled, nerves spiking. Stiles grasped my hand, grounding me with his touch.
