"In a world full of secrets, trust is the hardest game to play."
After a crushing defeat, Adam Harper, the star player from Harmington's rival school, turns to Ophelia, the elusive and mysterious leader of the school's most prestigious society, in s...
My day always starts the same way, like clockwork. The soft chime of my alarm hums at precisely 6:00 a.m., not a minute earlier or later. I open my eyes to the morning light filtering through the curtains, washing my room in a muted glow. I reach for my phone almost out of habit. Notifications blink at me, mostly unimportant_ .
messages from the team, a reminder about practice, and a few group chats I don't bother opening. But one catches my eye
Another Instagram post from Harrington's debate team, posing with their newly claimed trophy.
"Harrington takes the trophy home again this year!" the caption gloats.
I linger on the image for a moment. The same group of smug faces. Victory doesn't look any different on them from last year. Only this time, we were closer than we'd ever been, one argument away from winning it. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
I scroll through the comments. Usual chatter, congratulatory messages, and a few sarcastic remarks about how we gave them a run for their money. But nothing from Chloe. No snide comment or counter-argument, no cryptic remark. I expected her to have something to say, as she always did after a loss. I check her profile. Still nothing.
My thumb hovers over her last message to me
"On my way to win a trophy, wish me luck. 😊*"*
I had wished her luck, of course. She was excited for the debate finals, confident in her team. I expected to hear all about it once she got back.
I check her social media—nothing. She hasn't posted since the competition. Weird, for her at least. Chloe loves to celebrate victories, win or lose. But she hasn't said a word. No sarcastic remarks about Harrington. No commentary about how close they came.
I try to shake the feeling. She's probably just tired. Maybe disappointed. It happens. I'll check in with her later.
I toss my phone onto the bed and start my morning routine. It's the part of my day that never changes. As a rule, I like to keep things structured. It keeps me in control.
First, coffee. I brew it strong, black, the way I've always liked it. The smell fills the kitchen as I mentally map out my day: class, practice, maybe a stop by the library to catch up on some reading. I sip slowly, watching the steam curl up from the cup. My room is a reflection of my life—clean, organized, and functional. Everything has its place, and there's a quiet satisfaction in that.
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My reputation at Stratford has been built on discipline. People know me not just for the wins in the football team or my contributions to the student's committy department. I'm the guy who's always on top of his game, always composed. And that's how I've always liked it. There's respect in control.
Everything in my life is planned. Every detail. Today, that means I have a meeting at the administration office about some student concerns, classes to attend, and of course, practice. The upcoming game is important. The scouts will be watching.
