Coach's Number One

Chapter Thirteen

-------------------

Dedication: Dysanic for the amaaaazing cover. I love it!

Recap:

"You actually bore me," I sighed, leaning back onto my locker theatrically. "Your threats are empty and you can't even deny the fact that you're kind of obsessed with me. I know that I'm hotter and more talented than you, but that should just make you work harder. Try not to be so jealous, it's not a flattering look."

Her mouth fell open and I leaned forward, hitting it with my finger. She wrenched away from me, throwing daggers in my direction.

"I'm out to get you," she whispered.

"Again, empty threats," I said, leaning close to her. "You've got nothing."

With that, I turned and stalked out of the locker room, letting out a loud laugh that echoed down the hallway.

If she thinks she can get to me, she can think again.

-------------------

No matter how hard I tried to ignore the persistent beep sound that is abusing my ears, it won't go away. If anything, it seemed to get louder.

Groaning, I roll over and turn my alarm off. I feel exhausted and I haven't even gotten out of bed yet. My body feels heavy with sleep and my eyes stinging. I had bad nightmares last night. I kept thinking I could hear someone outside the house, resulting in me waking up sweat-drenched and breathless.

That was a downside of having the house to myself. When I was scared, I had no one to hold my hand and tell me everything would be alright.

Rubbing my face, I pulled myself from my bed and dragged my feet into the bathroom. I was meant to go for a jog this morning before my swim practise, but I was too tired. 

The warm water runs down my muscles, making me feel instantly better. I inhale the steam as I lean wearily against the cool, glass pane.

Robotic-like, I went about my morning routine as I prepared myself for school. I made it to the front door, before realising I'd left my gym bag in the kitchen. That would have been fun - walking to school and having to turn right back around. Stiffling a yawn, I backtrack to the kitchen.

Swinging the door open, I cup my hand over my face, in an attempt to shield my eyes from the harsh, morning rays of the sun. Closing the door behind me, I made it about five steps, before I tripped and landed in a painful sprawl, face-first.

I should have stayed in bed.

Sighing, I slowly sat up and a gasp left my lips. I hadn't tripped over my own feet - I had tripped over rubbish. My entire lawn was littered with junk, rubbish and bags, containing rotten fruit. The smell was disgusting.

What the...

Slowly, I got to my feet, my eyes wide as I scan my lawn. It looked like a cyclone had torn through it, leaving a path of destruction in its wake.

Pivoting, I continue to take in the mess and freeze as I look back at my house. My hand covered my mouth as I stare in horror.

Splashing across my garage, in deep, crimson spray paint, was one, single word that made me feel like I was going to throw up.

Transfer.

My stomach clenched as I stared at it. This was unbelievable. Someone, or more specifically, Mia, actually wasted her time enough to come and graffiti my house.