Mason and I have similar sour expressions on our faces, but we nod at Coach – it’s a good call to make.The other guys look over at us.I don’t think they harbour any sort of resentment about our play, but there is a little tension when it’s pointed out blatantly like this.It makes it seem like we’re purposely leaving out our teammates, when that isn’t the case at all.
Peeling off my shirt, I slingshot it over the side and join the other half of the team.
I turn my focus to Parker, another brilliant player.I don’t know him much off the field, but he is one hell of a footballer.He’s quick and reliable, too, so we quickly find a rhythm with each other.Coach’s eyes follow us closely, but he seems impressed with our play.I find some of my teammates a bit hit or miss when it comes to being people I genuinely want to be around.Parker is someone I gel well with, but he often leaves practice so abruptly that I don’t get much of a chance to speak to him off the field.
My muscles scream in protest after another half an hour of running, catching and throwing.I definitely notice the difference when Mason’s not there.Planting my hands on my hips, I take a moment to catch my breath, my chest burning from the exertion.We’ve been training extra hard for the upcoming games as we’re reaching the point of the season when most of the weaker teams have fizzled out.
‘Check it out,’ one of the guys says, followed shortly by a low whistle.
My eyes swivel to the side of the field where a group of girls are standing.It’s not uncommon for people to come watch our training.It’s become more likely to have people spectating than not, especially girls.
My heart sinks when I recognise long, thick hair and those cat-eye sunglasses that I bought for her.Leasa.My ex.My fingernails bite into my palms before I quickly flex my hands, not even aware I’d fisted them so tightly.We had a tumultuous relationship that had become more toxic than not in the end.We both knew we weren’t good for each other, and yet she keeps turning up everywhere I go.
‘What the fuck?’Mason mutters, staring at them.She’s here with a couple of friends of hers that I recognise from class.Leasa started at a Summit University, but since she’s been around a lot lately, I fear she may have transferred here.That’s the last thing I need.This is a big campus, but it isn’t big enough to avoid her.There are only so many places we can all hang out, and being partof the footy team, everyone always follows us around, thinking wherever we go is the latest ‘hot spot’.I don’t want to be running into her all the time.I don’t want her occupying any space in my head.
She knows I’m on the team.She knows I’d be here.She knows that I would knowsheis watching.What is she playing at?Why is she doing this?She was the one who initiated our final break-up, and yet she keeps coming back.
‘I know,’ I exhale, dragging my eyes away from the group and back to the field, jaw tense.
‘Is she stalking you?’Mason asks, shaking his head.‘I swear she just keeps popping up everywhere all of a sudden.’
‘To be honest, I think she still tracks my phone.’
Mason levels me with a horrified look.‘What?’
I shrug.‘I don’t know for sure, but we used to share locations.I deleted the app but it might not have wiped the memory, or whatever.I don’t know how it works, she set it up.’
‘Dude.’He shakes his head, lips spreading into a thin line.‘You need to get that sorted.’
‘Sorry to interrupt your gossip session, but we have a training session underway,’ Coach barks at us, making an exaggerated look at his watch.
Sighing, I jog back into position, trying to get my head back in the game.
‘Okay,’ Coach says, blasting the whistle.‘Let’s go again.’
I can’t focus.
My leg jitters up and down, knocking lightly into the desk, making it wobble.The man’s eyes dart down at the movement.Michael, I think his name is, pauses mid-sentence, his lips tugging down in a slight frown.
His greying moustache flicks up at the sides and I wonder if he purposely styles it as part of his morning routine or whether it naturally sticks up that way.It’s sort of hard to concentrate on anything else when it moves around as he talks.
Dressed in khaki shorts and a collared shirt that is two sizes too small, he looks like he belongs on a school camp.My eyes drift to the pen that’s leaked in his chest pocket, staining the fabric with a dot of blue ink.
‘Are you even listening to me, Zayden?’he asks.
He leans forward, interlocking his fingers together, giving me the stern and disappointed look that I have grown quite accustomed to.I can’t recall anything this man has said in the last few minutes.
‘I am,’ I say, running a hand through my hair, trying not to look as exasperated as I feel.
‘It’s important to have no distractions.Partying, girls – I understand that it is all a part of the university experience, but when it comes to grades and scholarships, if you can’t keep it all together, sacrifices need to be made.’
Dragging my thumb against the side of my pointer finger, I try not to let frustration get the better of me.This guy has no idea who I am, or anythingrealabout me.He has assumptions, and grades, and he thinks he knows me from those alone.I know a lot of the guys on the team have a reputation, but it’s not like I’m purposely pissing my grades away for booze and a tumble in the sheets.I genuinely struggle.
I hate talking about it, and Ihatethat this problem always follows me.Rod, my stepfather – may henotrest in peace – often commented about how I should have dropped out of school as early as I could have and done some sort of trade.He would always tell me how stupid he thought I was.I think half the reason I pursued my football scholarship was just to piss him off andprove to myself that I can get a degree, despite people thinking that I’d never amount to much.
‘What are your thoughts?’he questions, pursing his lips in a way that has his moustache quivering.I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the amused smirk.After a moment, he clears his throat.‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘On what, exactly?’
