I knew body language. I studied governance and policy, how people wielded authority. Dante was practically writing his rebellion in ten-foot letters.
It all came to a head when Coach Sutherland barked something I couldn’t hear, but the snap in his hand gestures made the message clear:back down, run it clean.
Dante didn’t back down. He threw again — harder. The sight of the ball smacking into Dustin’s chest told me it would have been heavy. Dustin caught it, but the glare Sutherland leveled could’ve burned the grass.
“Is he...?” someone beside me muttered, equally distracted from their books. “Is Spenceangry?”
I didn’t answer. My throat was too tight. Because that’sexactlywhat it looked like.
For reasons I couldn’t let myself unpack, the thought of Dante crashing and burning made something deep in my chest clench.
From up here, I saw everything — the sharp snap of Dante’s wrist, the way his shoulders coiled and released, the precision that made people call him untouchable. But today, it wasn’t precision. Today, it was something closer to violence. Every ball left his hand like it was punishment. Receivers caught them, sure, but I could feel the sting even from up here.
Coach Sutherland wasn’t impressed. I could only imagine what he was saying, because his body language was all bite and authority. He was practically stalking his number one quarterback.
Dante rolled his shoulders, jaw set, and fired again. Dustin reeled it in, but even from here, I could see the small shake of his head.
Another throw — another ball fired like a bullet. The coach stormed closer. Dante didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. He just stared at him, another ball dangling from his fingers, defiance carved into every line of his body.
My pulse thudded. This wasn’t the quarterback they paraded in front of cameras, the golden boy smiling for donors. This was someone else. Darker. More dangerous. And for reasons I hated to admit, I couldn’t look away.
Had I done this?
I pressed my pen too hard against the page, the ink blotching. Watching him like this did something unsettling inside me. It wasn’t just recklessness. It was like he wanted the fight, and my own guilt was roiling inside me.
It made me want to run down there and stop him.
I needed to be rational. I packed my books and went downstairs to get closer to the source of my completely irrational behavior.
I walked out of the building and headed to the small food truck between the building and the training field.
“Hey, can I get a coffee?” From here, I could hear the whistles and the sound of a team training. Coffee in hand, I made my way to the training field. It was more crowded during the football season, but there were still a few students who enjoyed sitting in the cool February morning, watching their winning team practice.
I sat, placed my backpack beside me, and watched the remainder of practice. Another coach was beside Dante now, talking in his ear. Dante was looking down the field at the far wall, and I was pretty confident he wasn’t listening at all.
What the hell was going on?
The head coach, Sutherland, marched over. I saw the two coaches exchange words, and then Dante was sent off the field. He didn’t look around; he just headed straight toward the doors. When he walked out of sight, I looked back and saw Noah and Dustin standing together, both watching me.
“Oh shit.”
I debated moving, then I saw they were both coming over, and I knew I wasn’t faster than two athletes in their prime, so running was pointless.
Noah signaled me to come down, and I did, aware of the people nearby watching me.
“Hey.” My voice was squeaky, and I hurriedly cleared it. “How are you?”
“You need to sort him out,” Dustin said without any preamble. “He’s—”
“Fine,” Noah cut him off. “But maybe you two need to talk?”
I looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Is, um... is he...” I didn’t know how to say it without mentioning the pills, or worse, sounding like a complete self-centered ass.
“Is it because of you?” Noah asked. “No. Well...” He tilted his head to look at Dustin, who shrugged. “Not all of it.”
I let out a sigh at how stupid I sounded. “Wow. I... can usually form sentences,” I joked sheepishly, and both of them grinned. “I don’t think I’m the one he wants to talk to,” I told them both. “I...” I didn’t know how to say it.
“Was spying on him for your dad?” Dustin asked quietly. “Yeah, not so smart for an A-plus student.”
