“Do you have Elias’ number?” he asks, as he shoves his feet into his tennis shoes without bothering to tie them.
“Uhh, no?” I answer, blinking. “You aren’t planning to kill him, are you?”
I mean it as a joke. Mostly.
Colten’s still wearing his grass-stained shorts. Only his shirt and shoes are clean. He hates wearing his bright yellow soccer shorts off the field.
“I’ll be home later,” he says, grabbing his bag and heading for the door. Notably, he says nothing about Elias’ chances of survival.
“Colten—”
The door swings shut behind him, and I stare at it for a second.
Then I sigh and lean back against the locker. Elias has magic on his side; I’m sure he’ll survive. Probably.
So yeah, maybe that didn’t go great, but whatever. Colten just needs some space, and then I’ll make a joke, and he’ll laugh, and we’ll play soccer together again. It’s fine.
Besides, I have super powers!
The locker room is completely quiet now, the only sound the occasional muffled shout from outside. Which means I finally have a moment to process the fact that I'm apparently also a human flashlight.
I shake out my hands experimentally. No glowing, shining, or even a hint of any other weirdness.
Well, some sort of power, maybe. Is it radiation? Did that Greek guy give us radiation poisoning?
I let out a heavier sigh. Beyond weird and mostly useless super powers, I have my evaluation in less than a week, as Colten has been nagging me about.
Maybe that’s why he’s upset, or at least part of it. Here I am, getting all excited about potential radiation poisoning when the upcoming evaluation will lock in my spot for next season, my last season.
I already lost my sophomore year to an injury; I honestly can’t afford to get distracted now. If I end up in a crappy position, no scout will notice me.
Not to mention, I’m only here because of my scholarship. What if they decide not to fund my senior year? They were already generous enough to fund junior year after the injury. There’s no way my parents can afford my tuition.
As much as I’ve been dragging my feet on practicing… Colten’s right, I need to focus, to lock in.
Rolling my shoulders back, I decide to push aside Colten’s weirdness and all the magical stuff for a bit.
It’s time to focus on my evaluations. It’s my last shot. I’ve spent my entire life working for this moment, supported by so many people who are expecting my success.
If I get distracted now…
What will I have left?
Chapter 4
The glowing thing doesn’t happen again.
Which, honestly, would be comforting if Colten didn’t also spend the next several days acting like I’m a mildly irritating coworker instead of the guy he’s spent the last three years glued to.
We still train, we still run drills. He still helps tape my ankle when it gets tight, walking me through stretches like the physical therapy major he is. I’m not sure what happened to Elias, but none of Colten’s laundry has blood on it, so I’ll take it as a good sign.
But still, it’s…different. There’s space between us now.
Colten keeps his hands to himself during our physical therapy sessions, correcting my form purely through stilted words, which honestly doesn’t seem like the best way to do it. Dr. Carlson would certainly never do it like that.
It’s like he thinks I’m diseased or something. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but I find myself biting my cheek to keep from calling him out on it during our sessions.
If he needs space, he can have it.
