I woke up at nine o'clock. My eyes fluttered open as I slowly began to process what was happening. For a solid two minutes, I didn't move. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the moment soak in. This was it. The last time I'd wake up in this room and feel these sheets, see that small crack in the corner of the ceiling and hear the faint hum of the mini-fridge that had kept my snacks cold for a week.
I'm not a nostalgic guy. Never have been, really. Growing up in an orphanage teaches you that attachment is a luxury. You learn not to get too comfortable, not to sink your roots too deep, because nothing stays. People leave and places change. The one constant is that nothing's constant. But this room? It felt different.
I thought about the first night, ordering room service while practically vibrating with excitement over a cheese pizza and some fancy French pastry I couldn't pronounce. I thought about the night before the semi-finals, pacing these floors, convinced we were about to make history or crash and burn. I thought about coming back after the final, still buzzing and shaking. Not quite believing we'd actually done it. This room had seen me at my most anxious, my most exhausted and my most euphoric. Four walls and a fancy window, but somehow it felt like more than that.
I let out a long breath. "Okay. That's enough sentimentality for one lifetime."
I took my time getting into the shower, every movement slow and deliberate. I let the water run hotter than usual, standing under the spray until steam filled the entire bathroom and I could barely see the mirror. I used the fancy soap, working it into my skin, trying to memorize the smell. Lavender and lemons. I brushed my teeth slowly and combed my hair with actual attention instead of the usual "run and pray" method. Then I took a moment to look at myself in the mirror, meeting my own eyes.
"You did good, kid," I told my reflection. My reflection didn't argue for once.
I picked up the landline and ordered breakfast. The woman on the other end took my order in a flash: waffles, scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, orange juice and a croissant because why not? It was the last day. I had to go big.
Twenty minutes later, a knock at the door. I opened it to find Mr. Joseph, same as my first morning, with his quiet dignity and perfect posture. He wheeled in the cart and began setting up with practiced precision.
"Last day, Mr. Darmian?" he asked, not looking up from the plates.
"Yeah," I said. "How'd you know?"
He grinned slightly, nodding towards my suitcase. "Random guess."
I laughed sheepishly. "Well, you're right. It is my last day. Might as well make the most of it."
"That's a good philosophy," he said, chuckling. He finished arranging the food, then stood straight and met my eyes. "It's been a pleasure serving you this week. Mr. Darmian."
"Thanks for everything Mr. Joseph"
He gave a short bow. Just a slight dip of his head, but it felt like a goodbye between people who'd shared something small but real. I returned the bow the same way I had that first morning, when I'd asked him to call me by my name. He smiled once more, then slipped out the door.
Breakfast was as perfect as it could get. I took my time with it, chewing slowly and savoring every bite. The waffles were fluffy, the bacon was crispy and the orange juice tasted like actual oranges instead of the sugary concentrate I was used to. I ate until I was full, then ate a little more, because when would I get room service again?
After breakfast, it was time to begin packing. Thankfully, I hadn't brought much, so that was pretty easy to get through. I folded everything carefully, placing each item in my bag imagining Zoë was there supervising. Socks in the corners, toiletries in the side pocket, clothes in the middle, and lastly, my suit laid on top, because some things deserved extra care.
The orb was still in my drawer, wrapped in a t-shirt. I picked it up, felt its weight and its strange coldness. Still no idea what it was. I tucked it into my bag without giving it much thought. Maybe I'd trade it for something else once we got back.
With packing done, I looked around. The hotel staff usually cleaned my room whenever I left, so it was mostly tidy. But it felt wrong to leave it completely untouched. So I straightened the pillows, got some tissues to wipe down the bathroom counter, folded the bedsheets, cleaned the table and fluffed the comforter even though it would be changed the second I left. Small things. Maybe even pointless things, but they made me feel like I was leaving something behind besides just empty space.
I checked my phone: 10:27AM. Still an hour before I needed to be downstairs. With nothing else to do, I turned on the TV and played YouTube shorts, half-watching, half-daydreaming, letting the time slip away.
At 11:00 on the dot, I stood up and gathered my stuff. I checked the drawers one last time, checked the bathroom again, and checked under the bed where I found nothing but dust bunnies and a single sock I'd missed. I walked to the door, put my hand on the handle and stopped to take one last look. The bed, neatly made. The window, showing a city that had been my home for a week. The spot by the mini-fridge where I'd sat that first night, eating pizza and trying to process everything. The desk where I'd charged my phone and scrolled through a hundred victory photos. It was just a room. Just an ordinary hotel room. But it was mine.
I let out a long breath. "Thanks for everything," I said quietly. Then I opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and closed it behind me without looking back. Well, maybe one look back, but that was it.
I made it to the lobby by 11:05, which for me was basically early. Laura and Henry were already there, perched on the same couches I'd occupied what felt like a lifetime ago. Laura had her phone out, scrolling through something with the intensity of a codebreaker. Henry was people-watching with his arms crossed.
"Look who decided to join the living," Henry said as I approached. "He's actually on time today. Should we be concerned?"
I dropped my bags next to theirs and collapsed onto the couch. "Where is everyone?"
"Scott's probably still arguing with his suitcase," Laura said without looking up. "Marcus is Marcus. Zoë and Mackenzie were fighting over something this morning I think. Ms. Flores is doing a final sweep. Mr. Sebastian is…" She gestured vaguely. "Existing, I guess."
"Existing is a strong word for what he does."
We talked about nothing for the next fifteen minutes. The flight, the time change, whether the cafeteria would feel different after a week of five-star room service. (Spoiler: it would not.) Normal stuff, just to keep ourselves from dozing.
One by one, the others trickled in. Scott arrived first, looking rumpled but victorious. "The suitcase lost," he announced. "I won. It's in the limo."
Mackenzie and Zoë came next, still mid-argument about something involving a hairbrush and "personal space" and "you're lucky I didn't throw it out the window." Marcus followed, looking relieved just to be vertical. Mr. Sebastian wandered in last, coffee in hand, expression suggesting he'd already mentally checked out.
Ms. Flores appeared at exactly 11:20 with her tablet in hand and sunglasses on, looking like she'd stepped out of a magazine. "Everyone alive?"
A chorus of vague affirmations.
"Good. Let's move."
We piled into the limo one last time without saying much. The drive to the airport was quiet in that comfortable way, everyone lost in their own thoughts, watching Toronto scroll past the windows.
We arrived at 11:50 AM sharp. Ms. Flores stepped out first, scanned the parking lot and walked straight up to a random guy in a
tracksuit who'd been leaning against a concrete pillar. She handed him the
keys. He nodded once, got in the limo, and drove away without a word.
We all stared. "Who was that?" Henry asked.
"Someone who does jobs," Ms. Flores said.
"That's not an answer," Zoë pointed out.
"It's the only one you're getting."
Check-in was smooth. Ten minutes, maybe less. Nobody lost their luggage or anything like that. Just passports, boarding passes and the quiet efficiency of people
who'd done this a million times before.
By 12:16, we got on the plane and were airborne shortly after. The takeoff was smooth while the flight was smoother. Two hours of relaxation and calm. I spent most of it staring at the seat in front of me, debating whether I should read one of those fashion magazines in the seatback pocket that nobody reads.
We touched down at Portland International Jetport at 2:30 PM. The sky was gray and overcast, a clear sign that we were back home. The short flight to Ashland was even shorter and largely uneventful. When we finally stepped out of the airport, the first thing I noticed was the air. Cooler, cleaner, even wetter, smelling like pine and something green and alive.
Henry took a deep breath, held it, and let it out wistfully. "Man," he said, grinning. "I missed this gloomy weather. This is the good stuff. None of that cheerful sunshine nonsense."
We piled into a taxi, which felt almost strange now after riding in a limo for a week, and made the short drive to the forest. The driver dropped us at the same spot where we had left last week. Standing there at the edge of the woods, I felt something twist in my stomach.
I knew what was waiting inside the forest. The whole school. Everyone who'd watched us leave, who'd cheered us on, who'd
stayed up late following updates and waiting for news. I wasn't sure I was ready for any of it.
"You good?" Scott asked, falling into step beside me.
"Yeah," I said. Then, quieter: "Just nervous."
"About what?"
"Everyone's waiting. You know."
He nodded like he understood. Maybe he did.
"It's weird, right?" he said. "We actually did it. We won. And now we have to go back and be… normal."
"Yeah."
"Terrifying."
We walked in silence for a minute, following Ms. Flores through the trees.
Then Scott bumped me with his shoulder. "At least we'll be terrified together."
I laughed. "I guess you're right."
Up ahead, Ms. Flores stopped at the familiar spot. She cleared some dirt from the wooden panel, bit her thumb without flinching and pressed it down. The gate creaked open.
"This is it, guys," Laura said, rubbing her hands together.
"Well, it's been an experience," Henry replied, exhaling deeply.
Beyond the gates we could hear the noise. The buzz of a school full of people. We were back home.
I took a breath and stepped forward. As soon as we walked past the gates, the world exploded. Not literally, but it felt like it.
The first wave hit us before I could even process what was happening: a flood of tiny bodies in uniforms, years one through seven, swarming us like we were celebrities. Their faces were lit up, eyes wide, mouths running at full speed.
"You won!"
"You're champions!"
"Can I touch the trophy?"
"Did you really punch a guy through a wall?"
"I heard you fought a bear!"
Scott leaned toward me. "A bear?"
"Don't ruin it for them."
We moved forward, and the crowd parted and reformed around us. The younger kids lined both sides of the path, clapping and
cheering and jumping up and down, their little legs barely containing their excitement. Some reached out to touch us as we passed, hands grabbing at sleeves, at jackets, at anything within reach. I high-fived so many tiny palms I lost count.
It was a procession through the heart of the college. The classes were lined up in order, youngest to oldest. Year eights and nines waved handmade signs. Years ten through twelve chanted something I couldn't quite make out over all the noise, but it sounded
aggressively supportive.
And then we hit year fourteen. I spotted them before they spotted me. A cluster of familiar faces in the crowd, all grins and
anticipation. Then someone yelled "DARMIAN" and the formation nearly broke.
Hands grabbed me from every direction, pulling me away from the group, and suddenly I was surrounded. Daps, handshakes, slaps on the back so enthusiastic they'd have bruised a human. Someone ruffled my hair, multiple someones actually, until I looked like I'd survived a small hurricane.
"The suit, man! The suit!"
"Bro, that final round was insane!"
"You really put that guy on the ground!"
I was laughing, trying to respond, but the words got lost somewhere between the noise and the pure overwhelming joy of it. These were my people. My class. The ones who'd watched us leave and believed we could do something none of us had ever done before.
Across the chaos, I caught glimpses of Scott getting the same treatment. He was lifted off the ground by a group of guys,
his laugh cutting through the noise. Laura and Zoë had been absorbed by a cluster of girls, all talking at once with their hands flying. The kind of reunion that happened at the speed of pure emotion.
We kept moving after a couple minutes. The procession demanded it. Year fifteen was next and Marcus and Mackenzie got
pulled into their own whirlwind of congratulations, while Henry was last,
swallowed by the year eighteen students at the very end.
By the time we reached the auditorium, I was breathless and grinning and pretty sure my hair would never recover. They
directed us to seats on the stage lined up facing the crowd, with the trophy
gleaming on a pedestal beside us. Below, the auditorium filled with students, class by class, until every seat was taken and people were lining the walls.
Mr. Sebastian and Ms. Flores finally stepped aside, standing near the edge of the stage with the other teachers. They were beaming. I just knew they were thinking about bonuses. Especially Ms. Flores.
I looked out at the sea of faces. Everyone was here, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.
Ms. Judge arrived quietly, the kind of entrance that made you notice without knowing why. One moment the auditorium was still buzzing with post-procession energy, the next, heads were turning,
conversations dying, the noise subsiding dramatically. She walked to the center
of the stage, paused and looked at each of us, smiling proudly. Then she moved
to the podium, adjusted the microphone and spoke.
"The champions of the continent have arrived."
That was all it took for the auditorium to
errupt.
See, I've heard crowds before. The CVC finals had been loud enough to shake concrete, but this felt different. These were our people. The ones who we knew inside and out. People we'd sat next to in class,
people who'd waved goodbye when we left and cheered us on regardless of what
would happen.
I turned to look at Scott. He was grinning so hard I thought his face might split. Zoë had her hand over her mouth, eyes bright.
Henry sat up straighter, like he was trying to absorb every second of it. Laura had tears in the corner of her eyes. Mackenzie and Marcus were trying to keep their faces neutral but they couldn't hold back their smiles.
It went on for a full minute. When it finally
calmed down and the last echoes faded, Ms. Judge continued.
"Each of them," she said, her voice echoing through the hall, "is a model of what it means to be a vampire from this college. They didn't just show skill and heart. They were resilient in the face of adversity that would have broken lesser competitors." She paused, letting her message land. "I expect you all to strive for what they've achieved. Not just the victory, but the journey, the growth and the refusal to quit when quitting
would have been the easier choice."
Her eyes swept the room. "Welcome home, champions."
Another round of applause, slightly less volcanic but still warm.
Then she added, almost casually, "Also, there will be no classes tomorrow. Consider it a holiday to celebrate this milestone. You've earned it."
The younger kids lost their minds. Honestly, I think that got a bigger reaction than anything else.
Ms. Judge called us up one by one as the crowd cheered. Henry was first to receive a handshake, followed by Scott, who somehow managed to make a handshake
look like a performance. Zoë went third, then Laura, then Marcus and Mackenzie together because apparently twins couldn't be separated even for formalities (at least when they were back home). I went last, keeping my stride slow as I walked towards her and shook her hand. Her hand was firm, her grip steady as she nodded at me.
"Well done, Darmian," she said quietly.
"Thank you, Ms. Judge."
She released my hand and stepped back. The applause swelled one final time before dissolving into the general chaos of students being released from formal assembly. I found my friends near the auditorium entrance. Tanner spotted me first and with the way he was grinning, I knew he'd been waiting all week to ask approximately one million questions.
"THERE he is!" Tanner threw an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into something between a hug and a headlock. "Dude tell me everything. Leave nothing out. I want all the details, I want drama, I want
the stuff they didn't show on the broadcasts."
Clarise appeared at my other side, rolling her eyes at Tanner's enthusiasm but clearly just as curious. "Ignore him. But also…
yeah, tell us everything."
Scott materialized beside me, clearly having escaped his own interrogation. "Oh, this is gonna be good."
I laughed. "Where do I even start?"
"Well, the beginning's a nice place to start," Clarise said.
So I did. I told them about the limo, the Clover and the first time I realized room
service could change your life. I told them about the opening ceremony, about
Ms. Roxanne on stage, about the weird feeling that she'd been looking right at me. I told them about the mental rounds. How it felt watching Mackenzie crushing it, Marcus holding his own and Jessica Monroe being absolutely terrifying.
"The Kingsreed girl?" Tanner interrupted. "The one who got a perfect score?"
"That's the one. She's even scarier in person."
"No way anyone's scarier than Ms. Judge."
"Different kind of scary."
Scott chimed in with his own embellishments: the award ceremony that happened yesterday and how he "charmed the ladies with intricate flattery and charming wit".
Todd showed up halfway through. I noticed him before he spoke, his face doing that thing where he tried to look unimpressed and mostly succeeded.
"Some final that was. You had your face on the ground for almost half of it," he said flatly.
I raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing if you were there it would've been different."
"Obviously."
Scott snorted. "Someone's still salty he got left out."
Todd smirked. "Says the guy who got carried by Zoë."
The air shifted. Tanner's grin faltered. Clarise's eyes narrowed, while Scott laughed dryly.
I held up a hand before anyone could escalate. "It's fine. Todd's allowed to have opinions. Even wrong ones."
Todd's jaw tightened. "I'm just saying—"
"You're just being you," Scott interrupted. "Don't worry, we appreciate that."
There was a beat of silence. Then Tanner cracked up, Clarise followed and even I couldn't hold back a smile.
Todd muttered something unintelligible and walked away.
"Anyway," I said, turning back to the others, "where was I?"
"The final," Clarise prompted. "The part where you almost died."
"Hey! I didn't almost die."
"Sure."
I told them about the final and how it felt
standing there in that moment. I left out the voice in my head for obvious reasons, but I told them about Tyson's confession and about the drugs.
Tanner's eyes went wide. "Wait, he admitted it? During the fight?"
"Mid-punch. Very dramatic."
"That's insane."
"That's Kingsreed for you."
We talked for what felt like hours. Scott jumped in with his own stories about the tug-of-war, the arcade and the time Marcus lost
his phone in a museum bathroom. Clarise laughed so hard at that one she had to
sit down. Tanner kept asking for more details about the fights, the rival schools, the food.
Eventually, the crowd around us thinned. People drifted off to dinner, to dorms, to whatever normal Tuesday evening looked like after a week of chaos. I checked my phone and somehow it was already evening.
"I should probably…" I gestured vaguely toward the dorm.
"Yeah, yeah," Tanner said. "Go decompress. We'll find you tomorrow."
"Or whenever you wake up," Clarise added. "Knowing you."
Scott clapped my shoulder as I picked up my stuff. "Good work, champ. Try not to dream about Tyson's face."
"That would be a nightmare."
I walked to my dorm alone, the halls quiet for the first time all day. My room was exactly as I'd left it. I dumped my bags by the
door, kicked off my shoes and stood in the middle of the carpet for a long moment.
"Daddy's home," I said, plopping down on my bed and stretching. I changed into something comfortable, ran a hand through my ruined hair and headed back out for dinner. Just like that, I was back to my
normal life.
***************
Two weeks later, I was deeply, profoundly and existentially screwed.
The celebration the next day had been exactly what you'd expect. Thousands of photos, some of which would definitely end up framed in the hallways forever, followed by a feast that lasted the entire day. Food,
music, speeches, more food. By the time it ended, I'd eaten enough to fuel a small army, smiled so much my face hurt, and written my signature on notebooks, book bags and T-shirts to the point where I almost forgot how to write.
Then Ms. Flores dropped the news that the seven of us had a week off before we could resume classes. A full week. Unsurprisingly, Scott speed ran multiple volumes of manga. Marcus spent it looking for things. Henry spent most of it sleeping. Laura trained. Mackenzie read approximately seventeen books. I, on the other hand, did absolutely nothing and loved every second of it. Zoë went back to class the next day.
I still didn't understand that. Still don't,
honestly. We just won one of the biggest tournaments in vampire history, and she just
walked back into class while the rest of us were still in various states of horizontal recovery. It was almost offensive.
But now, two weeks later, I understood exactly why she'd done it. Because while she'd been catching up, I'd been… not. And now I had a physicals test in approximately four hours and my notes looked like
they'd been written in a language I'd vaguely heard of but never actually learned.
"You're doing it again," Zoë said.
I looked up from my notes. She was sitting across from me in the school café, one hand wrapped around her cappuccino (which I'd
bought, obviously, as a bribe), watching me with that expression she got when she was trying not to laugh.
"Doing what?"
"Staring at the page like it offended you."
"Because it has. Look at this." I shoved the notes toward her. "What even is this? 'Optimal launch angle for maximum distance in hammer throw requires consideration of—' I don't even know what that word says. Is that 'aerodynamics'? It looks like 'aerodnynamics.' That's not a word."
"It's aerodynamics."
"Why doesn't it say that then?!"
Zoë took a slow sip of her cappuccino. "You're being dramatic."
I sighed and leaned back, tilting the chair until I was staring at the ceiling. "I'm tired."
"You're both," she said, but she was smiling. "Okay. Give me the notes. Let's go through it again."
I handed them over while she scanned the page, nodding to herself, then launching into an explanation that made zero sense for the first thirty seconds before suddenly clicking into place.
"Wait," I said. "So the angle matters more than the force?"
"The angle determines the force efficiency. You can throw as hard as you want, but if your launch angle is off, you're wasting energy."
We kept going at it as the café emptied and refilled around us, students coming and going as the afternoon light shifted through the windows. I bought another cappuccino for Zoë, because I was committed to the bribe at this point.
Three hours in, my brain still felt like soup.
"There's still so much," I groaned, dropping my head onto the table. "Why is there so much? Who decided vampires needed to know this much about physics? We're not engineers."
"Well… some of us are engineers."
I felt her foot nudge mine under the table. When I looked up, she was holding out her cappuccino. "Drink. You look like you need
it."
"You know, I bought that for you."
"I'm sharing. Don't make it weird," she said yawning.
"You're enjoying this," I said, taking a sip.
"Watching you suffer? Maybe a little."
"Nice one."
She laughed again, taking the notes out of my hands. "Okay. One more section and then we take a break."
"Define break for me."
"Twenty minutes to walk around. Let your brain reset."
"And then?"
"Then we finish this, you pass the test
and you owe me another cappuccino."
I looked at her. She was already scanning the notes, ready to dive back in, completely in her element. I didn't deserve her help. But I was absolutely going to take it.
"Fine," I said. "One more section."
She smiled. "Good choice."
Scott strutted in at 6:15 PM, spotted us in the corner and made a beeline for our table with the kind of energy that suggested he hadn't just spent the last two weeks doing absolutely nothing.
"Dude." He dropped into the seat next to me, stealing a sip of my drink before I could stop him. "The heck are you doing here? It's almost dinner time. And you know I can't eat that meatloaf."
"I'm studying," I said flatly.
"Studying what?"
"Physicals."
Scott stared at me and laughed. Not a mean laugh, just genuinely confused. "Physicals is a practical test. You just… do the thing. Why are you reading about it?"
"Because," Zoë said, not looking up from the notes, "knowing the theory before you perform helps with form and efficiency."
"Or," Scott countered, "you could just show up and wing it like a normal person. Works for me."
"Works for you because you get lucky… most of the time," I pointed out.
"Not just luck. It's also because of my natural ability and charm. Don't forget charm," he replied.
Zoë sighed. It was the sigh of someone who'd had this conversation a thousand times and would have it a thousand more. She rubbed her eyes, and I noticed how tired she looked. Then she yawned again. It
was small, barely there, the kind of yawn you try to hide and fail, but once I saw it, I felt it too. The exhaustion hit me like a wave, and suddenly I was yawning so hard my jaw cracked.
Scott watched both of us with the expression of someone observing zoo animals. "Wow. You two are literally vibrating at the same frequency. It's gross."
"Shut up," Zoë and I said simultaneously.
Scott's grin widened. "See? Gross."
Zoë stood, gathering her notes. "I'm going back to my room. I need to actually prepare for this test, unlike some people."
"Wait, wait." Scott held up a hand. "Before you go, after the tests come to the library. Me, you, Darmian, Marcus, Laura, Mackenzie, Henry. Two week anniversary celebration."
Zoë paused. "Two week anniversary of what?"
"Of us winning the CVC. Obviously."
"That's not a thing, Scott" she said, rubbing her eyes.
"It's absolutely a thing. I literally just made it official."
Zoë looked at me. I shrugged. She rolled her eyes and headed for the door. Halfway there, she glanced back. "I'll see," she said.
Then, to me: "Good luck tonight. Try not to fail."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I replied.
"Hey, what about me?" Scott asked.
She waved at us and disappeared through the café doors. Scott waited exactly two seconds before turning to me with the most
aggressive eyebrow raise I'd ever seen.
"Bro."
"What?"
"Bro."
"I don't know what you're—"
"She waved at you. Specifically you. Not me. I was sitting right here and she waved at you."
"She waved generally."
"That wasn't general. That was targeted at you."
I rubbed my face. "You're insane."
"I know what I saw." He leaned forward, lowering his voice like we were discussing state secrets. "And that's exactly why you have to be there tonight."
"The two week anniversary?"
"Yes."
"That's not a real thing."
"It's real because I said it's real."
"You do know that's not how reality works."
"That's exactly how reality works. Reality is just collective agreement, and I've agreed with myself, so it's official.
I stared at him. He stared back.
"Scott."
"Darmian."
"A two week anniversary is not a thing."
"It's a thing now."
"You can't just invent holidays."
"I just did!"
I dropped my head onto the table. The wood was cool against my forehead. For a moment, I considered just staying there
forever.
"Darmian." Scott's voice was closer now, slightly more serious. "Everyone's gonna be there. It's just hanging out. No pressure. But also, Zoë might be there, and you should definitely be there if Zoë's gonna be there."
"I don't know what you're insinuating," I said, raising my eyebrows at him.
"Im sure you don't ," he said, smiling mischievously.
I lifted my head. "You know, you're being very subtle."
"I'm not trying to be subtle. I'm being direct and it's a leadership quality."
I thought for a while. "Maybe."
Scott's face fell. "Maybe? That's worse than no."
"It's also better than hell no."
"I see."
I stood, gathering my own notes which were significantly less organized than Zoë's, covered in doodles in the margins. "I'll think about it. After the test, if I'm still breathing."
"You'll be fine. You're 'the Darmian'. You beat Tyson while he was on drugs, pretty sure you can survive a physicals test."
"That's… not how any of this works."
"Maybe," Scott grinned. "But I'll be waiting for you. Don't forget."
I shook my head, but I was smiling. "You're impossible."
"Impossibly charming. See you later, champ."
I walked out of the café into the cool evening air, my bag slung over one shoulder, brain still buzzing with aerodynamics, launch angles and a test I was fairly prepared for.
By 10:30 PM, I was running on fumes and spite. The walk to the field was longer than I remembered. Or maybe I was just slower. The campus was mostly quiet and dim, the kind of peaceful evening that usually felt
calming.
But I noticed things. Small things. A
group of year twelves passed me on the path, and one of them, a guy I didn't
recognize, rubbed his eyes as he walked, almost walking into me. A few steps
behind him, a girl yawned into her sleeve, trying to hide it and failing. Further
ahead, someone was sleeping on one of the iron benches that was notorious for
being insanely uncomfortable.
At this time of the semester, everyone was all but completely spent. Exams were in three weeks and homework was at it's most
brutal. But that also meant the holidays were around the corner, which in turn meant it would just be me and the teachers in school for another three months.
Thrilling.
The field came into view, scattered with my classmates in various states of dishevelment. Coach Wayne stood at the center with a folder in hand, and even he looked off, rubbing his eyes with the heel
of his palm.
"Alright, listen up," he called as people shuffled into position. His voice was rougher than usual. "Attendance first. Then we run
through some basics and call it."
Basics? That wasn't the test. The test was
supposed to be comprehensive: stations, drills, the whole thing. I'd spent four hours with Zoë preparing for something that sounded a lot more intense than "basics."
But hey, I wasn't about to complain.
Attendance happened in a blur. Names called, hands raised, eyes barely open. Next to me, Nora stifled a yawn so forcefully she made a squeaking noise. Across the circle, I spotted Raymond sighing every two minutes.
Coach Wayne ran us through a few light drills. We jogged in place, did some stretches and performed a couple basic form checks that lasted maybe thirty seconds each.
"That's all for tonight," Coach said finally,
waving a hand. "Go back to your dorms. I'll compile and announce results in class tomorrow."
Everyone dispersed quietly, drifting toward their rooms without the usual post-class chatter. I was packing up my things when Scott appeared beside me, bouncing on his heels.
"See?" he said, grinning. "Told you. Winging it works."
"Can't even say I'm surprised at this point."
He nudged me slightly. "Also, don't forget the anniversary. Thirty minutes. Don't be late."
"I haven't even agreed to—"
He was already gone, jogging backward with a wave before turning and disappearing toward the dorms. I shook my head and kept
walking. The hallway was quiet when I finally reached my floor. The sound of shuffling feet and closed doors interrupted the silence.
I fumbled with my keys, dropped them once, cursed and dropped them again when the door next to mine clicked open. I turned and saw Hector at his door.
"Hey," he mumbled.
"Hey."
He rubbed his face. "Today's one of those days, I guess."
"Yeah," I said, finally getting the key to turn. "I guess so."
"I'm just happy Mr. Wayne didn't blow that whistle. Not sure I could handle that," he
said, smiling weakly.
"Tell me about it," I said, finally unlocking my door.
He grunted something that might have been "goodnight" and retreated into his room. The door clicked shut.
I pushed mine open, stepped inside, and froze. The orb was glowing softly. Sitting on my desk where I'd left it, still wrapped in a
t-shirt, it pulsed with a soft, faint light. It wasn't bright. Just… there. Glowing.
I stared at it for a long moment, then I yawned. I would deal with this tomorrow. Kicking off my shoes, I stripped down to something comfortable, switched off the lights and fell into bed. The pillow caught me as I exhaled slowly while wrapping the sheets around me from head to toe. I
remembered Scott's invitation, but there was no way I was standing up from this
bed for anything. I would make it up to him tomorrow. Knowing him, I wouldn't be surprised if he said something about a three week anniversary.
The last thing I saw before sleep pulled me under was that soft glow from the orb, still pulsing, weakly illuminating my room.
Weird.