HOOOOOOONK!
The sound tore into my ears. I gasped, stumbling backward as headlights flashed past my face.
"What the—?"
A big truck screeched past me, the driver leaned halfway out his window to scream, "Are you trying to die, idiot?!"
My knees nearly weakened. I tried taking deep breaths though my hands shook violently beside me. For a moment, I could only hear the pounding of my own heart.
The highway. I was standing in the middle of the fucking highway!
I shut my eyes against the deafening horns, while my lips parted in a shaky laugh. "Figures. First life, I die in the hands of my classmates. Second life, I jump off a rooftop. Third life, I almost get flattened by a truck."
"Move, you slow cocksucking maniac!" another driver barked.
I chose to ignore him, pressing a hand to my pocket when I felt a vibration. I pulled out my phone and I brought it closer to my eyes. It widened at the notification. A text from my friend; about the game.
The game…!
I felt my throat tightened. Of course. Today was the day.
My lips curved into a reckless smile.
I raised my middle finger at the angry truck driver, then ran across the road toward a prestige building.
Stan-Hedge Academy. My boarding school.
I still remembered the way my mom's face had lit up when I got the admission letter. For her, it was proof that her daughter had stepped into a better life.
For me, it was the worst thing that ever happened to my already messy life. And it had all been thanks to Mr. Hamilton!
Stan-Hedge Academy was a boarding school, summer break was ending, and the day-student activities were wrapping up with the games. The games marked the end and the beginning.
I only attend day-school during summer break because my results are worst than a pile of dog poop!
In other words, summer school is only for the low ranked students and athletes.
Even now, as I walked through the gates, flashing my ID at the wardens, I couldn't shake the feeling of being such a failure!
While I walked in, my eyes briefly swept over the line of expensive cars parked around the field. Cars so expensive they could probably buy out my entire generation. And this wasn't even parents' day.
When I reached the field, I froze at the sight of the crowd. Practically every student had shown up, even though it was just summer school. And it was supposed to be for the low ranked students they say.
I was shaken from my thoughts as two players went flying, but the other stayed on his feet, looking down at one hurt. He was wearing the number twenty-one, and I glanced back at the shirtless fans who were delirious with excitement.
Clearly this was their favorite player, and it didn't take long for me to realize why. With his opponent sprawled at his feet, the number twenty-one took off.
He glided effortlessly across the field, weaving between rival players like they weren't there at all.
I knew he was running at a breathtaking pace, but it almost felt like everything was happening in slow motion and the roar of the crowd seemed to dull around me. As someone who hated anything sports, even I had to admit this guy was impressive!
As if to confirm my appraisal, the number twenty-one jumped above the final defenseman and slammed the ball as he ran through the end zone.
"Touchdown, Stan-Hedge Devils!" the announcer's excited voice split through my eardrum.
And the fans around, screamed. They couldn't get enough of this guy. Even I, who hated every stupid sport in existence, couldn't seem to take my eyes off him.
The crowd was still screaming when a whistle was blown, it looked like there was a distraction. Cause the players gathered at one spot attending to another player.
"Stephanie Porter!"
I was still trying to figure out what was going on when my name was called from the bleachers above. When I looked up my eyes caught sight of a familiar redhead leaning over the bleachers, grinning as she waved frantically at me.
That was Alabama Stewart, my sister from another mister. She pointed at the empty seat she'd saved.
I shook my head, pointing toward my waist. A crude way of saying, I needed to use the restroom. It was a lie, but she knew me well enough to expect no shame. She rolled her eyes, exaggerated, before dropping back into her seat.
I took that as my shot and I ran toward the locker room doors. Though two wardens blocked the way.
Damn. How was I supposed to get through?
I closed my eyes, thinking, before muttering under my breath, "If I'm meant to go behind that door, give me a distraction."
I hadn't even opened my eyes yet when I heard the voice of the coach calling for the two wardens to come over.
"..."
The locker room was nothing like the cramped, smelly ones I'd known before. This one was different.
Rows of polished lockers stretched across the wide space, each with a clean, engraved nameplate. Plush leather benches stood between them.
The air smelled of fresh soap, faint cologne, and expensive air freshener. The bright lights from the spotless tiles reflected on my face. It felt less like a locker room and more like a lounge for champions.
My eyes scanned the nameplates on the lockers until it remained on a particular one, and with the number Twenty-one.