[Elena]
I didn't cry as the neighbourhood I had called home for the past years was left behind while my car zoomed past. I never cried. That was my rule. Somehow, the emotion crying to me was for when you were alone in your room, doors and windows tightly shut, and there was music loud enough to drown everything else out. It was for when no one could see.
I passed by my high school. My dad had gone to school there during his teenage years. He'd played on the basketball team, graduated, played in college and then continued to coach there on Saturdays after he'd made it in his career. After his death, a mural was made on the main street of the school with his jersey number, '#14', written on it. It now looked old, so it was barely visible.
This small town was filled with so many memories of how close to perfect my family was, and I hated it for that.
But none of it haunted me like that night.
The cursed championship at Westlake Stadium ten years ago. The 2015 NBA Finals between the Vegas Vipers and the Baltimore Guardians, Game Seven. My dad, James Harper, had been a veteran point guard and the team captain for the Baltimore Guardians. He had been the heart of the team, an unshakable point guard known for his discipline, leadership, and almost obsessive commitment to clean play. The name 'The General' was given to him by his teammates because he was respected for his skill and loyalty.
The same couldn't be said about the then-captain of Vegas Vipers, Caleb Monroe. He was a short-tempered, egotistical bastard who never played by the rules. In simple words, he was the opposite of my dad. They never got along despite the number of games they'd played together.
And when two opposites who despise each other meet, one of them is bound to get burned. Sadly, that had been my dad.
That night, the game had been intense as always, especially the tension between my dad and Caleb Monroe. I still remember every second of it as though it had been yesterday. It was the last minutes of the game, and the whole stadium had been filled with screaming fans. My Mom, who had been sitting tensely beside me, held my hands as she prayed silently for my dad's team to win. I had only been eleven then, but even I couldn't miss the stare-down between my dad and Caleb after a hard foul had been given. Five minutes later, my dad's team had won and I was smiling, watching my dad as He rejoiced with his mates. But then it all happened in a flash. One minute, my dad was smiling up at me, and the next minute, he was lying down on the ground with Caleb Monroe on top of him, beating him to a pulp.
I remembered the way my mom screamed as some players pushed Caleb off my dad. I remembered the way the paramedics pushed through the crowd to reach my dad, the way the camera stayed locked on my dad's bloodied face and how it shifted to Caleb's. I remembered the smirk on his lips as though he hadn't shattered everything.
My dad had collapsed that night and never woke up. He'd died from a sudden heart failure, the medical report had stated. My dad, who valued health so much that he disliked processed food, had died from heart failure when he'd been completely fine during his monthly check three days prior. There had been no warning, no second chances. There had been nothing but silence and death.
My mom and I cried so much that night, but Caleb Monroe walked off the court like nothing had happened, like he hadn't stained his hands with the blood of my father.
I hate him so much. I hate him with such deep passion.
The world forgave him, said it was a misfortune, defended him and insisted that it wasn't his fault.
But I never did. No, he wasn't supposed to live a successful life after everything that had happened.
The road out of my hometown was long and pretty much uneventful. I passed by farms, old billboards, and an abandoned diner. The rain started halfway to the freeway, smearing against the windshield as the wipers swiped up and down.
I was determined not to let it slow me down, and so I kept on driving. The farther I got away from Millers Creek, the easier it would be to breathe. The journey from West Virginia to Santa Cruz, California, which was approximately two thousand six hundred miles, was going to be a tough one, but I knew I was going to be okay. I was tough too!
I had applied to transfer to Westlake University exactly three months ago. I had done so under the name Elena Walker. Honestly, it wasn't fully a fake name. My mother's paternal surname was Walker. The name at birth had been Cassie Harper. I had changed it to Elena Walker a few years back. My mom hadn't questioned it. And if I'm being honest, I had expected her to, but she proved yet again that she didn't care about me anymore.
Walker was a common enough name, and the fact that my face had never made it on the news back then made it impossible to link me to the former basketball legend, James Harper. It was all thanks to Mom, though. She always used to tell me that I was too young for any form of spotlight.
After two and a half days of driving through rain and stopping at motels to rest, I finally reached Santa Cruz. I was tired and my neck was stiff from all the driving. It was just after sunrise as I took the highway to Westlake. My heart hammered in my chest. This was finally it. I was finally here. Five minutes later, I could see the university buildings ahead.
I was finally here.
Stars by Benson Boone suddenly blasted into the air. I looked at my phone to see it buzzing with the name of the department head, Mr Parker, whom I had spoken on the phone with a few times but had yet to meet in person. He sounded like a sweet guy, and he'd been nothing but kind during the whole transfer process. He was formerly the head coach but was promoted three months ago. I answered the call with my rehearsed, somewhat professional voice.
"Hello?"
"Ms Walker? Just checking in. Are you still coming?"
"Yes, Sir. I'm almost there." I replied, "From my GPS, I think I have five minutes until I reach there"
"Good. I wanted to inform you that training has already begun, and Coach Monroe has asked for you twice already." My heart jumped in excitement at the mention of his name. It wasn't a fluttering feeling but rather the urge to taste revenge. I was eager to make him pay.
"I can start today, Sir."
"No! You'll rest. You wrote in the last email that you are going to reach by car, am I right, Miss Walker?"
Uhmm, "Yes, Sir"
"Then you must be tired. You're a good player, Ms Walker. Your records speak for themselves, but Coach Monroe is a demanding man, and so you'll need all the energy you can get."
" Also, a guide will be waiting for you at the main lobby when you arrive. Welcome to Westlake."
"Thank you, Sir."
The call ended with a beep, and I smiled to myself as I made it to the Westlake University entrance.
The black gates were tall with swirls, and they opened slowly, revealing a driveway that stretched before me. Everything looked different from how I had remembered it.
The main buildings looked more modernised, probably due to some restructuring and maintenance. It was now all glass and stone, and the exterior alone screamed money.
There were a couple of guards near the front; they didn't look friendly, but also not unfriendly. In simple words, they seemed very professional. They just stared at me as I showed the softprint of my ID, which I'd received a week ago, trying to figure out if I belonged here.
I drove off after that. Whether I belonged or not didn't matter. I was already here.
It took me another twenty minutes to navigate the maze of one-way campus roads, asking other students for directions and avoiding blocked parking spaces. By the time I found the main administration building and the guide, I was half soaked and struggling to haul my duffel bags through the rain.
The guide, a middle-aged man in a worn-out dark blue T-shirt, showed me around campus without much conversation. He stopped in front of a large brick building just behind the athletic complex.
"This is the Women's Housing Complex," He said, handing me my student ID. "Check in at the front desk and you'll be shown your floor and room number. You'll meet Coach Monroe and the rest of the team at the gym early tomorrow morning. Just rest up well today."
I nodded, took the key from him and watched as he walked off without another word or glance. I guess that was it, then. I was on my own again.
Sighing, I entered the building and made my way to the main lobby to finish checking in. The woman at the front desk gave me a tight smile, handed me a clipboard, and checked my student ID. I was halfway through filling out the forms when I felt someone walk up beside me and speak as if I were already a problem.
"Are you the new transfer?" It wasn't the words but the tone she said them with.
I looked up from the paper.
She was taller than I, probably six feet ten and was fully dressed in training clothes that were so tight, they had been perfectly tailored for her. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, her arms crossed, and her posture like she ran the place.
"I am." I finally answered.
She looked me up and down, slowly but painfully obvious. "I didn't know we were accepting charity cases this season."
I blinked at her. Did I hear her right? "What do you mean by that?" My tone was calm but had a tinge of warning in it.
She ignored my question and said, "I'm Sofia Torres."
Was this girl okay?
I stared at her, trying to process what the hell her problem was.
"I'm Ele…"
"Already know that, Elena Walker. Mr Parker won't stop talking about how 'great' you are."
Okay?
She looked at me a moment longer, then gave a short nod, more out of habit than respect. "Just so we're clear, this isn't a place to slack off. People work hard to be here."
I stared at her, my face blank. "Good," I said. "I don't plan to slack."
She looked like she wanted to say more, but then she just gave a half-shrug and walked off without saying another word.
Judging from her attire and her words, I was sure she was also on the basketball team.
Oh, this was going to be fun.