Chapter 9

It’s our last subject today, and it is the one I hate. Pathfit class.

I don’t even know why I still have this class in my fourth year. It’s not like I am going to use this for my business career in the future.

The sharp blast of Mr. Torres’s whistle cut through the hot afternoon air. "Five laps around the track! Let's go!"

I didn't rush. I set my foot on the warm orange track and started running in a steady, comfortable pace. Running like this was easy for my body, like something I had done thousands of times before, but I kept my pace slow on purpose. I hid my good footwork and stayed right in the middle of the crowd. I just needed to look like everyone else so I could get this useless requirement over with.

I don’t wanna be someone who I used to be before.

When I crossed the finish line on my fifth lap, I wasn't even tired. I walked over to the wooden bleachers, took a small drink from my water bottle, and sat down on the bottom bench.

The heavy sound of sports shoes hit the gravel near the gate, followed by loud, arrogant laughter.

My fingers tightened around my plastic bottle until it crunched when my sight turned to those men who are making those noises.

The main hockey team, Golden Locke, walked onto the field. Michael was at the front, pulling his wrist tape tight, his face cold and quiet as usual. Right behind him was Nathan, smirking as he tossed a hockey ball up in the air.

I stood up fast.

I wasn't scared of them physically, but I couldn't let them notice me. If Nathan saw me standing there, he would spend the rest of the day finding ways to mess with me.

I turned around quickly, heading toward the equipment tables near the fence. But as I glanced back over my shoulder to check on Nathan, my shoe caught the sharp edge of a plastic box hidden in the grass.

I stumbled hard. I caught my weight easily on my front leg, but my elbow whipped sideways, crashing right into the folding table. My fall made a loud crash noise that I just know to myself without looking that they are already looking at my direction.

The big plastic tray tipped over. Dozens of paper cups and water bottles slammed onto the grass. Ice spilled across the dirt, and cold water gushed over my shoes, soaking through my socks.

The whole field went quiet.

"What on earth is going on over there?" Mr. Torres’s voice boomed.

I stood frozen over the mess. Mr. Torres marched over with his clipboard under his arm, his forehead creased with deep annoyance.

"I... I am so sorry, Coach," I muttered, dropping to one knee. My hands moved fast, stacking three crushed paper cups in one smooth motion. "It was an accident."

"Accident or not, look at this mess, Niel," Mr. Torres snapped, shaking his head. "The team hasn’t even started practicing, yet their water is gone. Go to the storage room near the rink, refill the big five-gallon jug, and bring fresh water back out here. Right now."

I swallowed hard. "Yes, Coach."

I stood up, reached down with one hand, and lifted the heavy five-gallon jug off the ground by its plastic handle.

I carried it across the field toward the gym entrance. When I stepped into the shadowy hallway leading to the ice rink, the cold air hit my face, smelling like rubber mats and cold ice.

I set the jug under the steel nozzle of the water dispenser and pressed the lever down.

The water filled the container slowly. My eyes are watching the water level on this jug, but my thoughts are away.

What if Nathan walks down this hall right now?

My jaw tightened. I squeezed my free hand into a tight fist against my side. I had the strength to defend myself if he touched me, but I couldn't do that here. I couldn't afford a fight, and I couldn't let anyone know about my past. I had to keep acting like a quiet, helpless target just to make it to graduation.

When the jug hit the fill line, I lifted the heavy container onto my hip without any trouble and turned around.

I walked back out into the bright sunlight and set the jug on the table. I poured fresh cups and lined up the bottles quickly.

"Water break! Two minutes!" Coach Torres shouted when I finally arrived back.

Heavy footsteps pounded across the grass. My classmates and other players swarmed the table. I ducked my head, staring at the scratched wood surface, handing out bottles blindly like a ghost.

A hand snatched a bottle from my grip. "Watch it, freak," Nathan scoffed above my head, laughing with his friends as he walked away.

I didn't answer. I kept my eyes down until the noise started to clear, leaving only one bottle sitting in the middle of the tray.

Then, two heavy sneakers stopped right in front of me.

I slowly raised my chin.

Michael stood there, breathing heavily, sweat running down his neck and soaking the collar of his white jersey. He looked down at the single bottle left on the table. Because I had taken extra time to make sure the main jug was secured properly, the rest of his squad had cleared out the entire supply before he got his turn.

Michael’s dark eyebrows pulled together. He reached out, his long fingers wrapping around the neck of the bottle, but he didn't lift it to his mouth.

He stepped half an inch closer, leaning down so his shadow completely covered my face. He let out a long, cold breath that hit my forehead.

"Why does a stupid person like you always do stupid things that drain me?" Michael said, his voice dropping into a low, quiet rasp.

My jaw set instantly. The skin around my eyes tightened, my hands locking into tight fists beneath the edge of the table. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to step up into his space, to look him dead in the eye and tell him to back off.

But I stayed completely still. I held his cold, exhausted gaze, forcing my expression to remain empty, swallowing the rage burning in the back of my throat until my chest physically ached.

Michael didn't wait. He cracked the cap off the bottle with a flick of his thumb, turned on his heel, and walked away without looking back.

I stood alone by the table, my fists locked so tight my fingernails bit into my palms, watching his back as he rejoined the team.