The Assistant Coach

The scorching heat outside is absolutely unbearable.

Colorado's winters may be brutal, but the fall is no joke either. School has already started, and the heat is just too much.

My denim shorts are practically glued to my skin, causing my thighs to chafe uncomfortably.

I can feel the sweat trickling down my back, making me wish I had opted for a shower instead of just deodorant this morning. My green tank top does little to provide relief; I might as well be walking around naked in this heat.

The fabric sticks to me like cling wrap, highlighting every imperfection and sweat stain. I can practically hear my sunscreen sizzling as it tries to protect me from the UV rays.

The sunglasses perched on my nose are sliding down with each step, threatening to fall off and leave me blinded by both the sun and my own clumsiness. The air feels thick and suffocating, like trying to breathe underwater.

I glance enviously at the ice cream truck parked on the corner, the colorful treats melting faster than my will to live.

"Good lord, I'm melting here," Ari, my best friend, says as she walks alongside me, wiping sweat off her forehead and fanning herself with the hem of her yellow and white flowered sundress.

I nod in agreement, feeling the same way. "Tell me about it," I reply, pulling my curls up into a messy bun in a feeble attempt to cool down.

I notice a couple of nosy onlookers giving me the side-eye and muttering to each other, causing me to instinctively glance over. The lump in my throat starts to feel more like a grapefruit as I imagine them gossiping about my tragic history. Even when I feel like that part of my life was so far long, it stings remembering that I evaporated into thin air, all because I didn't have the strength to return.

"Whose bright idea was it to go out today?" Ari's boyfriend, Henson, interjects, throwing his arm around her.

"You did," both Ari and I say simultaneously, irritation clear in our voices.

I never would have imagined Ari dating a guy like Henson Parker. He's a bit of a know-it-all, majoring in Business and always trying to argue with me on every little fact. Look-wise, he's pretty ordinary.

With his pale skin, almond eyes, and short brunette hair styled in a buzz cut, he stands at just two inches taller than Ari's five-foot five height. He's often seen in cargo pants and a polo shirt, rocking the typical nerd look.

Sometimes I wonder if I'd let myself die alone because I've never had a boyfriend. It's not like guys haven't asked me out or anything, it's more like I never had romantic feelings towards any of them.

Maybe I'm just broken?

Or maybe men are just not worth it.

Both are plausible.

Ari and I met back in high school when her parents took me in after my mom kicked me out for breaking into school for some hockey practice. I sometimes wonder if my mom regrets it, but then again, who knows what goes on in her mind. I prefer not to dwell on the past, especially when it comes to her.

Aria Evers is the opposite of me in every way possible. She's like a ray of sunshine, while I'm more like a thunderstorm.

She's always the one to wake up bright and early, while I struggle to even open my eyes before noon. She's the kind of person who sees the good in everyone, while I tend to be a bit more skeptical.

She's always smiling and spreading positivity, while I'm more likely to crack a dark joke or two. And she's twenty, a year younger than me. Ari really is stunning though, surpassing all standards of beauty. She's a real-life Disney princess, Ariel from 'The Little Mermaid' to be specific.

Standing at a perfect five-foot five height with flawless olive skin, pin straight auburn hair cascading to her shoulders, and mesmerizing serene colored eyes, she's the epitome of perfection. She has that perfect arched nose and those teeth of hers are straighter than straight. She's literally a goddess compared to me.

With her wealth and a volleyball scholarship at WB – Willowbrook – University, she's practically living the American dream.

I, on the other hand, have an academic scholarship and a laid-back attitude towards my future career. Majoring in engineering seems like a breeze, but it really isn't. There was hockey once upon a time for me – snap out of it Leia.

And you guessed it, I'm a single Pringle and always have been, unlike Ari, who has only had two relationships, one with a high school nerd named Todd who had a weird fascination with peanut butter and syrup and the other with the current nerd, Henson Parker.

I may have an academic scholarship, but that doesn't stop me from teasing others about their nerdy tendencies, by others, I mostly mean Mr. Cargo pants over here, again that's Henson Parker.

"Get off, it's too hot for physical contact," Ari says with a strong shove to Henson's arm, causing him to wince in mock pain.

Third wheeling with these two is the worst, but it's like being with a friend and her sassy pet, instead of a couple. Sure, they have their lovey-dovey moments, but they're more like friends. Henson and I are sort of friends, I'm lying. He can be annoying at times, but he's chill most of the time, I'm lying again.

"Oh, em gee, finallyyyy," Ari drags out the word 'finally,' snapping me back to reality as we approach The Walcott Dorms.

As we enter the building, a sense of relief washes over me, the cool breeze hitting me like a refreshing wave.

Willowbrook University has three dormitory buildings.

The majority of middle-class students reside in the Walcott Dorms, but since Ari's parents, Miranda and Jorge, are paying for both Ari's and my dorm, I do not belong to the middle-class population.

The Omen Dorms sit off to the side, home to the jocks and trust fund babies. Rumor has it they each have their own kitchen, which I find hard to believe but hey, stranger things have happened.

And then there's The Manchester Dorms, where the lone wolves reside, choosing solitude over the chaos of roommates.

We opt for the stairs over the sluggish elevators, squeezing to one side to make way for the constant flow of students.

The walls of the staircase are plastered with flyers and posters, a colorful mosaic of campus events and club meetings. The chatter of students echoes through the halls, a mix of excitement and exhaustion after a long day of classes. The scent of food lingers in the air, mingling with the aroma of coffee from the nearby campus cafe.

Ari sidles by my side with a sheepish look on her face. "So? Tonight, that frat boy party?" she asks, making me click my teeth together in contemplation.

I'm not against parties, but I just don't see the appeal. I mean, it's just a bunch of horny college kids drinking and making out, right? Can't that be done at a bar or something?

I sound like an old lady, I know. And I haven't stepped out of my comfort zone yet. Maybe it's time to give it a shot before Ari starts begging and pleading.

"Why the hell not?" I shrug, agreeing to go to the party.

"Please, you won't regret it. It'll be fun. Please come, I don't want to be alone," Ari pleads, while Henson mutters behind us, "Gee, don't ask me then," making me laugh at his complaining.

"I said yes," I confirm as we enter our dorm, grateful for the cool air inside.

Our dorm, mine and Ari's, is like any other typical dorm – except it was the last one available because we procrastinated. It's nice, with a modern kitchen, and a bathroom in each room.

There are four rooms total, but for now, it's just me and Ari. I know we'll probably get two other roommates at some point, but for now, it's just us two.

Ari has gone all out with the decor. Everything is either white or gray, thanks to her decorating skills.

The sofa is white, the fluffy rug under the white oak coffee table is gray, and the kitchen is a mix of both. It's like living in a grayscale movie set.

Ari lets out a loud screech of excitement before enveloping me in a hug. "Finally, after one long month of begging, you're coming to a party! Thank you for finally embracing your college side," she exclaims, making me roll my eyes playfully.

Meanwhile, Henson sits on the couch like a nerd, looking all serious and professional. "Parties are such a drag," he declares with the most stuck-up expression imaginable, which just grinds my gears for some reason.

I can't pinpoint exactly why, but the guy just rubs me the wrong way. I feel like punching him just from looking at him. I know, I sound harsh, but he really gets under my skin.

It's not just because of the random insults he would throw my way all summer, or maybe it is, but it's majorly because it's him. He's like a pesky fly that won't go away. Not even Ari's ex Todd was this annoying, and I actually got along with Todd, but Henson? Never.

"How would you even know? You've never been invited to one," I slyly smile, taking a bite of the juicy apple I snagged from the fruit bowl as Ari flops down on the couch next to Henson, and I perch on the white kitchen stool.

"I have been invited to a party, thank you very much. And even if I haven't been to one, there's no shame in that. Over forty-one percent of college students don't go to parties," he retorts matter-of-factly, just as I suspected – always ready with a statistic to back up his argument.

The fact that he knows the percentage of non-party going college students is a bit odd. But then again, it's Henson I'm talking about. Everything about him is just plain odd.

"I'm going to catch a quick nap. Wake me up in an hour, will you?" I toss the apple stem into the trash, finishing my snack.

Henson intertwines his fingers with Ari's as she snuggles into his shoulder. "Don't you have an alarm clock?"

It's enough to make me gag. The way they cling to each other like love-struck teenagers is nauseating. I can practically hear the birds chirping and see the rainbows in the air around them.

"Don't you have an off switch? And I was asking my best friend, not her arm candy," Arm candy? Henson? Wrong choice of words Leia.

I make a quick exit before things escalate into a verbal sparring match between me and Henson. That guy just gets on my nerves. Maybe it's his air of superiority or his constant need to fact-check everything.

Heck, maybe it's just his resemblance to Farkle from "Girl Meets World." Scratch that comparison – Farkle is sweet, and Henson is anything but. Even his name leaves me feeling irked.

I gently close my bedroom door shut and plop down on my squeaky twin bed. My eyes fall on the large poster hanging on the wall, showcasing me holding a hockey stick with a big grin plastered on my face.

The words "Leia Welsh, Boston's New Center" are displayed proudly in bold letters.

Why did I bring that with me? I couldn't throw it away, but I also can't look at it. I quickly turn away from the reminder of my past and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push those memories out of my head once and for all.