The Captain that was never mine

Shirley POV

Three years ago

Last day of fresher year in high school, I think I'm gonna finally do it. I'm gonna finally confess my feelings to Brad Walker.

Well you might ask who is Brad Walker, well he's the hottest guy in my grade and my childhood friend, and longtime crush that I have been obsessed with.

I walked through the hallways and I finally saw him, he was hanging out with the cool kids now, I don't blame him, I mean who would want to hang out with the ugly girl with braces and lots of acne, anyways I took my chances.

I walked up to him with a smile and handed him a love letter I wrote yesterday, I poured my feelings into it. He took it confused for a moment before reading the letter.

I bit my lips shyly, waiting for his response, he face changed for a moment before laughing out loud, "Look at this guys, she actually wrote these cheesy lines, I see you in my dreams, hahaha" His other friends laughed alongside him.

How could he mock me publicly, those were my feelings, I turned around and ran, "I hate you Brad! I hate you"

Present day.

“Ughhh… yes, right there,” The girl’s breathy moan echoed off the tiled walls of the girls’ restroom like she was auditioning for a bad romance movie. I froze mid-zip inside my cubicle, eyes widening.

“Shh, baby,” a deeper, husky voice murmured, half-laughing. “We don’t want others to hear us.”

Too late for that.

I finished what I was doing, washed my hands as quietly as possible, and stepped out. The scene in front of the mirrors was exactly as chaotic as it sounded. Brad Walker had some brunette pressed against the sink counter, her skirt hiked up, his hand still disappearing somewhere it definitely shouldn’t be in a school bathroom. Her lipstick was smeared, his shirt half-unbuttoned. Classic.

I cleared my throat, loudly, “Erm… I suggest both of you find a more private place to continue this. Not everyone wants to walk in on two people rubbing skin like it’s Black Friday at a lingerie store.”

The girl yelped, scrambling to pull her skirt down. Brad, to his credit, only smirked as he casually zipped his jeans, not even bothering to look embarrassed. His eyes finally landed on me, it seemed he recognized me or maybe I just imagined it.

The girl recovered quickly, shooting me a venomous look. “I trust you know how to keep your mouth shut, unless...” she hissed, dragging a finger across her throat in a dramatic slicing motion. Then she melted back into Brad’s arms like a lovesick kitten. “Baby, this unknown girl totally ruined our fun.”

She sounded so syrupy and fake it made my teeth ache. I fought the violent urge to roll my eyes as Brad leaned down and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle like an idiot before he kissed her again. I turned to the mirror, pulled out my lipstick, and touched up the deep red shade with steady hands. “Don’t look at him. You don’t like him anymore.” The lie tasted bitter even in my own head. Seven years. I’d liked this boy for seven damn years, and watching him devour someone else in a bathroom on my first day back immediately my chest hurt.

Grabbing my bag, I walked out without another word. They didn’t stop me. They probably didn’t even notice I’d left. Brad Walker had always been good at forgetting people who weren’t useful to him anymore.

The hallway outside was worse.

Couples pressed against lockers, hands roaming freely, tongues down throats, soft moans and laughter mixing with the usual locker slams and chatter. It looked less like a high school and more like a hormone-fueled nightclub that someone had accidentally let minors into. I muttered under my breath, “I’m fucking single, guys. Thanks for asking.”

The hallway went eerily quiet for three glorious seconds. Heads turned. A few people stared. Then, just as fast, everyone went back to their public make-out sessions. Some threw me weird glances, like I was the strange one for not participating in the school-wide PDA fest.

I kept walking, head high, new confident version of Shirley Patterson firmly in place. Three years away had done wonders. No more braces. No more frizzy, unmanageable hair. No more acne.. No more baggy hoodies trying to hide a body I’d been ashamed of. I looked like I belonged now. At least on the outside.

“Shirley?” a voice called out behind me. I turned.

A pretty blonde girl stood a few feet away, tilting her head. “Shirley Patterson?”

My stomach tightened. Please don’t remember the old me, not that I was ashamed but my past was quite embarrassing.

But her face showed zero recognition beyond mild curiosity. I exhaled. “Yeah, that’s me.”

She beamed. “I’m Kayla. The principal asked me to show you around, answer any questions. Honestly, it’s kinda weird starting on a Friday, though.”

“I didn’t plan on starting classes today,” I admitted. “Just dropping off paperwork. Guess they wanted me in immediately.” She made a sympathetic “oh” sound, then her eyes darted to a girl leaning against the wall nearby. “Gimme one sec.”

Kayla jogged over, whispered something that made the other girl smile, then pulled her into a soft kiss right there in the middle of the hallway. The girl blushed hard when they separated. No one around them batted an eye.

I must’ve looked stunned because Kayla laughed when she returned, looping her arm through mine like we’d been friends for years.

“What?” she asked, grinning. “Nothing. I’m just… adjusting.”

“Trust me,” she said, steering me down the crowded hall. “You’ll get used to Hawthorne. It’s a whole vibe.”

“So what’s this place actually like?” I asked.

Kayla started explaining “Ridiculously hard classes but it's a great school, we’ve produced senators, CEOs, even a couple of Olympians. But let’s be real, the hockey team basically runs the school.”

“Hockey?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, hockey,” she laughed. “You sound disappointed.”

“I just wasn’t expecting hockey to be the big thing here.”

“It is. Our team is one of the best in the state. Games are insane. Everybody shows up.”

“Everybody?”

“Everybody,” she confirmed, pointing up at a massive banner stretching across the hallway. The Hawthorne Hawks hockey team stared down at us in their silver and black uniforms, looking like gods among mortals. My eyes locked immediately on the guy front and center.

Brad Walker. Captain. Arms crossed, cocky smirk, messy dark hair, and those same piercing eyes that used to make the old me weak.

“Anyway,” Kayla continued, oblivious, “we’ve got a game against Westfield tomorrow. You should come. It’s the perfect way to get thrown into the chaos.”

“Maybe,” I said noncommittally.

She stopped at a junction in the hallway. “My class is this way. Yours is straight down there, end of the hall. Sorry we’re not in the same one.”

“No worries. Thanks for the tour, Kayla.”

She flashed a bright smile and gave my arm a squeeze. “Good luck, new girl. Try not to get eaten alive on day one.”

Before I could reply, she vanished into the sea of students. I stood alone in front of my classroom door, heart beating a little too fast.

This was it. My first real day back at Hawthorne High after three years.

I straightened my jacket, lifted my chin, and pushed the door open, stepping into the noise.