It had been ten minutes into lunch, and I was already restless, sitting at the wooden library tables. Every time the door creaked open, my eyes darted to the entrance.
Finally, Milton and Kyle came in, heading to their usual spot. My heart sank a little—they were with Tasha. I tried not to make it obvious, but I kept glancing over.
And then I saw her.
She walked in wearing a pink dress with a red flower in the center. She looked... cute. Too cute. She stopped to greet the librarian, her smile soft and natural.
But then her eyes found me, and that smile vanished.
She walked over and sat across from me, silently pulling her laptop and notebook from her bag. "Hi," I said, testing the waters.
She gave a curt nod, her expression unreadable, and opened her computer.
"I was thinking," I began cautiously, "we could divide the slides—half and half. Pink for your side, blue for mine. Your explanation on one side, mine on the other."
"That'll work," she replied flatly, jotting down a note.
And that was it. She kept her responses short, only speaking when necessary. The silence between us felt heavy, and I hated it. Usually, when we worked together, we'd take breaks, go off-topic, and laugh at dumb things. She always made it easier for me to focus, helping me understand the parts I struggled with.
But today, there was none of that.
She typed away, her fingers moving quickly over the keyboard. I watched her for a moment before speaking. "Pinky," I said softly.
Her hands froze mid-typing, and she finally looked at me. Her breath hitched, and she quickly closed her mouth, trying to compose herself.
"I told you," she said, her voice sharp and low, "don't call me that. You don't have the right."
"I'm sorry, Tasha," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
She snapped her laptop shut and shoved it into her bag, her movements quick and deliberate. My heart raced. "Wait—what are you doing?" I asked, panicked.
She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "We're done. I emailed you the PowerPoint. All you have to do is add your notes. I don't want to talk to you anymore."
I jumped up, stepping in front of her. "Wait," I pleaded. Our shoulders brushed, and she shoved me back with more force than I expected.
Her face flushed with anger, and her knuckles turned red as she gripped the strap of her bag.
"What about practicing? We still need to go over the presentation," I stammered.
She shook her head, her voice cold and sharp. "We'll wing it. I set my boundaries, Emmett, and you broke them. After Friday, I don't want to speak to you again."
The bell rang, cutting off anything else I might have said.
Milton appeared beside her, shooting me a warning glance, while Kyle stood awkwardly by my side. As they walked away, Kyle nudged me.
"Judging by the look on your face, I'm guessing that didn't go well," he said.
I ran a hand over my face and sighed. "I'm so stupid. How could I not see it before? The way she flinched just now... She hates me, Kyle. And I don't blame her."
Kyle slapped my back lightly. "Right now? Yeah, you kinda suck," he said with a smirk.
I blinked at him. "Did I say that out loud?"
"Yep. Loud and clear." He laughed, slinging an arm around my shoulder. "Come on, let's get to practice before Coach loses it."
By the time we got to the locker room and changed, I'd barely shaken off the conversation with Tasha.
Coach stood in front of us on the field, his voice booming. "Great job making it to playoffs, boys! But don't get too comfortable. The next few weeks are going to be tough. If we stay focused, though, we'll be holding that championship trophy!"
The team roared in agreement, but my mind was elsewhere.
"Alright," Coach continued, his grin fading. "Line up. We're running today."
Kyle groaned beside me, and I couldn't help but grin. Running drills were easy for me. For Kyle, it was pure torture.
"Coach," Kyle whined dramatically, limping toward him like he was on his last leg.
"Cut the act and haul ass to the track!" Coach barked.
Kyle sighed, his shoulders slumping as he trudged back to the line.
"Stop smiling," he muttered, glaring at me.
"Can't help it," I replied, setting up at the starting line.
"Go!" the assistant coach yelled, and I took off.
I blazed past most of the team, but Damien was right beside me. He pushed harder, matching me stride for stride. By the end of the lap, I barely edged him out.
We both slowed, catching our breath. Damien shot me a sideways glance. "You know," he said, his tone casual but pointed, "I heard what you did."
I rolled my eyes, walking away. "Not interested."
"Where you going?" he called after me. "Running from the truth, huh? You hurt her, man. You used Pinky, just like every other girl you've been with. I always knew you were bad news."
I stopped, spinning on my heel. Grabbing his shirt, I shoved him against the chain-link fence. "Don't call her that," I snarled.
"What? Pinky?" Damien smirked. "You don't get to call her that either."
Shouts erupted around us, and suddenly, I was pulled back. Coach's voice cut through the chaos.
"Off my field! Take a breather, Pierce, and come back when you've cooled down."
"But what about him?" I snapped, pointing at Damien.
"I said what I said," Coach replied, his tone final.
I stormed off, my blood boiling. By the time I got to the locker room, I kicked the first thing I saw—a metal locker—and collapsed onto the bench with a groan.
"Bullshit!" I yelled into the empty space.
But as the silence settled, so did the truth. Damien was right. I had hurt her. I couldn't even call her Pinky anymore.
We were strangers now.
If I was going to fix anything—my friendships, my role as team captain, my own damn life—I had to start focusing.
Tasha deserved better than me. And I wasn't going to let her, or my team, down again.