Chapter 25: Penny
Almost two hours.
Two full hours of sitting on a cold metal bench while the guys an endless drills, tackled each other like hyperactive puppies, and showed off like someone was handing out gold medals for Most Likely to Palla Mesele,
And now, because apparently the universe thinks i haven’t suffered enough, we’ve entered the second phase of the afternoon: The Girls Are Totally Helpless With a Soccer Ball, Please Track D, Big Strong Men.
Tyler had jogged over a little while ago, sweaty and breathless, halt sticking up in every direction. He tried to convince me to come play with them, tossing me that crooked smile that usually makes my brain short–circuit in a good way.
But today?
Today my body felt like it was held together with duct tape and had decisions.
“Nope,” I told him, stretching my legs out in front of me and grimacing. “I couldn’t muster the strength to kick a ball if my life depended on it.”
He laughed, leaned down, pressed a quick, sweaty kiss to my temple, and said, “Your loss, Vale, before jogging over to where Rebecca and Zoe were draped casually across the sidelines like extras in a bad teen movie,
He called to them, gestured toward the field, and like obedient golden retrievers, they bounded over.
Now they’re “playing and by playing. I mean making an absolute spectacle of pretending they don’t know which part of their foot to use to kick a ball.
–
Rebecca lets out this fake, breathy laugh every time she misses which is every time and Zoe keeps clapping her hands like a toddler trying to summon magic.
r’s so cliché I almost admire the commitment.
Like, genuinely. It’s Oscar–worthy.
You’d think the guys would be immune to it by now, but no- they’re eating it up, falling over themselves to “help” and “show” and “teach,”
Maybe it’s not about being fonled
Maybe they just like feeling important
I pull my hoodie tighter around me and rest my chin on my knees, watching Tyler jog over to Rebecca to demonstrate–hand on her back, guiding her posture.
And yeah, that little twist in my stomach?
Definitely not jealousy.
Not even a little.
It’s just… irritation.
Annoyance.
Mild existential despair.
He was supposed to get pizza with
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Chapter 25: Penny
Just me.
That was the plan.
And now I’m stuck watching him laugh and joke with a bunch of people who couldn’t even pretend to like me if their lives depended on t
I sigh, digging the tot of my sneaker into a loose hall on the bleacher step.
I’m halfway through crafting a very dramatic mental speech about the betrayal of post–practice pizza promises when-
“Who are we hating?”
The voice is so close, so low, that it rolls down my spine like a slow thunderclap.
I jump – not a cute, startled jump, but a full–body flinch like someone just poked me with a live wire.
I whip around, heart hammering, and there he is.
Asher
Dressed in black cargo pants and a black long–sleeve shirt that fits him unfairly well, hinting at muscles and sharp edges and all the dangerous things good girls are supposed to stay away from. His face is freshly shaved, jawline rough and cut like it could wound you if you got too close. He’s looking at me with that unreadable expression – half amusement, half something heavier–like he’s trying to decide whether I’m a puzzle worth solving.
My body does that annoying thing again – goosebumps prickling across my arms, stomach twisting like it can’t decide whether to flee or freeze or throw itself into something deeply ill–advised.
“Seriously,” I blurt, glaring up at him. “How the heck do you move so quietly?”
He just stares at me, in that maddeningly casual way of his.
“I don’t,” he says. “You just don’t pay attention.”
I snort, crossing my arms. “No. You’re a ninja. Admit it. You get a weird thrill out of sneaking up on people and scaring them half to death.”
His mouth quirks, the barest hint of a smirk, and it makes something flutter in my chest that I refuse to acknowledge.
He doesn’t argue.
Which is somehow worse.
1 turn back around with a huff, facing the field again, determined not to let him see me rattled.
A moment later, I feel him sit beside me, the bench shifting slightly under his weight.
He doesn’t say anything at first.
Just sits there.
Solid
Present
“Seriously though,” he says after a beat, voice low and almost amused. “Who are we hating?”
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I sigh, pressing the heels of my palms against my forehead,
Is it that obvious?“
“Painfully,”
I drop my hands and let out a sleu, defeated breath.
*We,” I say, stabbing a finger toward the field, are not hating anyone. We
mildly annoyed”
He nods solemnly, like I’ve just told him a grave national secret,
“Mildly annoyed,” he repeats. Got it.”
I glance sideways at him, and against my better judgment,
- the woods tumble
was supposed to be getting food with Tyler and going home,” I say, “Instead
tching……. whatever this is”
I wave vaguely toward the field where Rebecca is currently pretending not to understand the concept of hate foot–eye coordinatio
Asher hums thoughtfully, gaze following mine.
I don’t know why I say more.
Maybe because he’s quiet.
Maybe because he’s not trying to fix
Maybe because… I don’t know.
But I do.
The one with the long black hair,” I say, nodding toward Rebecca, “that’s Rebecca. She’s been bullying me since, stuff. Mean comments. Lockers getting accidentally slammed into me. Classic high school villain behavior.”
Asher’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly,
“And the one next to Tyler is Zoe,” Ladd. She used to be nice. But now she’s best friends with Rebecca, so… yeah.”
He glances at me, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
“Tyler’s friends with them?” he asks, voice even
I shrug, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.
“Tyler’s friends with everyone,” I say. “That’s just, who he is. He makes people feel good. Like they matter
sen’s a long pause
There’s
“And you don’17”
sophomore year. Suhtle
1 laugh,
but it comes out brittle.
“I’m not as good
more honestly than I mean to. “I’m not good at being… easy.”
Asher doesn’t say anything.
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Chapter 25: Penny
Just sits there, solid and silent, like an anchor I didn’t know I needed.
The field hors a little in my vision, the laughter and shouts and fake Birting fading into background noise
I exhale slowly, dragging my bag into my lap.
“Whatever,” I mutter, standing up and slinging it over my shoulder. ‘I’m over it.”
I start making my way down the bleachers, not looking back to see if he follows
Not sure if I want him to..
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