Page 114 of The Trade

And so, after an exhausting final practice, we gather the team for a secret post-practice meeting, far from Coach’s prying eyes. Noah, as our starting quarterback, takes the lead.

“Alright, guys, we have a new mandate for next year,” he begins, cutting through the chatter. “We’re getting rid of the Trade. We’re here tonight to brainstorm other competition ideas for the banquet.”

The room falls silent. So silent that the echo of a pin dropping would sound like a gong. The uncomfortable quiet only lasts for a moment before it’s shattered by an objection.

“This is bullshit,” McNair’s voice cuts through the tension. “You doing this ’cause of Steph?”

“No,” Noah says immediately, flicking a glance at me. I return his look with a silent nod of solidarity. “West proposed this idea. And both of your team captains are fully behind this decision.”

The team explodes into a flurry of heated murmurs, a few enraged protests puncturing the charged atmosphere.

Miller, the absolute shithead, is the next to rise. “Of course you would fuck with the tradition,” he bellows, his voice projecting over the crowd. “You’ll all be graduating next year, and you all have girlfriends.”

A wave of frustration sweeps over me. “It doesn’t matter if we’re single or not,” I snap back. “It’s some fucked-up shit, and we’re not doing it anymore.”

“We don’t have to listen to you,” McNair sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. “This is supposed to be our legacy for the underclassmen. It’s tradition at Dayton, and you’re not the one who gets to make decisions for the team.”

A hot surge of determination burns through me. “Yeah, but you have to listen to your captains,” I say, the words firm with conviction. “Noah and Danny agree with me on this.”

Danny, always the mediator, jumps in. “He’s right,” he affirms, his tone leveled yet decisive. “Besides, if this is leaked, the women on this campus wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

McNair’s response is a defiant cross of his arms. A silence drops over the room, heavy and expectant. I rake my gaze over each teammate, challenging them with a silent dare. Anyone else want to argue?

“If any of you decide to pull some shit next year, I’ll personally ensure that Coach is made aware,” I say, my voice slicing through the quiet. “I don’t give a fuck if that incriminates me.”

In the next moment, Noah steps up. “All in agreement, say aye.”

The room pulses with energy as “Ayes” resound from every corner. I’m left stunned, a victorious grin threatening to break across my face. Satisfaction floods through me, washing away the tension that’s been knotted in my gut for weeks now.

I know this was the right thing to do. And God, it was so much fucking easier than I could’ve ever imagined.

* * *

As the morninglight filters in, I sit at my kitchen table, pen in hand, poring over a note for Jade. My phone lies nearby, having dictated my words via speech-to-text, and a small pile of discarded drafts gathers at my side. Each slipup results in another crumpled ball of paper, but I don’t stop until my message is just right.

Jade—

Will you meet me at the batting cages for one more shot?

Tomorrow morning—10:00am.

I’ll try my best not to strike out this time.

—Theo

My palms are sweating, heart racing as I drop the coffee on her doorstep. It’s a tricky balance, giving her the space she needs while subtly showing her I still care. Hell, I don’t even know if she read the first note I left.

Maybe she tossed it in the trash. Maybe she’ll toss this one as well.

If tomorrow comes without a word from her, I’ll have to rethink my strategy. But time is against me. We’re smack in the middle of Dead Week, the calm before the storm of finals, where procrastination runs the show.

The single highlight of this stressful week is Spirit Night, an event put together by the cheerleading team. It’s meant to be a break in the chaos, a night where the entire campus comes together to let loose before diving headlong into the pressure of final exams. The event is filled with friendly competition, culminating in a bonfire under the stars.

Unfortunately, Coach Rodriguez has made it mandatory for our team to attend.

It’s meant to be the last big blast before the end of the school year, and it’s happening tonight. Under normal circumstances, I might be excited. But the thought of celebrating feels off, all things considered.

My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my thoughts, and an unexpected message lights up my screen.

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