Page 53 of Through the Flames
In the changing room, pandemonium had ensued. Dom was gloating, the reporters were buzzing, and my teammates were pounding each other’s backs and shouting about rankings.
Thankfully, they knew better than to touch me.
Perched on the bench, my helmet at my feet, sweat dripping down my face, I focused on breathing evenly and calmly.
On the inside, Iburned.
I’d dominated on the field, but she was the only victory I cared about.
Fourteen
Ella
Our once cute, little apartment had become a graveyard of half-packed boxes and endless rolls of tape. Sierra was leaving, and with her went any chance of stability.
I couldn’t afford the rent on my own, so I was forced to scramble. I was hunting for a roommate, an apartment, honestly anything as long as it didn’t leave me sleeping on the fucking streets.
Desperate times, desperate measures.
Sierra’s room was already stripped of her string lights and half the supply office store she housed at any given time. Just beige walls and a faint scent of cardboard.
It wasn’t even her stuff being gone; it was her presence I was already missing.
The begrudging way she made me feel like I was her actual sister.
The late-night noise.
It was all gone.
I tripped over a box labeled “books” — for the third fucking time — shooting daggers at it. Books, of all things, were trying to make me face-plant. Talk about betrayal.
I thought I had time. I always thought I had time, and then time turned around to slap me in the face.
But I was fine. Totally fine. Except for the existential dread and the growing urge to crawl under the couch and live there. This was just my life having a mild stroke.
People moved and life went on. But why did it feel like I was always the one left behind, scrambling to make things work again?
Every single girl who messaged me so far had either a cat, a boyfriend, or a “weird energy” I couldn’t actually explain but very much didn’t trust.
I was refreshing housing apps like my life depended on it, but apparently I was a magnet for creeps or crypto bros.
At this point, my backup plan was befriending the raccoons behind the dining hall and seeing if they’d adopt me.
But I didn’t have the luxury of spiraling over it any longer. Not really. Because no matter how upside-down my personal life was, my schedule didn’t care.
Tennis didn’t care about any of my cute little personal crises. There was an indoor tournament tonight against our conference opponents.
Our rankings were on the line, so I couldn’t afford to lose my focus.
I could be homeless tomorrow, but I still had to show up and win today.
***
The facility always felt colder than it looked.
Bright white lights hummed overhead, bouncing off the pale walls and the glossy blue courts. The air carried the familiarindoor mix of rubber, disinfectant, and chlorine wafting through the vents from the pool next door.
My sneakers squeaked on the polished floor, and the sharp pop of balls hitting strings echoed like gunshots every few seconds from the other courts.
