Field Days - Part 13

Mark Lansing never wanted to stand out. He was perfectly happy disappearing into a football huddle with the rest of the team until one play made him the talk of the town. Thrust into a spotlight he never wanted, every choice can reshape his future, and every decision could transform him in ways he never believed possible. Mark’s destiny will be determined on the field … assuming he can figure out how to dress the part.

Chapter 41

“I need to go to Caitlyn’s store and pick up the dress.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “What you NEED is a shower.”

Mark sniffed at the air. Emily did have a point. “I need that dress. Caitlyn says she has the perfect one.”

Emily said, “I’ll pick it up. You get ready.”

“Are you sure?”

Emily smiled. “What are friends for?”

Mark dug out his phone and scrolled to Caitlyn's number. She answered on the second ring.

“Marcy! I was just thinking about you.”

“I need a favor.”

“Does it have something to do with a dress?”

Mark said, “Can you have it ready for when Emily gets there? I’m running short on time.”

Caitlyn squealed, sounding happy. “Of course. You’ll need shoes to go with it. Do you need anything else? A push-up bra? A pair of tights? It’s getting mighty cold at night.”

Mark considered the list, realizing he was out of his depth. “Whatever you think is best.”

“Consider it done.”

“Great.” One less thing to worry about. “Emily will be there soon.” He clicked the line off.

Emily shook her head when Mark pulled the wallet from his purse. “I’ve got this, Mark. Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

“My mom is already going to ground me for a month. One more purchase isn’t going to change that.”

“Then you’d better get a job.” Emily grinned. “I’m waiting tables once the season’s over. We could work together.”

“I wish you’d stop doing that, Em.” Mark sighed. “I know you think you’re being funny, but I’ve got enough on my mind.”

“Sorry.” Emily didn’t sound sorry. “Go take a shower. I’ll be back as soon as I can. We’ll meet in the old gym. Nobody goes over there, so we’ll have plenty of privacy.”

Mark looked around the shower. None of this seemed real. It couldn’t be real. His brain knew the truth, but it didn’t matter. Anyone who walked in wouldn’t see anything out of place.

The ancient showerhead creaked when he turned the knob, then spat out a stream of hot water. Fifteen minutes ago, a dozen girls had been washing up here, giggling and gossiping beneath the spray. They wouldn't have minded if he joined but it felt wrong to invade their space. Now Mark stood in the same spot, and no one would suspect a thing if they entered.

That was the part that bothered him. How little it bothered anyone else.

"You decent?"

Mark jumped as the familiar voice echoed off the tile. “Give me a second!”

He shut off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist like he’d done a thousand times before after practice.

“I thought you might need some extra towels.” Alice looked at Mark, then looked down again.

Mark looked down too, seeing he’d only covered himself around the waist. He pulled the towel up, noting that as he did so, the towel now barely covered his thighs.

“Thanks.” Mark said, taking one.

"Your welcome," Alice replied, her face still flushed. “Tim’s a lucky guy.”

Mark smiled at Alice, who wouldn't look him in the eye. “Aden’s the lucky one.”

Alice shuffled her feet. "I love your hair. Those curls are amazing."

"I hate it." Mark shook his head, letting the curls tumble past his shoulders. "It gets in the way of everything. I’m thinking of getting something shorter.”

"Don’t." Alice said, running a hand through her pixie cut. “Guys tease me about mine all the time.

“Aden seems to like it.” Mark said, walking towards the girl's locker room.

Alice blushed again. “Yeah.” She glanced at the girls crowded around the mirror when they entered the locker room, all of them dabbing on makeup and laughing like they’d done this a thousand times. Alice looked as unsure as Mark felt.

Mark picked up the sports bag from his locker which now held half of the contents of Missy’s dressing table. “I’m heading to the old locker room to get ready for tonight. Want to come?”

“Yes, please.” Alice said, her eyes showing relief. “If you don't mind.”

Bridget was waiting in the hallway outside, leaning against the wall like she’d been there for hours.

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is Alice. Alice, this is…”

“Bridget.” She gave Alice a warm smile. “A friend of the family.”

Alice waved shyly.

“We’re going to the old locker room,” Mark said.

“Good idea.” The walk wasn’t far, and the door swung free when Bridget tried it. “Nobody should interrupt us in here.”

The lights flickered on over dust-covered benches and a basin black with grime. Bridget handed Alice a stack of towels. “Would you mind wiping down the sink while I talk to my friend?”

“Sure thing.”

Mark followed Bridget as they walked across the room. “I’m surprised to see you.”

“I told you. Tonight is important.” Bridget steered Mark towards an old couch in the corner as she lowered her voice. “You’re brimming with energy.”

“It keeps happening.” He touched a spot in the middle of his stomach. “It sits right here.”

Bridget wiped down the cushions. “Tell me everything. How does it feel? How did you hold it?”

Mark sat on the couch with his knees wide apart and one foot on the floor, the way he’d sat on every couch of his life. Bridget looked at him, and didn’t say a word as she nudged his knees together.

"Tina helped me." Mark said, flustered. "She taught me how to hold it. I’ve done it a few times, and now it seems to sit there."

“Tina helped you? I'm surprised to hear that. We'll talk about that later.” Bridget’s hand patted the cushion at the end of the couch. “Right now I want you to lie back.”

Mark did as she asked.

She pressed a hand to his belly. “Do you feel that?”

“Hehe.” Mark giggled, then stopped himself. “That tickles.”

Bridget pressed again, moving her hand around in circles. “Does the energy move when I do that?”

“No.” Mark glanced over at the sink, where Alice seemed to be preoccupied with a particularly difficult stain.

Bridget nodded. "Do you mind if I do a deeper scan of your body?"

"If you think it will help."

Bridget hovered her hands over his body, moving from his head to his feet, her lips shaping words he couldn’t hear. “Truly remarkable.”

“What is?”

“You’re in complete control of Maiden’s Delight. Every spell takes power to cast, and so does holding one. You’re generating enough power to keep it under complete control.” She smiled. “Few uninitiated could do as well. It’s very impressive. Is there anything else I should know?”

“I got this.” He pulled the note from his purse.

‘Under the bleachers. After the game. I’ll be waiting.’

“Interesting.” Bridget read it twice, tracing the red letters with her finger. “The handwriting is different, and I don’t sense any magic.” The older woman appeared deep in thought. “Who do you think sent it?”

“I saw Tina standing next to my locker this morning. She had an opportunity to slip it in there.”

Bridget nodded, “Half the school stood next to your locker.”

“True.” Mark nodded. “But it makes sense. She’s trying to get me to help her brother. That's why she helped me this morning.”

“Do you think it's a setup?” Bridget asked.

“Probably.”

“You don't have to go.”

“It's not about Tim. I need to help the team.” Mark kept his voice steady. “Tim isn't as good as I am, but the team needs someone out there who can catch the ball.”

A warm feeling spread through him. Pride, perhaps. Or something less flattering.

Bridget put her hand on his shoulder. “Be careful.”

Mark nodded. “I will.”

A voice called from down the hall. “Someone’s coming!”

Emily popped her head in, carrying a large box, with a familiar blonde trailing behind her.

Mark couldn’t believe his eyes. "Caitlyn? What are you doing here?"

"Heya Marcy!" Caitlyn held a shoe box and a long garment bag. "Where should I put these?"

Bridget gave Mark a tender smile. “Bathroom. We don’t have a lot of time if we’re going to do this.”

“What are you doing here?” Mark asked Caitlyn again, staring at the beautiful blonde who looked ready for a night on the town.

“I had the night off.” Caitlyn said, answering the question on his face. “When Emily told me your story, I had to come.” She held up a makeup case. “I thought you might like some professional help.”

Mark shut his eyes. “I really appreciate it.”

“Eyes open. Chin up.” Caitlyn ordered. “Look at the ceiling.”

The process wasn’t so different from when Tina and Emily had helped him earlier in the day. Moisturizer, concealer, a tickle on his eyelids, a brush across the cheekbones. It took longer than he thought possible. He checked his phone twice and got his chin pushed back into place both times.

“How long is this going to take?”

“Stop moving,” Caitlyn said, all business.

Emily grinned. “Remember when you asked earlier today about why I don’t wear much makeup. Do you get it now?”

Bridget laughed from the couch. “Makeup is a rite of passage. It’s fun when you’re twelve and goofing around with friends. It’s not as fun at five a.m. when you’re dead tired. Everyone complains, and we do it anyway, because we like the results.”

“Done,” Caitlyn announced.

“That was fast,” Emily said. “You do good work, Cait.”

Mark looked in the mirror. Tina had made him look plastic. Emily had made him look natural. Caitlyn’s style was a combination of the two - his eyes looked larger, his cheekbones sharper, and his skin flawless.

“It looks amazing,” he admitted.

“Thanks.” Caitlyn said, now holding the dress.

He didn’t have time to consider anything as Caitlyn pulled the garment onto his body. It was in place before he knew it, the knit material tighter than he expected. Caitlyn stepped back to let Mark take a look.

As Mark stared, words entered his mind.

"Curse you #13. Next game, you’ll be wearing a dress."

The words continued to echo and he braced himself for something to happen - a flare of cold, a sudden change. He'd fulfilled the curse’s prediction and a reckoning was at hand. But seconds ticked by and nothing happened. Mark let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

'Nothing?'

Mark stared at himself not sure if he should be happy or sad.

The dress was deep red, almost startling beneath the fluorescent lights of the old gym. It settled at his waist and hips, its hem stopping just above his knees. When he breathed, the fabric moved with him.

The curse had been working toward this all week. Mark felt that certainty in his skin. The body he wore seemed made for the dress, though neither felt entirely his.

But he couldn't look away.

“It's almost too perfect,” he murmured.

Caitlyn smiled. “No such thing.”

Emily stood beside him, looking at their reflections. “I told you she knew what she was doing.”

Bridget asked, “Everything okay?”

Mark moved closer to the mirror and the dress moved with him but, it didn’t merely move. Not a single stitch of the cloth left anything to imagination. Caitlyn’s makeup did its best to draw the eye, but the dress made that impossible.

He struck a pose like he’d done in Missy’s room a thousand times, the person standing there wouldn't look out of place hitting the clubs with Caitlyn.

“We don’t have time for vamping, Marcy.” Caitlyn opened the shoe box, lifting out a pair of black leather boots.

"No way." Mark took one look and shook his head. “I can’t wear those. I’d fall on my face.”

“The dress needs them.”

“They’re four inches tall!”

Caitlyn shrugged. “Four isn’t bad. I’ve got taller.”

Mark didn’t want to think about taller. The idea of balancing on those tiny spikes made his head spin. “It is when you’re not used to walking in them!”

“Look at them.” She held a boot up against the dress. “They’ll lengthen your legs and give you a much more graceful line.”

Mark shook his head. “This won’t work if I fall down walking into the locker room. This is supposed to inspire, not make me a laughingstock.”

Caitlyn wasn’t listening. She’d already worked one boot halfway up his calf. Mark continued to shake his head. He couldn’t do this. His practice in his sister’s two-inch heels had led to nothing but disaster.

He looked at Emily, who looked at Caitlyn before turning back. Emily didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to.

Mark shook his head.

Emily raised her eyebrows and gave a subtle nod.

It wouldn’t be hard. Caitlyn had the kind of effortless balance that belonged on a runway. She wouldn’t even notice.

“I can show you a few tricks,” Caitlyn said, holding out her hand.

Before Mark knew what had happened, he was facing her, hand in hand, like a pair of dancers about to perform. “Ready?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Give me a second.”

The power moved to his hands upon command.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of bubblegum. Or maybe it was a bubble-bath? He certainly smelled some sort of sweet perfume though maybe it was his imagination. Mark delved deeper into Caitlyn’s body, until the spell reached her feet.

He extracted a tiny amount of Caitlyn’s essence, careful not to take too much, then drew back through her body, and back into his own. When he opened his eyes, Cait’s eyes had turned white. A few blinks returned them to normal.

Caitlyn shook her head. “Ready to dance?”

Mark smiled, “We can give it a shot.”

He felt his his spine straighten as his feet began to move. After a single step, his hips settled into a different rhythm, and his legs found a balance like they’d been doing this for years. The heels lifted him off the floor, the height no longer a threat. He took another tentative step, then another.

Mark took three more, trying to hide his astonishment, marveling at the sound of his heels making soft click-clacks on the concrete. He’d dreamed about owning boots like this for years. He’d dreamed about strutting around in heels. And now he was doing it.

Emily watched with a crooked smile. “Look at you.”

“Don't.” Mark warned.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Emily raised her hands, looking innocent. “All I was going to say is that Caitlyn’s right. Those boots do look great on you.”

“They do,” Caitlyn agreed. Her smile had returned, though she still looked a little distracted. “You have a natural stride.”

"Natural?" Mark said, trying to smile back. Caitlyn’s words stung as if she’d actually struck him. He had dreamed of walking in heels for so long, but this accomplishment was a sham. He’d stolen the expertise, and even worse, he’d taken the ability from someone who trusted him.

Just like Tina.

“Thanks,” he said. He could feel power rebuilding in his core.

“Caitlyn?” Bridget interrupted, “Would you mind helping Alice? She’s having some trouble with her dress.”

“Oh! Sure.” Caitlyn wandered off, rubbing her temples. Mark watched her go.

Bridget sidled up beside him. She spoke without looking at Mark. “She’ll be all right. It will wear off by morning.”

“You saw?”

“I see most things.” She turned, and for once the teasing was gone from her face. “You didn’t take much. That counts for something.”

“Is that what the Order does? Take what it needs?”

“No.” The answer came quickly. “That’s what the Order tries very hard not to do. We have rules because we have too much power and not nearly enough restraint.” She straightened his dress. “I try to live by a simple rule – ‘Everything you borrow is something you owe’. Remember that and you’ll do fine.”

Mark looked at Caitlyn across the room. “I didn't ask to borrow it.”

“No, you didn't.” Bridget said. “Remember what I said to you the other day about being an adult? Every decision in life has consequences. Sometimes, there are no easy answers.”

Mark said, “The spell wears off tomorrow, Caitlyn will never know.”

“That is a temptation witches face every day.”

Mark nodded, though his guilt didn’t move.

“I should be going." Bridget straightened her stance. “I need to talk to my team and it’s going to be a long, cold night. The least I can do is buy them a hot chocolate.”

Mark looked at Bridget, “Do you have to go?”

She squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll never be alone.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“I have faith in you.”

Mark wasn’t sure she was right. He wasn’t sure of anything.

Emily appeared at his side, offering her arm. “Come on. I’ll walk you and Alice over.”

“I can manage.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I’m coming anyway.”

He let her take his arm. At the door, Mark turned back for one last look in the mirror, searching for a reason to back out, but didn’t see a single thing wrong. That was almost the worst part.

Chapter 42

Mark had no idea when the rally girl tradition began. He only knew it was the final link in the chain of community support that started with the pep rally.

The team mothers had spent the afternoon in the cafeteria preparing enough pasta and garlic bread to feed an army. Now the players were killing time in the AV room, leaving the locker room to the girls.

Mark opened the gymnasium door where he found rally girls busy with poster board, markers, glittery tape, and the names of the boys they hoped to impress. Tina waited inside the door.

“I was starting to worry you weren’t coming.” Tina said, holding a bag of supplies and a paper plate covered with foil.

“It took time to get ready.”

“You clean up nice.” Tina still wore her cheerleader outfit.

“Thanks.”

Mark glanced at the locker-room door. A week ago, he'd walked through it as a player, a vital part of Stanton's offense. Now he was here to deliver cookies to the guy who'd taken his place.

Tina asked, “You ready to go in?”

Mark swallowed hard and gave a single nod.

He had walked through those locker room doors a thousand times before without a second thought. Now, a foreboding mix of stale sweat and something earthy hit his nose as every eye in the room turned toward him. In the place where masculine bravado usually reigned, dozens of girls now sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by glitter and poster board. For a split second, every pair of eyes judged him, his mere presence an unspoken question, before they turned back to their glitter and paint.

Most pairings between a rally girl and her ‘player’ were obvious. Girls volunteered to support a boyfriend, or the guy they hoped would become one. Sometimes the pairings were friends. And sometimes they were going to be the subject of next week’s gossip.

Mark’s pairing would be in that last group.

“I’ll put up Tim’s signs, and then I’ve got to get to cheerleader duties,” Tina said, handing him a foil-wrapped plate of cookies. “Gina’s already called me three times.”

Mark nodded.

“Remember our deal?”

Mark nodded. “I remember.”

“Good. If we’re going to win, Tim needs all the help he can get.”

Mark nodded, again. “That is definitely true.”

Tina smiled, and didn’t say a word as she left him.

Across the room, Emily waved, pointing to a poster-board with the words ‘GO JEFFREY!’ written in enormous block letters. Underneath she’d drawn what Mark assumed was supposed to be a football in flight. Emily seemed pleased by it.

He approached. “Cute.”

Emily looked at the plate in his hand. “Are you really going to give Tim cookies?”

Mark shrugged. “It’s the only way to meet with him.”

Nearby Alice was sitting on the floor, putting the finish touches on a poster board with the word, “ADEN - #83’, with a reasonably good representation of Aden’s image underneath.

“That girl is smitten,” Emily whispered.

“I feel bad.” Mark looked at his toes. He hadn’t given a single thought to his feet on the way over.

Emily continued working on her poster. “Don’t be. Alice is happier than I’ve seen her in a while and Aden’s a nice guy. I've been telling her for years she needed to put herself out there. All she needed was a push.”

A couple of girls laughed nearby. Mark tried to smile along with them, but couldn't stop his stomach from tightening. He'd known this was coming. The spell had to be performed, and the cookies gave him a reason to approach Tim without making the whole thing look suspicious. A few words, a little magic, and the skill Mark had spent years developing would become Tim's.

“Okay, girls,” one of the seniors called. “Let’s hurry up. The team will be here soon.”

Groups of girls gathered their supplies. Signs went up on walls and lockers.

Mark shifted the plate to his other hand.

“Ready?” Emily asked.

“No.”

The girls went quiet as the noise in the hallway grew louder. Then it burst into the room as dozens of young men came in laughing, and a dozen small rituals played out at once. A tight end grabbed the cupcake box his girlfriend was holding and whooped. A linemen hugged his girlfriend under the sign she’d made.

“Look what we brought you,” a girl announced.

“Food?” someone called.

“Signs, you idiot.”

“Food and signs?” the boy corrected. “This is the best day of my life.”

The girls spread out through the room, showing off their artwork and delivering cookies. There were cheers for the more elaborate signs, groans for the ones with embarrassing slogans, and a good deal of teasing when a girl handed a plate to her boyfriend.

“That's all I get?” one player asked when his girlfriend gave him two cookies.

“You can have more when you win.”

“So this is a performance-based relationship?”

“It's a performance-based cookie arrangement.”

His teammates laughed as she fed him another cookie, and he held it in the air as if it were a trophy.

Mark watched from in front of his old locker, holding the plate out in front of him like a shield. Everyone seemed to understand the rules. The girls gave their gifts. The boys accepted them with varying degrees of embarrassment. The rest of the team made sure no private moment stayed private for long.

It was silly. It was sweet. It was stupid traditions like this he was going to miss the most.

His locker was third from the end, next to Jeffrey’s. For three years a strip of masking tape on the door had said LANSING in his own handwriting. Now it was blank.

“You okay?” Emily whispered.

“I’m fine,” Mark lied.

“That paper plate is going to rip in half if you hold on any tighter.”

Mark smiled and loosened his grip.

Jeffrey came in with the others, laughing at something. He saw the poster first. Emily held it up, clearly proud of her creation. Jeffrey stopped and stared at the lopsided football underneath his name.

“I’m getting my very own rally girl this week?”

Tina handed Jeffrey the poster. “I know Gina is out doing cheerleader stuff. I thought you might appreciate the support.”

“I see your art skills haven’t improved since we were kids.” Jeffrey grinned, “That football looks like a potato.”

Emily gave a fake pout, “That’s not a very supportive thing to say to your rally girl.”

Jeffrey grinned, and then his eyes slid past her shoulder and found Mark. The smile didn’t go away, but it changed as his eyes scanned Mark’s body. “Hey Marcy. Are you here to support me too?”

“I … uhhh …” Mark said, “I’m Tim Miller’s rally girl.” Even saying the words made him want to vomit.

“You’re Miller’s rally girl? I didn't see that coming.” Jeffrey stared at Mark. For a moment it looked like he wanted to say something but changed his mind. “See you ladies later. I’ve got something I’ve gotta do.”

And then Jeffrey was gone.

Emily looked at Mark.

Mark explained. “Jeffrey is going to Doc Glen’s office. He gets his ankles taped before every game. It’s part of his ritual.” A ritual he used to share with Mark.

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Mark lied.

A loud voice Mark recognized entered the room. He turned toward the source.

Emily looked across the room. “Sounds like it’s showtime. I’ll get out of your hair.” She paused. “Meet me at the ticket booth after you’re done here?”

Mark nodded, barely listening. He watched as the loud voice walked towards his locker and hurried to meet him.

Tim had always been taller than Mark. That hadn’t changed even with Mark in high heels. He’d been Mark’s replacement for the past week, though as far as anyone remembered he’d had the spot all year. Tim had always been cocky, but becoming a starter made it even worse.

Tim shook his head when he saw Mark approach. “I didn’t ask for a rally girl.”

“I didn’t volunteer.”

Tim’s eyebrow went up. He looked at the plate. “Then why are you here?”

“Tina requested it.”

“My sister asks for a lot of weird things.” He stared at Mark while peeling up a corner of the foil and sniffed. “Did you bake these?”

“Tina made them. She was afraid I might poison you.”

Tim laughed. “Figures. My sisters are always on the lookout for me.” He took one, bit into it, and chewed for a moment. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

He nodded toward Mark. “You're Jeffrey's friend. But this morning you got into a public catfight with Gina, my sister's best friend and Jeffrey's girlfriend. I don't know what game you're playing, and while I don't know you well, I don't I trust you either.”

Mark nearly laughed. “Maybe you don’t like my face.”

“I doubt that. You’ve turned into quite a smokeshow this year. If you weren’t a lesbian maybe we…” Tim frowned at his cookie.

“That’s never happening…” Mark said, interrupting.

Tim laughed. “Now I remember why I don't trust you. You're a little bitch.”

Mark laughed back. It wasn’t the first time Tim had called him that name. It was the first time it was anatomically correct.

For a year, this boy told everyone on the team he should be the starter and complained any time Mark made a mistake. No one remembered that now, not even Tim. But Mark remembered.

“And you’re an asshole,” Mark replied, making sure to keep his anger in check.

Tim blinked, then laughed. “At least you’re honest.”

“I do my best.”

Tim asked, “So how does this work? I assume I’m not getting a kiss.”

“Ewww. Gross. No way.”

“So it’s just cookies? Seems like a waste.”

Mark felt the power building inside him. The stares this dress had drawn all night could have powered a dozen spells. “We could shake hands instead. It’s tradition.”

“That’s not a real tradition. You’re making that up.”

“So what if I am?”

Tim studied Mark for a long moment, then turned to open his locker. Above it, a poster read ‘GO TIM’ in the same cheerful block capitals Tina used on everything. He tossed his bag inside and turned back, offering his hand. “Let’s get it over with.”

Mark put his hand in Tim’s. The palm was smooth, with a thin layer of sweat that belied his cocky demeanor.

The hum grew stronger as Mark reached into Tim. First came the blinding wall of ego, the swagger and self-importance Tim wore like armor. Beneath it, Mark found something quieter - a deep, stubborn fear that he wasn't good enough. Mark hesitated for a moment before taking the plunge and allowing the magic to work. As soon as he did, the hum faded allowing Mark to pull his hand away.

Mark opened his eyes. There was no turning back now.

Tim didn’t move as he looked at their joined hands.

“Are you okay, Tim?” Mark asked.

Tim didn’t speak for a second, then flexed his fingers. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Mark shrugged. “Not sure why I asked. Good luck in the game.”

“Thanks for the cookies.” Tim said, picking up another one. "Oh wait. My sister made them."

Mark stared at Tim and thought about saying something. He turned away instead.

A whistle blew. Coach Denny’s voice cut through the chatter.

“Five minutes, ladies! We have to get dressed for the game, and you can’t be here for that.”

“Why not?” A girl’s voice called from the back.

Coach Denny glared in the direction of the speaker. “I’m back in five. Don’t be here.” With that he turned and went toward the offices.

Mark watched everyone filing out from a far wall. He caught furtive glances from his former teammates, and sensed he missed many more. He felt the same butterflies he’d always felt, but as the clock ticked down, there was no anxiety in them. All he felt was sad.

Only one thing left to do.

Alice sat on a bench, hand in hand with Aden, the looks between them bordering on sickeningly sweet.

“We need to get going,” Mark said.

“So soon?” Alice asked.

Mark nodded. “Sorry. Coach’s orders, and you don’t want to see him angry. Isn’t that right, Aden?”

Aden nodded, his eyes wide. Mark had always liked him. He never said much, just showed up to practice every day and did what the coaches asked. The sign above his locker read ‘ADEN – #83,’ with a drawing that was actually pretty good.

Mark placed a hand on Alice’s shoulder as the two lovebirds continued to stare at each other.

“Alice? Aden?”

“He’s right.” Aden blushed as he pulled away. “You better go, Alice. It’s not a good idea to challenge Coach. I’ll see you after the game.”

Mark linked his arm with Alice and pulled her off the bench. “Good luck out there, Aden.”

“Thanks, Marcy.”

Alice turned and gave Aden another wave goodbye. Aden returned it.

Mark turned away, giving the room one last look before turning for the door, hoping no one could see his face.

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