Possessive Coach

“You ready to run?” he growls at Erik.

“Fuck this,” Erik says, but he follows Jeffries toward the field. The boy throws a look back at me and stops walking long enough to flip me off. He turns and hurries back after Jeffries.

I linger there for a second before letting out a breath. I poke my head into Coach’s office. “Done?” I ask.

“Done,” he confirms. “Boy’s pissed.”

“Let him be.”

Nathan just shakes his head and I leave him to his game tape.

Erik’s not going to take this lightly. I can see it in his eyes, he’s already livid, already embarrassed. He’s going to do something stupid, and I know it’s not going to be directed toward me.

That’s why I warned Chloe. But I’m worried that’s not enough.

I’ll keep an eye on her. When she’s scheduled to tutor next, I’ll hang around. And if Erik tries something, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get away with it.4ChloeI don’t have class until later in the afternoon, so I stay in bed most of the morning and only get up when I somehow make it to the bottom of my endless Reddit scrolling feed.

I shower then stand in the mirror for a long moment, replaying the conversation I had with David the day before. He was definitely flirting with me, which I liked, but I hate that he’s going to the head coach with this.

Maybe if he keeps my name out of it, nothing will happen. I mean, Erik might not be dumb enough to retaliate, and the head coach won’t know who to try and silence.

Not that he needs to silence me, since I just want to move on with my life. But still, I can’t help the worry that rolls all through me.

I get dressed and head into our living room. As I start making some coffee, the front door flies open, and Sara comes storming inside. She throws her bag on the floor and looks around with a wild look in her eyes before spotting me. “Look at this,” she says.

“Look at wh—”

She slams a piece of paper down on the light blue kitchen counter, making the white cabinets rattle in their loose hinges. The refrigerator is old and plain white, and the white painted walls are cracked in a few places, but the apartment is clean and in a good spot, so we don’t mind how it’s aging.

I walk over and stare down at a picture of myself taken at some random party a couple years ago with the word “BITCH” in big block letters underneath it. I’m holding a Solo cup and smiling, my head tilted. I’m wearing a low-cut top and the rest of the room is a blur behind me. Devil horns are hand drawn onto my head, and my eyes are Xed out with black marker. The whole thing looks like it was photocopied a few times, but it’s still recognizably me.

“Where did you get this?” I ask and my voice sounds like it comes from a mile away.

“They’re scattered all over the place,” she says. “Seriously like blowing in the fucking wind like tumbleweeds. Who the hell would do this to you, Chloe? What the fucking fuck? I’m so mad I want to kill someone.”

I take a step away from the paper but I can’t pull my eyes from it. I know who did this, I know exactly who did it. But I can’t seem to move a muscle.

“Chloe!”

I turn to look at Sara. I blink a couple times then shake my head. “I have to call someone.”

“What the hell, Chloe? What is that?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s nothing. I’ll— I don’t know. I have to call someone, okay?”

She looks baffled as I move past her and head into my room. I slam my door shut, grab my phone, and call David’s number.

He answers on the second ring. “Chloe,” he says. “Hey.”

“Hi.” I clear my throat, heart racing. I feel like I might be sick. “Are you on campus?”

“Not yet,” he says. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” I say. “I mean, I don’t know. Can you come to campus? Can you meet me?”

“Of course.” He sounds worried. “Where?”

“Uh, my place. Outside my place. I’ll be downstairs.”

“I can get there in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, yeah. See you soon then.”

“See you.” He hangs up the phone.

I grab my sweater, pull it over my head, and find a hat in the back of my closet. I pile my hair on my head and cover as much as I can with the hat. Between that and the baggy sweater, I can almost pass as someone else. I stand there looking at myself in the mirror, feeling fear and anger wash over me, until fifteen minutes pass. I leave my room and head past Sara.

“Hey, wait,” she says.

“I’m meeting with someone,” I say. “Listen, it’s okay.”