His caption is Go Elites.
His feed is filled with pictures of the game. He has full shots of the entire team. Most of his pictures are with Elites’ forward line. Xander, Cole, and Ronan.
He has pics in parties while they drown alcohol. In other pictures, they have girls squeezed between them.
In older pictures, they have Levi King with them. Aiden’s older cousin and Elites’ previous captain and a current player for Arsenal. I know him because I’ve been following him so closely since the beginning of this season.
He added so much balance to Arsenal’s midfield.
At the end of last year, Levi led Elites to win the schools’ championship. Aiden commemorated the moment with a picture of the forward line carrying Levi on their shoulders. A brunette stands beside Aiden laughing so happily and genuinely.
Even Aiden appears… happy? No. Not happy. More like euphoric.
It must be some sort of a power, right? Even through his Instagram, he shows that perfect golden boy and star image.
It’s easy for the world to believe he’s living the best life and loving it.
The more I scroll, the more it feels like a mask. A method to hide something. What, I don’t know.
Then, a break of pattern catches my attention. Now and then, between rows of happy go lucky pictures, he’d post a black and white shot that doesn’t have his face on it. One has his dark silhouette from behind. Another shows a ball with his name on it. A few others have the chessboard.
He doesn’t have captions on those pictures, and if he does, they’re short and strange.
Mood.
Urges.
Long Live the Queen.
Play the player, not the game.
Stop & Stare.
Ruin before you’re ruined.
I find myself hunting for every picture of that type. Unlike the other pictures, these seem like a true window to Aiden.
He posted the last black and white picture last night. It’s a shot of a glass chessboard. Right in the middle, the black king piece stands tall while the white queen falls at his feet.
The caption is, Sick.
All the commenters – mostly females – gush and wish him to get better soon.
I don’t think he meant sick in the physical term. He’s screwed up in the head as I told him.
As I told him?
I shake my head. That can’t be true.
“Come on, Girls. Go! Go! Go!”
Coach Nessrine’s voice startles me. I close the phone, throw it in my bag and head out to practice.
The thing I hate the most about track practice in RES is that we run around the football pitch where the football team is practising.
Nope. I won’t let them ruin running for me.
Coach gives us instructions on today’s practice. As I stretch, my gaze drifts to the pitch.
I find him without even trying to. Being hyper-aware of him makes him stand out of the crowd even if I don’t want him to.
Aiden wears the royal blue jersey and shorts like he’s some model. The uniform sticks to his body like a second skin outlining his developed chest and his toned thighs and legs. He calls for the ball and when it reaches him, his eyes spark with that challenging streak. He doesn’t take long to cut through the defence.
Conquest.
He stops at nothing to get to the goal.
I hate the bastard, but with his level of talent, he can be scouted into one of the Premier League’s top teams. That is if he wasn’t already. Maybe, like his cousin, RES won’t allow him to leave until he graduates.
Elites are divided into two teams, playing against each other. Cole and Aiden are on the team who wears the blue uniform. Xander and Ronan are on the team with neon T-shirts.
Aiden and Xander are the team’s strikers, but now, Xander is playing defence. A position he doesn’t usually play.
What? I might have been listening when Kim told me about the home games she watched last year.
Aiden goes for the ball, leaving a few of his opponents behind. Just when he’s gaining momentum towards the net, Xander tackles him with brute force. Aiden hits the ground with a thud.
A few gasps escape from the girls around me. Even our coach stops and stares.
The audience who gathered to watch the practice fall silent, their mouths hanging open.
That’s the effect Aiden has on people. Even though RES’s known for academics, they’ve been obsessed with football these past few years. They’re dreaming about another championship after the one last year.
Xander doesn’t even reach down to help Aiden. Cole and Ronan do. Coach Larson, a middle-aged man with a bald head and bushy brows, hits Xander with a paper bat on his shoulder.
If he’s affected, he doesn’t show it. All he does is cut a poker-faced Aiden a deadly glare.
“Wow. Knight is tense,” one of the girls whispers from behind me.
“I know, right?” Another replies. “He’s like out for blood.”
So I’m not the only one who noticed that.
It’s the first time I’ve seen Aiden and Xander at each other’s throat.
The captain, Cole, and the coach speak to Xander on the sidelines.
Judging from Coach Larson’s reddening cheeks, he doesn’t look so happy.
I snort. Of course, he wouldn’t be. I’m sure he’s barely stopping himself from murdering Xander for touching his star. Aiden is the ace striker, and strikers always get full credit, no matter how many good assists they get.
Still warming up, I search for Aiden. He stands near the bench, gripping a bottle of sports drink, but his attention isn’t on the drink or on Xander or on Ronan who’s talking to him.
It’s on me.
I freeze in the middle of stretching my hand behind my back. The position thrusts my breasts against my tracksuit. Aiden’s gaze trails down to the curve of my breasts slowly. Too slowly. It’s painful.
My throat closes. I feel like pumping air out of my lungs, gasping, and begging for breath.
When his metallic eyes slide back to mine, they’re full of undisclosed hunger.
Raw.
Furious.
I can’t breathe even if I want to. I feel like if I take one breath, he’ll jump me.
For two years, I got used to murderous glares from him. What’s up with this one?
I can take his hateful looks. Hell, I want us to go back to the hateful looks’ stage. At least back then, I wasn’t rattled out of my mind.
But this look? This hunger? This one I can’t take.
I break eye contact first. He can play whatever game he wants on his own.
The practice goes well for the most part. It’s after the fourth loop that exhaustion starts to settle in.
I take more pauses for water than necessary. My record keeps slowing down.
Now and then, when I look into the football pitch, I find Aiden’s destabilising eyes on me.
God damn him.
After practice, Coach calls me into her office as the other girls head into the shower.
Coach Nessrine has olive skin and dark blue eyes that give her an exotic look.
“Everything okay, Quinn?” Her brows furrow. “Your numbers weren’t optimal by the end. Have you been practising during the summer?”
“I have.” I swallow. “I’ll work hard. I promise.”
“Is it your heart condition?” she asks.
When I told Aunt Blair I want to run, she refused. Uncle and I did everything to coax her. She only agreed with her terms. One of them being that my coach knows about my heart condition and to always call her if anything comes up.