× Mercury

A heavy metal song was blasting in my ears as I punched the bag dangling in front of me, my eyes never leaving the big red X in the center. I took a step back as I clenched and unclenched my knuckles, making sure the tape around them stayed intact.

Three years ago when my parents died, I had gone to therapy (against my will, I will add). After the fourth meeting of are you okay's and how does that make you feel's, the psychiatrist had decided that talking wasn't going to break me out of my shell, so she came up with something that might be a little more efficient.

Boxing.

I have grown up in a household that seemed to always remind me that fighting would not salve my problems. But to this day I could tell my parents, my brother, and my grandma that they were completely wrong.

The next meeting, the psychiatrist and I had gone to the local gym and she had told me to hit the punching bag as hard as I could. Being seventeen and deeply angry at the world, you could imagine that I was over the moon by those instructions.

To my surprise - although, not the psychiatrist's - it had worked. Between every punch and every kick, I vented. I told her everything I was feeling as I was hitting it out on the bag. And she listened. She stood on the other side of the bag and listened to everything I had to say, and even though that was her job, it was nice to just let it out through punches and to have someone on the other side to catch them.

And to that day, I stuck with that mechanism whenever I was feeling sad, depressed, or like I just really needed to hit something. So that was why when I stepped foot into the University of Roehampton's fitness center for the first time, my spirits lifted and I didn't hesitated to slap some tape on my knuckles and start swinging.

I concentrated on the Halestorm song blaring in my ears as I did a roundhouse kick to the vinyl shell.

Roaring like a storm and I am the one I've been waiting for.

Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.

I am the fire.

I wasn't the only person in the gym, but I was, however, the only girl. And with that being said, even the heavy music in my ears wasn't enough to distract me from all the staring eyes in my direction. I was surprised no one had tripped on the treadmill or dropped any weights on their toes, because apparently, I was the main attracting at the moment.

So maybe that was why I lifted up my foot and side kicked the bag right at the large X and sent it swinging. In fact, I sent it swinging so far that not only did the mouths of all the boys in the room fall open with wide eyes, but I had also in the process knocked someone over on the other side with the bag.

"Oh my god," I said as I ripped out my headphones and quickly went over to the person's aid. I held my hand out for them to take as I said, "I am so sorry, I should have been paying closer attention to who was around me."

A girl with a face that reminded me of a chipmunk peered up at me with big, hazel eyes. They were outlined in a smoky shadow that would put Carrie Underwood to shame.

"It's my fault," she said as she grabbed my hand and I lifted her up. "I shouldn't have been walking so close."

I couldn't help but notice her rubbing the hip she had fallen on. Guilt was seeping through me like the sweat from my workout.

"I still feel bad," I admitted, looking closely at her face in case she wasn't bleeding or had any visible broken bones.

But the girl just shook her head and looked me over once. I was used to all the girls giving me the once-over with that narky look that all the Roehampton girls seemed to develop. But for some reason when this girl did it, I didn't feel as though I was on display (unlike how I felt with the other eyes burning a hole in my back from the boys in the gym).

"You're Lynn, yeah?" she asked, a smile forming on her full lips. "The new football player?"

I noticed that the girl wasn't wearing workout attire - a black V-neck shirt and snug jeans - and I wondered why she was even in the gym. Jace had told me one time that some of the girls only went to the gym in hopes to see Coach Mathews without a shirt on, and I prayed that wasn't the case here.

I started taking off the tape around my knuckles as I said, "Yeah, that's me."

"I'm Jillian Kosher," the girl said with a nod of her head. "I was in here about an hour ago and left my iPod. I'm actually on my way to The Courtyard Bar."

"The Courtyard Bar?" I asked. The name didn't ring a bell to me.

Jillian smiled at me. "Yeah, it's a bar on campus. You've never been?"

A bar... on campus? The only thing remotely close to a bar at UCLA was a couple of coffee shops, but not a freaking bar. It was just another reminder that I was in a completely different country now.

"I haven't had much time to check out the attractions here yet. Although, I did go to the bonfire the other night," I told her, the sudden cold of the water hitting me was still fresh in my mind. "I had to leave early, through."

Suddenly, Jillian laughed, drawing the attention from any boy who wasn't already looking. "I wasn't there but I heard about your little dip in the pool," she explained. "It was the hot topic at the bar the day after."

Embarrassment took over. At the time, I didn't even care who had seen me get pushed into the pool (everyone, by the way. Everyone say me get pushed into the pool), but now that I knew people who weren't even there heard about it, well, let's just say it wasn't a very good reputation to get on your first week at a new school.

Jillian must have seen my mortification because the smile on her face faded. "I honestly wouldn't worry about it. The only talk at the bar was how good you looked in a wet shirt."

"Well, if they were expecting a show, I would have given them one," I said, making Jillian laugh again.

She must have noticed how loud she was because she quickly shut her mouth and looked around to see who was paying any attention. Every guy in the gym was looking at us and this time it was Jillian's cheeks that flushed red.

Her hazel eyes turned to me, a shy smile on her lips now. "Would you like to join me at the bar? Their burgers are to die for."

The offer surprised me, if I was being honest. For the whole week and a half I had been at that school, no one, not even someone on my team, had offered me to go somewhere with them. Actually, now that I thought about it, outside of my teammates, no one seemed to want to talk to me. For the first time I wondered why that was and why that wasn't the case with Jillian.

So maybe that was why I found myself nodding my head, a smile growing on my face.

Jace was nice, I liked Jace. But sometimes spending time with a boy could get tiring and I really needed a female friend. Maybe the punching bag found one for me.

"I'd love to go," I told her.

× × ×

The Courtyard Bar was a rundown joint at the far end of campus. It looked like any other sports bar with stools along the counter on the back wall, booths around the perimeter of the large, dimly lit room. Framed posters of famous soccer players and other sports littered the walls along with flags and neon signs of brands of beers. There was a TV in every corner and the sound of something deep-frying sizzled from the back room.

"Oh, what's that smell?" I asked, my stomach growling from the yummy aroma.

Jillian looked over at me with a knowing smile, like everyone asks that question. "The burgers," she said as she stepped farther into the bar and weaved around tables.

I followed after her.

The bar was packed with people considering it was a Wednesday afternoon. As Jillian took a seat on a stool at the counter, I noticed a sign on the wall with the specials of the day and understood why the place was packed. Half priced beer 1pm-6pm. That was like a beacon for college students.

"Jillian, you're early," a man said as he walked over to us on the other side of the counter.

Niall Horan may have been Irish, but the guy standing in front of us had nothing on him. Messy, flaming orange hair was the first thing I noticed about him (and really, it was hard to miss). Freckles scattered every inch of him I could see and intense, bloodshot green eyes looking between Jillian and I. The only thing about him that wasn't standout Irish was the silver ring piercing on his left eyebrow. The nametag pinned to his shirt read Finn.

"Yeah, I thought I'd get some food before my shift," Jillian explained as she squinted at the board over his shoulder to see what was on the menu. "Could we get two cheese burgers and two large Cokes? You like Coke, yeah?" When I nodded she looked back at the guy. "On one check."

Finn nodded at her and wrote down the order on a note pad before setting it down on the ledge that divided the bar and the kitchen in the back. Through the small window I could see a couple of people flipping burgers and deep-frying French fries. Along the bar seats, people were drinking beer and snaking on chips, probably relaxing from a hard day of classes.

"You work here?" I asked.

"Yeah, almost every day," she explained. Then she looked up at me like she remembered something, a wide grin on her face. "We're hiring, if you're interested."

I laughed at her forwardness. "I don't think so," I confessed. "I mean, I need the money, but with classes and soccer practice and training. I'm not sure I'd have the time or the energy."

"Finn's really flexible with schedules. Any day of the week you can't work, he simply won't schedule you. Work one day a week, if you must."

"You're desperate for workers, huh?" I observed.

Jillian nodded like I had no idea how desperate they were, and from the dark bags on her eyes and her continues yawing was any consideration, then I think I had a pretty good idea.

I looked around the bar again, a pop song playing dimly though the speakers. I really did need the money; a car would be nice to get to class-to-class without having to bug Jace about a ride, or sleeping in later so I didn't have to give myself an extra hour in the morning so I had time to walk to my classes. Also, just having some spare cash to spend on whatever I wanted wouldn't hurt.

But I wasn't lying when I told Jillian I wouldn't have the time. With Coach Mathews randomly assigning practices, not to mention all the training in the gym I needed to do weekly, it would be near impossible to hold down a part-time job.

A few minutes later the orange haired guy came back with our food and drinks, eyebrow piercing gleaming in the soft lighting of the room. It reminded me of Emily's nose stud and I was suddenly doused with a sense of homesickness.

Once I took a bit of the burger, the wistfulness was gone. Jillian wasn't lying when she said the burgers were to die for. I would most definitely risk my life to have another one, and then probably another one after that.

"So what's it like?" Jillian asked suddenly, leaning forward on the counter to get closer to me. "Playing with the boys, I mean."

"Everything I expected," I admitted to her as I took a drink of my Coke. "At first the boys were hesitant because of me being a girl and all, but they quickly learned that I could take a hit. Of course, I had to hit them a couple of times before they got the memo."

"Any boy drama?" she asked, hazel eyes twinkling in anticipation.

Naturally, my thoughts went back to last Saturday at practice, and then the conversation Niall and I had later that day in his room. Considering I had only met Jillian an hour ago, I didn't feel as though I should share all that.

So I just shook my head and said, "No."

As expected, she slumped her shoulders in disappointment.

From the look on her face, I felt like I had to explain. "It wouldn't be a very good idea to, like, get involved with one of them, you know what I mean?"

"If I were them, I wouldn't even try," she admitted.

"What do you mean?"

"Boys don't make passes at girls who kick asses."