Milo

Callum whacks the ball down the pitch into the space my stick is pointed at. I push past the defender and lunge to claim the ball.

Straightening, I tap the ball back and forth as I search out my next move. I race for a gap, ready to pass when something whacks me on the shin, and I fly through the air, landing on the ground with a heavy grunt.

Pain fills my forearm and knees as I slide over the rough terrain. Jumping to my feet causes a throb to shoot up my shin. Some bastard managed to make contact with the small amount of leg between my shin pad and astros because I was too lazy to line them up properly.

"Enjoy your trip?"

I turn and scowl at Kieran Smith's sneering face. He's the only idiot stupid enough to fight with me. I don't know when he decided he deserves top spot of this school or why he thinks beating me up is the way to get there.

Probably because it's the position I accidentally carved out for myself over the last four years.

"You're a wanker." I stride forward and grab the front of Kieran's polo shirt in one swift movement, pulling him towards me. He doesn't cower away from me the way I'm used to everyone else doing before I've touched them.

"You don't scare me, Thompson," Kieran Smith spits his words at me, his upper lip curling. "You're a fucking pussy."

Anger bubbles in my gut, and I tighten my grip. Kieran smacks his stick against my uncovered leg. I repress any reaction as my body tightens like an elastic band ready to snap.

My free hand curls into a fist and lifts on its own accord, preparing to turn on the defensive should Kieran's next hit come.

"Milo." Our PE teacher's strict voice bellows over the court, forcing me to release Kieran. I shove him so hard he stumbles and his face falters, leaving a smug grin on mine. He got lucky this time. It wouldn't have been the first time he ended with the school nurse because I won a fight he initiated.

With my arms spread wide, I jolt my body at Kieran forcing his flinch. My name echoes around the court, more threatening than before. Keeping my eyes locked on Kieran's, I bend and claim my stick. As I straighten and take a step towards him, he puffs out his chest and throws his shoulders back as if the move will make him more intimidating. I smirk at his pathetic attempt to frighten me and lift my stick.

"Go. Now." Mr Jackson doesn't bother telling me where I need to go, but he doesn't need to. I've been sent to this office almost everyday for the last four years.

Reluctantly, I follow the booming voice’s instruction and, dragging my stick across the astroturf, I head to the gate. The move probably looks disrespectful, but the truth is, I'm defeated.

"You did nothing wrong," Callum mutters as I pass. I turn to him and shoot my eyebrows high, agreeing, but changing the teachers’ minds in this school is an impossible task.

I rummage through the valuables box to claim my items, ignoring being told not to. With my phone, keys and wallet tucked into my short pockets, I continue to leave.

Filled with frustration, I lift my stick and fire it into the green metal cage surrounding us. The contact rings out around us, violent and threatening. Getting a good grade in hockey is detrimental. If I lose out because Kieran Smith is threatened by me, he's going to know about it.

"Milo, leave that here."

I launch the stick at the fence, creating a brief sense of satisfaction before it drops to the astroturf.

In absence of anything else to destroy, my teeth chomp on my lip and my body vibrates until the familiar metallic taste slides over my tongue. 

Disappointment in myself courses through my veins like poison trying to ruin me from the inside out. I'm two days into my final year at school, and I've already been sent to this office twice for things out of my control.

But I'm fighting a losing battle. I can't prove to anyone I'm not the irritable teenager I used to be. I'll continue to get punished undeservedly and my reactions will be fuelled by anger as my future slips through my fingers.

I should've gone to college instead of staying on the sixth form at my school. No one would've known me or my history at college. No one would have cared.

But the closest college is too far from home. Too far from where I'm most needed.

I trudge through the sport centre car park to head to the changing rooms. My hand is on the reception door before I pause. Skiving for the rest of the day will result in more trouble.

Because, despite wanting to stay close to my mum and sister, I need to get into university to escape my father's claws. To prove I don't need him. To prove I'm more than he thinks of me.

With a heavy sigh, I choose the action I need to do over the one I want to do and turn to the school. A rubber wedge props the door open, letting the cool breeze I brought in float through the stuffy corridor filled with the adults who control my fate.

My chair is empty today. A different disappointment swirls in my stomach. I'm not sure what I was expecting. This chair remained empty since I put it there last year. I'm the only one my age the teachers think need disciplining and the younger kids have learnt to stay away from it.

Maybe that's what intrigued me about Nia yesterday. She didn't cower away from me or gawp. Didn't fumble in my presence or stumble over her words.

With her thickly lined eyes and broad eyebrows, she challenged me, unfazed by my reputation. Her uncovered freckles displayed like the milky way as she wrinkled up her nose, unafraid to express her emotions instead of reacting how she thought I'd want her to.

She doesn't know me. There was no pressure to be the person everyone thinks I am.

I could just be me.

I stride past the empty chair and grip onto the chilled handle, not stopping when muffled voices vibrate through the door.

Mr Pickford peers at me with expectant eyebrows, but my gaze doesn't stay on his for long when the girl in the chair opposite him peers at me over her shoulder. The two tight buns she's pulled her hair into behind her ears display two rings and a bar across the top of her ear I hadn't noticed yesterday.

This act against school policy causes the corner of my mouth to slide up. It would explain why she's unafraid of my reputation.

Her eyebrows quirk in response to my smile before her eyes trail down my body and frown further at my scuffed knees. I haven't bothered checking out the damage, but the stinging from where the cool air brushes against the exposed graze suggests I've broken skin.

"Can I help you, Milo?" Mr Pickford asks in his calm voice, smooth like untainted honey.

I tear my gaze from the dark eyes heating my body but do nothing to drop my smirk and shrug a shoulder nonchalantly. I swallow against the sickness, pushing down the fear from how being in this office will impact my future. "Got sent here."

Nia pushes to her feet and claims her notepad and bag.

"I'll wait outside." As she passes me, her eyes lock on mine. I keep the connection, staring into eyes like freshly made coffee, a swirl of milk lightening the edges. When Mr Pickford says her name, she breaks the connection. "It's okay."

I linger on the door long after Nia closes it.

"Milo."

I flinch at the unusual snippy tone, springing my eyes to Mr Pickford's. Blinking, I take the vacated seat.

"Sir," I say with a curt nod. I wipe my clammy hands down the side of my shorts. I'm not used to the room crackling with hostility. The added spice in Mr Pickford's voice puts me on edge, warning me to tread carefully throughout the remainder of this conversation.

"Make sure you knock before you come in."

The tightness in my chest sags like a deflated balloon at both the return to Mr Pickford's normal tone and the familiarity to the start of my visit. I keep my shoulders back and chin high, refusing to show weakness.

"Sure."

If he knows I'm lying, he doesn't express it.

"So, why are you here?"

I shrug again.

"Milo." His warning doesn't scare me. Not anymore. It's too late to change my future. Too late to claw any chance of redemption.

I've accepted I get no say in my life. I've had to adapt to the poor hand I was dealt with. It took me too long to learn to play this game without dropping my poker face. 

I learnt the hard way, weaknesses are for exploiting.

"I don't know, sir."

The blue eyes before me, never backing down from their hold, scan over my sports top before returning to their position. "I'm guessing you had PE."

"Yes." I don't want to have to lie, but his questions will push me into a corner I don't want to be in unless I stand my ground.

“I could ask Mr Jackson what happened."

"He's the one who sent me." I lift a shoulder and drop it, sagging into the chair, pliant and lax. "Maybe he knows."

"Stop playing games with me, Milo."

"Don't know what you're talking about." I lift my hands and link my fingers behind my head. The scowl which keeps the rest of the world out doesn't work on Mr Pickford. Evasion is the best I can do here.

"I'm fed up with seeing you here. There's usually a reason behind your visits. Usually you know."

"Fight, I suppose." I grip my hair, tugging at the longer strands to keep the impulsive anger at bay. An explosive reaction will lead to a punishment I can't afford.

I'm balancing on the precarious tightrope between showing weakness and losing my future. One I've experienced, the other I'm afraid of. Neither are an option.

"You suppose?" Mr Pickford raises his eyebrows as I push against his patience.

"Yes."

"You don't look like you were in a fight."

With nothing to reply, I stay silent and lower my hands to my lap. I keep my face neutral and my eyes sharp.

"Okay, Milo. This is your last chance to be honest so I can understand what happened and help you."

I stare at him blankly until he rewards me with my punishment. His words are a trap, a false sense of security. He'll promise me help he can't deliver.

I have to do this alone.

"Okay. You can join detention at lunchtime. We're done here. Let Nia know she can come in when you leave." Mr Pickford turns to the computer screen, ending our conversation. If I did want help, it's too late.

I want to bang my head against the wooden desk. I can't tell how the outcome of my visit will impact my file. He's giving away no indication how harmful these last two detentions will be.

His kindness won't last long and I need him on my side for as long as I can keep him there. And so, I'll endure the detentions for something I didn't do without comment and accept the worse consequences as they come throughout the year.

Without a word, I leave the room, pulling the door closed behind me as I try to hide the shock of finding Nia in my chair. Usually when I interrupt, I'm the one who waits.

"Twice in two days?”  “Looks like I've got some competition." I run a hand through my hair, pushing it off my moist forehead with a wipe. Now I'm no longer running around the hockey pitch, my sweat turns cold in the cool air blowing in from outside.

"Worried?" Nia raises an eyebrow, mocking me.

I shake my head, my smile smug. The stress of the last twenty minutes dwindles, eradicating the anger I had towards both myself and Kieran Smith.

The interest I have in Nia is not something I want to think about. Not something I have the capability to explore. But talking to her and accepting this distraction is better than the alternative.

"I'm annoyed I'm no longer able to sit on my chair."

I tilt my head as I consider kicking her off my chair. I don't need it, but I need to set a precedent if she's going to be here often. Part of me wants to see if she'll challenge me again.

She made a good distraction yesterday, and I'm not willing to scare her off. I'll let the rest of the school do that for me.

I lean against the wall opposite her, scrutinising the stare she fixes on me. The sadness that distorted her defined features yesterday lingers in the centre of her eyebrows and the corner of her lips. It's not helped by her large eyes or round cheeks giving her a vulnerable vibe. It doesn't matter if she tries to hide behind the thick eyeliner or the oversized denim jacket hanging off her slight frame.

"So, what did you do?" I ask her when she doesn't say anything further, folding my arms over my chest.

"What makes you think I did something?" She fires at me. I scan her outfit again. Under her jacket, she's wearing a plain T-shirt instead of the band hoodie she had on yesterday, but the ripped jeans have been replaced by check trousers. The same untied black boots cover her feet. With the addition of her piercings, the only thing she's missing is the deep scowl and aggressive attitude.

"Because, emo girl, you're sitting in my naughty chair."

She peers at me like I'm gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "Your naughty chair?"

"Yeah." I shoot her a proud grin, but the disgust doesn't shift from her face. "What?"

Her head tilts, her face filling with curiosity. "Are you proud of having a naughty chair at seventeen?"

It's never felt good to be sitting out here waiting for the adults who don't know me to define my future.

I ignore her question and push my own curiosity. "You can't tell me you weren't in trouble with Mr Pickford. That's the most strict I've ever heard him be."

"Huh." Nia frowns and twists to stare straight through the wooden door.

"If you weren't in trouble," I say, distracted as I pat my pockets for something to eat and scan the floor for my bags. "Why were you in there?"

Her head shoots to me, and, if possible, her eyes grow wider.

"What's with the questions?" Despite her just-seen-a-ghost eyes, her voice stays level and strong.

"Why do you do that?" I tuck my hands under my armpits as my hunger takes the last of my heat.

"Do what?" She fires at me, hands gripping at the denim.

I move my loose thumbs towards my chest. "Answer my questions with another question?"

She tucks her feet under her chair and rubs the toes of her boots against one another. "Why do you ask so many in the first place?"

"Scoping out my competition." I lift a foot, kicking at the wall behind me, adding to the scuff marks I've made over the years.

The corner of Nia's lips flinch, and my chest swells as if I've won a swimming race. I don't know why this shadow of a smile is such a big victory.

It's lost as quickly as it arrived, and the furrow in her eyebrows deepens.

"He wanted to make sure I was settling in okay." She waves a hand at the door, suggesting the meeting was casual, but her face and tone have turned hostile as if she's reluctant to share this with me. I'm surprised she did. Her gaze lands on the mess on my knees. "That looks sore. You should probably clean it. What did you do?"

I flick my eyes between hers as she continues to make inventory of my injuries. I frown at the loss of her hostility and recognise her statement for what it is – a diversion from herself. I make a note to respect this boundary and take the bait.

"Got into a fight." I shrug a shoulder, aiming for the same nonchalance I shared with Mr Pickford. She arches an eyebrow. I don't know why I'm trying to impress her. I also don't know why I thought getting into a fight would impress her. I curve my lips into a smirk. "You should see the other guy."

Nia raises both her eyebrows with a hum, not impressed by whatever it is I'm trying to do. Her gaze lowers to her lap. I'm losing her.

"If you're going to continue to sit in my chair," I blurt out, desperate to keep her attention. "You're going to have to buy your own."

"I'm not buying a chair to bring to school." She squints at me with a tiny lift in her lips as she calculates my reaction. "You'll probably steal it."

My heart drops unexpectedly at her opinion of me. I felt free in her presence before because she didn't know anything about me. I know most of the rumours filling this school. I hadn't expected any of them to reach her this quickly. I guess this will be the last interaction I have with her.

"Is that really your impression of me?" There's a betrayal in my voice, but Nia doesn't react to it if she notices. I clamp my teeth into my already cut lip at this blip in my shield.

Nia's mouth turns down as she nods.

"You were definitely in trouble in there." She jerks her head towards the office. "And you did say you're partial to a fight."

The coil around my heart loosens, and I don't linger on my reaction. Her opinion of me comes directly from me, not the rumours. I can work with that.

In my silence, her attention goes to the closed door and to her lap. Sadness creeps into the edges of her features.

Again, the shift in her mood tugs at my heart. Instead of continuing to use her as my distraction, I give her the truth.

"You can go back in if you want."

"What?" Her face shoots towards me, and I recoil from her intense gaze.

"Mr Pickford told me to tell you to go in when you were ready."

Her eyes widen then narrow to the tiniest slits, her eyes lost by her thick eyelashes.

"Are you kidding me?"

My gaze turns cautious, and I lift my palms to face her. Maybe she does have a mean streak I was unprepared for. "What?"

"You're telling me I could've been in there already?" She points an aggressive finger at the door.

"Yes?" I feign a gasp and press a hand to my chest, trying to settle her mood. "You know, you could really hurt a guy's ego."

Nia rolls her eyes and rises. "Your ego is far too big for me to make any sort of dent in it."

If only she knew.

Her eyes flick between me and the corridor a few times. Her mouth bunches side to side as if considering sharing something with me.

"I'm hungry, and I left my lunch in there."

I keep my face steady instead of reacting to this information she volunteered. Her statement alone is useless, but coupled with her shifting, it alerts me to something she's hiding.

I don't draw in on this, understanding the need to hide from everyone I know.

"Ah," I say instead.

"What?"

I chuckle at her defensive tone and keep my smile light. "What?"

"You said ah. Like it explains everything." She peers at me through her eyelashes, her mood staying strong.

"Yeah. Explains why you're in a mood. And why you were waiting to go back in."

She holds my gaze. I'm absorbed in by the dark brown eyes, and I forget where I am. Something shifts within me. An unexpected calm I haven't found in years.

With a flinch, she breaks our contact and grabs the door handle. She pauses to take a deep breath, tucking her chin into her shoulder. "I'm not hangry if that's what you're getting at. But there's only one thing in this corridor that is making me angry."

Then she disappears into the room.

I glare at the chair as the only other thing in the corridor as if it was a reason my conversation with Nia was cut short.

My mind lingers on Nia as I stride to the sports centre. With her sad features and a defensive attitude I recognise in myself, I wonder what it is she's hiding from the world, too.

If, like me, it's her less than perfect family or a history she's running away from.

Either way, I don't expect to find out. I don't expect to see much of her. She's not in trouble with Mr Pickford, and when the rumours haunting this school reach her, she'll do what she can to avoid me.

I shake my head and scrub my hands over my face as I hit the cool air, trying to clear my mind of anything to do with Nia. Whatever my mind is doing needs to stop. And fast.