k a r r i s

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Something was definitely fishy.

And no, it wasn't because Mr. Pinkston was suddenly making little mistakes through out his lecture, causing him to turn red in the face with frustration. The Physics teacher fumbled through his lesson and I knew something was off-kilter with the man. However, despite Mr. Pinkston's mumbling words and shaky hands, there was something off about school these last few days that definitely did not feel right.

It started off with Calum.

Normally I saw him in the mornings, hanging out with friends or flirting with some beautiful girl. Every morning I'd pass by the dark-haired hockey player, wave to him, we'd talk for precisely 98 seconds, he'd hug me, and then be on my merry way. Yesterday morning however, our conversation lasted less than 30 seconds. Calum's eyes were averted somewhere else, he gave me one worded answers, and when I went in for our usual hugs, he turned away.

Maybe he was sick? Or maybe just tired? I didn't think too much about the whole ordeal, until I came face to face with more Willowridge hockey players. I'd pass them in the halls, expecting a wave or a simple "hey," but it didn't happen. Even number 24 Michael Clifford, who never failed to high-five me or offer some of his candy, was distant with me.

"They're probably just stressed out," Berkley consoled, the two of us standing by her locker after school. "The first game of the season is coming up tomorrow."

"Which is totally understandable," I agreed, "but I'm their coach and if anyone understands pre-game jitters, it'd be me. They can always talk to me about this stuff."

"Well, why don't you bring it up today at practice?" Berkley suggested, slamming her locker shut before we walked down the hallway together.

"I'll think about it. I don't want to start any drama that may not even be there. Especially not before their first game of the season," I expressed, half-heartedly. I let out a drawn out sigh, exasperated from it all before resting my head on Berkley's shoulders.

"Aw, don't worry Karebear," Berkley cooed, patting my head, "I'm sure everything will be okay. They're still your boys and at the end of the day, they'll realize that they can't be a team unless you're in it too."

This why we were best friends- she knew exactly what to say to make me feel better. Despite our differences in personality, hobbies, and academic goals, Berkley had never let me down. She had been my rock through these last few months, and for that, I would always be grateful.

After the two of us changed into our normal athletic wear, we exited the girl's locker room before separating in the hallway. As Berkley made her way to rehearsal with the other dance team members, their perfectly sculpted butts shaking in the florescence, I trekked down the opposite way of the corridor. Once in the hockey stadium, I skated right over to Coach Benson, who was looking through some notes while the rowdy team conversed about things my virgin ears shouldn't be hearing.

"Hey Coach," he smiled, as he flipped through the pages attached to his clipboard.

"Hi there Coach," I smiled back, "ready for the first game tomorrow? Nervous?"

"Not too nervous," Coach Benson told me honestly, "our game is against Victorville. You know how they are."

"I do," I nodded my head, "they're good but they lack pizazz."

I shifted my attention from my mentor, to the hockey team who sat on the benches before me. Some of them pushed each other, some were flinging paper balls, and some were watching something on Michael's phone. When I saw Calum staring aimlessly, I took initiative to talk to the boy. So I skated right over to him, resting my hands on the barricade.

"Hey Cal," I grinned, sounding more hopeful than usual, "how's your day?"

"Um, okay, I guess," he shrugged. His eyes gazed in my direction, but not directly at me. What was his deal?

"Are you nervous for tomorrow's game? First one of the season," I pointed out, still attempting to save this already dull conversation.

"Can you like, go bother someone else?"

Taken aback by the new voice that entered the conversation, I furrowed my eyebrows as I turned my head to look at the culprit. Captain Ashton Irwin sat there with a smirk on his face, and mischief radiating all around him.

"Captain," I sighed, "Calum's my friend too. I can talk to him if I want to."

"Well if you're his friend, you'd see that he clearly has some problems going on in his head," Ashton gestured towards a very quiet Calum. "Why don't you go away and do something useful, Coach. Like go fetch me a bottle of water."

I stood silent for a while as Ashton wallowed in his self-righteousness. He was so mean to me and I didn't know why. He was probably the reason why the hockey team refused to interact with me; the reason why the locker rooms were left ridiculously filthy each day; why I was losing the friendships I worked so hard to earn.

"Calum, are you going to let Ashton speak to me like that?" My voice was soft, weary, and shook as each word slipped through my tongue.

I stared at Calum for a few moments, waiting for him to respond, but he didn't. He had no problem defending me before, but for some justification I couldn't figure out, Calum had lost his balls to stand up to his pretentious team captain. That's when I looked up to the other members of the team.

"Luke? Michael? Anyone?" I pleadingly darted my eyes from member to member, hoping one of them would scold Ashton for his rude behavior. "Are you all going to just sit there and not do anything?"

Silence.

"I told you it wouldn't take long for the team to know where their loyalties lie," Ashton spoke up, his superior-like presence intimidating me with no limit. He let out a chuckle, obviously pleased with his team's lack of defense for Team Karris, "I gave you a free pass out Coach, but you refused to take it."

"Ashton, you're not being fair," I didn't want to give him the last word, but arguing against a daunting person like Ashton wasn't easy, not when he was capable of sucking out every ounce of confidence you have.

"Life isn't fair babe," Ashton smirked. "Now if you don't mind, we have a game to prepare for."

And with that, Ashton got the last words, like he always did. He jumped over the barricade with satisfaction plastered all over his face and skated towards Coach Benson. The team followed suit, completely ignoring me as they retreated back into their previous conversations. I on the other hand, just sat on the benches, grabbing Coach Benson's notebook and proceeded to take notes like I did at every practice.

This was by far the most quiet I've been, and when I wanted to speak up and give my two-cents, I immediately bit my tongue. Ashton wouldn't listen to me, and by the way things were going, the rest of the team wouldn't listen either. So for the two hours we were in the rink, I kept my mouth shut. I took orders from Coach Benson, passed out towels and water bottles to the team without uttering a single sound.

"Are you okay Karris? You were quiet today," Coach Benson took a seat next to me as the team filtered from the rink and into the locker room. "Is it your heart? You're not sick, are you?"

I shook my head, "no, my health is fine. Just nervous for tomorrow's game, that's all."

"Hey, we'll be just fine. The boys are working harder than ever, and your advice each practice has seriously helped out this team," Coach Benson affirmed, "and I know Ashton hasn't been the greatest, but I know deep down in his heart--"

"--he has a heart?" I raised a brow, scoffing at Coach's statement.

"A small one," he corrected with a chuckle, "but a heart nonetheless. Ashton's a good Captain, but he's a great one with you coaching him."

"I don't want to be rude Coach, but that sounds like a load of bull crap," I declared. He certainly didn't expect those words to come out of my mouth, because his eyes widened with shock.

"Remember three days ago when you tweaked one of our plays because you listed out Victorville's weaknesses and made a bunch of suggestions?" Coach brought up, and I nodded my head in remembrance of that successful day at practice. "Well didn't you notice at all that Ashton actually listened to your suggestions?"

"Not really, no," I shook my head, letting my chin fall to my chest.

"That's because your mind has been preoccupied with getting on Ashton's good side," Coach determined, "if you put that to the back of your mind, you'd see that all Ashton and the team has been doing the last couple of practices, has been perfecting the play you altered."

"I guess I did notice the tricks I suggested for the defensemen," I shrugged with a sigh.

"If we win tomorrow against Victorville, it'll all be thanks to you," Coach Benson's words were kind, and gave me a tiny boost of confidence that was lost after being in Ashton's presence.

"Thanks Coach," I grinned up at him, my once sullen eyes now glossed with bliss.

"Anytime Coach Karris," he stood up and I did too, "now if you don't mind, I have to drop off permission slips to the main office for tomorrow's out of town game. Which reminds me," he paused, looking through the stack of crumbled papers, "you haven't turned yours in yet."

"It slipped my mind," I lied, "I'm sorry. Can my mom fax it to you by tomorrow morning?"

"That's fine Karris, just don't forget. Otherwise you won't be able to come with us," Coach warned, "and we need you there."

"I won't forget," I promised.

Coach Benson gave me a nod before bidding me a goodbye. When he turned the corner into the arena tunnel, I blew out the breath I was holding in through puffed cheeks. The direct flow of warm air caused my bangs to sway slightly as I plopped back down on the bench.

That permission slip wasn't something I forgot about. Writing fake emails from my mom's computer was one thing when an electronic signature could easily be forged. But a physical one made with a 0.7 ball point pen at the bottom of a piece of paper was a whole different ballpark for me. My mother's signature was very specific, and it was her signature that was on every piece of official school document. Administration would be able to tell in a heartbeat if the signature were fake, they'd call my mom, and there goes my apprenticeship.

The struggle.

I decided to deal with the stupid permission slip when I got home, because I had another issue to deal with first. As I trekked through the hallway, inching myself closer and closer to the boys locker room, I braced myself for the horrific scene I was about to witness. You'd think that cleaning up after the boys several times already would cause me to be immune to the tribulation, but to my dismay, it was something I could never get used to. Granted, I did have a specific routine and game plan: double up on latex gloves and breathe through the mouth.

I pushed open the locker room doors, to once again, be in the midst of pig stein. Strike that. Pigs were much cleaner than this dump and I was well aware that it was just another one of Ashton's schemes to make my life miserable. With a sigh, I placed my things on one of the benches like I always did and pulled out my black lanyard with an assortment of keys attached- one of them, was the one that opened up the cleaning closet.

Inside the large, walk in supply closet, I prepared the things needed to clean and disinfect the locker room. As I did, I heard some noises behind me. I turned around, and like some cliche horror movie, there was nothing behind me.

"Hello?" I called out. "Coach Benson? Team?"

Of course no one answered me and I passed off the sounds as my mind playing tricks on me. So I continued to prep the mop bucket and spray bottles. The noises happened again, and this time I knew it wasn't just my mind. I turned back around, ready to run out of the supply closet but before I could, all the lights turned off. I gasped as the closet doors slammed shut with a loud thud and I screamed in terror. As I struggled to get to the door, I tripped on something, falling into the large mop bucket. I was soaked in water and soap, but I didn't care. When I got to the closet door, I tried to open it, but it was locked.

"Help me! Please! Let me out!" I shrieked at the top of my lungs, banging against the heavy doors with my fists. "This isn't funny guys! Please let me out!"

I could see shadows move from the stream of light coming from the other side of the closet. In addition to that, there were a slew of muffled voices. I banged on the door again.

"Please let me out! I can't breathe in here!" I wasn't being dramatic-- I really couldn't. Whatever I tripped on had bursted open, and the strong chemicals mixed together were creating some deadly gas that was burning my lungs. Chemistry was one of my best subjects and I knew all the dangers.

"Ash, we should let her out,"

"Dude, this is too far. What if she really can't breathe?"

"She's faking it! Don't be a little bitch!"

This wasn't a horror film or some accident. This was the evil workings of Ashton Irwin and I was surprised by the audacity he had in him to be such a grade-A dickface. Was he really going to leave me in here till I passed out? Or worse, till I died? Was Ashton really going to kill me just so I wasn't on the team anymore?

"I. Can't. Breathe," I pounded on the door with the last of my strength, but the chemicals and closed space were wearing me thin. Just when I was about to close my eyes, and accept the fact that I was probably going to die in here, the closet door opened wide.

Surprised with the light and the air not tainted with chemicals, I crawled out. When I did, I had yet to catch a break. Because moments after I found myself sprawled on the floor of the locker room, a jock strap near my face, a mass of coldness plummeted over my already-wet body.

I jolted upwards, my eyes closed tight as the goopy liquid continued to cover my body. When the pressure against my head subsided, I opened my eyes and was met with a crowd surrounding me. I trailed my eyes to my body, gasping when I saw the reddish-brown solution I was covered in.

"Thanks for the tips Coach," Ashton laughed. "Did you know Victorville is known for their prized BBQ sauce? If they grill us tomorrow, it'll be all on you. Well, it already is, but..."

Humiliation was an understatement. I was hurt; crushed; mortified beyond words. I took off my glasses, pushing them to sit atop my head. Even though my eyelashes were coated in Victorville's prized BBQ sauce, I was not blinded to the snarky grin of Ashton Irwin, nor was my vision impeded to the other faces in the crowd around me. Calum, Michael, Luke and rest of the hockey team stood there with guilt on their face. But I didn't care if they were guilty of their actions- they knew of Ashton's plan and yet they let him go through with it. The entire team were cowards and if they were going to let some pretentious boy rule their lives, I didn't want any part of it.

"I give up Ashton!" I screamed, finally finding the strength to not only stand up, but to succumb to Ashton's demands. "I give up! I give up! You want me off this team? Fine! Your wish is my command!"

"Karris, don't quit!" Calum finally had spoken, but it was too late.

I snapped my attention to the boy I had trusted; to the boy I deemed a friend, and shot him a glare so deadly, it was like a bullet to his head.

"I am so disappointed in you Calum," I let out a whimper, my anger finally turning into tears. I looked at the entire team before me and continued on with my last words as their Coach, "I am so disappointed in all of you... But nevertheless, good luck with the game tomorrow guys."

"I'm sorry Karris," Michael muttered, but like Calum's attempt at an apology, I didn't feel like hearing it.

"Don't forget to recover in your C-cuts," I advised Michael, another whimper escaping my lips. "And don't forget that the Victorville goalie is fast but he isn't the brightest so you can psych him out."

"Coach..." Luke breathed, taking a step towards me with shame in his blue eyes.

I shook my head and with one last deep breath in, I gave them one last piece of advice, "play up the defense, let Luke pseudo-score, flip the puck back and let Captain shoot on the bottom left. Goalie won't know what hit him."

I didn't really have any more useful things to say. I simply walked away from the team, grabbing my things off of the bench and sauntered towards the locker room door. Before turning the corner to slip through the heavy doors, I turned my head to take one last look at the Willowridge hockey team- specifically number 15, team captain.

"You win Ash," I whispered, but still loud enough so he could hear the hurt that lacerated through me, "you win."

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It's been 273923 years since I've last updated and I am SO SORRY about it!! I was busy with school and I wanted to concentrate on just one story. Now that it's summer break, I'll have more time to update. I do have a part time job but I'll do my best. THANK YOU for being patient for for sticking around with this story!! :)