Saturday came with clear skies and warm sun. It felt like summer hadn't fully given up yet. Westbridge High's field was full of noise and color. Students gathered near the bleachers, holding drinks and snacks. Some wore jerseys with numbers on their backs, while others just lounged on the grass, waiting for the soccer game to start.
Elena stood near the back of the crowd, holding a cold bottle of water. She had never been to a school game before—not at Westbridge, and definitely not at St. Claire. St. Claire had competitions, sure, but they were stiff and formal. Everyone there clapped politely. No one shouted. No one wore face paint or brought signs.
Here, everything was loud. Messy. Real.
"Over here!" Bella called, waving from the middle row of the bleachers. She was one of the few students who had welcomed Elena since she transferred. Bella didn't look at her like she didn't belong.
Elena climbed up the steps and sat beside her. Her ponytail swayed behind her as she settled in. From this height, the field stretched out wide in front of them. The players were already warming up.
It didn't take long for her eyes to find Liam.
He wore a dark green jersey, number 10 on the back. His hair was damp, either from sweat or water, and his expression was sharp, like he was already in the middle of a battle no one else could see. The moment the ball touched his foot, something in him changed. His movements were fast, focused, almost too precise for a school game.
Bella leaned toward her. "You're staring."
"I'm observing," Elena replied without looking away.
"Same thing."
On the field, the game began. The whistle blew, and the players burst into motion. Liam was fast. Faster than most of the others. He didn't just run, he attacked. Every time the ball got near him, he went for it with everything he had. There was no hesitation in his steps. No fear. Just focus.
People around Elena were shouting and cheering. But she stayed quiet, eyes locked on Liam.
Once, he collided with another player while fighting for the ball. The other guy stumbled, grabbing his shoulder. Liam didn't even look back. He passed the ball to a teammate and kept running.
"Geez," Bella muttered. "He's playing like it's the championship."
Elena could see it. He wasn't playing for fun. He was playing like he had something to prove. Or maybe something to burn out of his chest.
During halftime, the teams gathered near the benches. Liam pulled off his jersey and wiped his face with it. Elena blinked, surprised by how lean he was. He wasn't bulky, but he was strong. Toned from hard work, not gym selfies.
"I think I get why you transferred," Bella teased.
Elena rolled her eyes but smiled. "He's just good at soccer."
"And you're just really interested in his passing techniques."
Back on the field, the second half started.
The other team had a good striker, and for a while, it looked like they might pull ahead. But then Liam intercepted a pass and sprinted down the field, dodging two defenders. His eyes narrowed as he got close to the goal. Then he kicked.
The ball flew.
The net rippled.
The crowd jumped to their feet.
Bella screamed. So did the others around them. Even Elena clapped, a grin spreading across her face before she could stop it.
Liam didn't celebrate.
He jogged back to his team, barely cracking a smile. But as he passed the bleachers, his eyes lifted.
He saw her.
It was only a second. But it happened.
His gaze met hers. Just like that morning in class. Only this time, he didn't just nod. He smirked. A little. One corner of his mouth curled, like he knew something she didn't.
Elena's heart did that annoying stumble again.
When the game ended, Westbridge had won. The players were tired, sweaty, and limping in some cases. But the crowd was cheering, clapping hands and bumping fists. A few students started chanting Liam's name.
He ignored them.
He walked off the field, toward the back where the gym doors were. Alone.
Elena climbed down from the bleachers.
"You're going after him, aren't you?" Bella asked.
"No," Elena said, already walking.
Liam was grabbing his bag near the benches when she reached him.
"Good game," she said.
He turned. His shirt was back on now, but his hair was still wet, and a bruise was blooming on his arm.
"You watched," he said.
"Yeah. I wasn't planning to, but…" She shrugged. "You're hard to ignore."
He stared at her. Not in a rude way. More like he was trying to figure out if she was making fun of him.
"I don't play for fun," he said finally.
"I noticed."
"I play because it's the only thing that makes sense sometimes."
Elena nodded. "You're really good. You know that, right?"
He looked away. "Doesn't matter."
"Why not?"
"Because being good doesn't change anything." He slung his bag over his shoulder. "You're still from St. Claire. And I'm still me."
Elena frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Liam gave her a long look. "It means I'm not the kind of guy your world makes space for. Doesn't matter how fast I run or how many goals I score. I'll still be the boy with no future."
"You don't know that," she said softly.
He shook his head and walked past her.
Elena stood there for a moment, the noise of the crowd fading behind her. Then she turned and looked back at the field. Where Liam had played like he had fire in his chest. Like winning was the only way to breathe.
She didn't know exactly what she wanted to do yet. But she knew one thing:
She didn't want him to feel like he had no future.
Not if she could help it.