My eyes flutter open, and I'm met with those familiar sickly yellow lights. I realize I'm still in school. I sit up and groan as I feel a heavy pounding growing in my head. It drives me insane. When I feel an especially painful pang, I wince and press my palm to the side of my head. I groan again, this time louder, frustrated with my inability to focus. A moment later, I somehow manage to look around the room. My vision is blurry. When it finally focuses, I realize I'm in the nurse's office. When did I get here?
I peer out the window. It's large and expansive, giving me a full view of the surrounding area. Outside, the sky is dark and cloudy, and the ground is wet. Though the atmosphere is foggy, from my seat on the bed, I can make out the dewy forestry surrounding the school and football field. It's evident that it only stopped raining moments ago. I immediately recognize the sea of black uniforms with bold orange numbers. Some players run drills, others practice their throws or simply chat by the bleachers. I slide off the bed and walk towards the window. If football practice had already started, then that meant school was already over.
I begin searching the room for signs of the nurse. I need to ask her how I got here in the first place. A single pink sticky note sticks up from her spotless desk. The nurse's office was extraordinarily clean, it was clear that she took her job seriously. I approach the note. When I spot my name, I peer down to read what is written in black pen.
Millicent,
Gone to the staff meeting.
If you're still not feeling well,
please rest until I return,
otherwise you may leave.
Damn, even her handwriting was perfect. The note is so well-structured that it looks like a printed poem. I look around her desk until I find a stack of pink sticky notes in the corner. I peel one off and take one of the pens from her World's Best Mom mug. I write:
Thank you for everything,
went home.
- Millicent
I try to make it look poetic too. I paste the note next to hers on the desk and return the pen and stack of sticky notes to their rightful places on her desk. As I examine my note next to hers, my face contorts. My handwriting looks like chicken scratches in comparison. I back away awkwardly and start looking for my things.
Suddenly, I remember the scene in the hallway. It feels like a shockwave hits me. I remember the two men standing above me. My eyes grow wide. One of them looked like the brown-haired man from my dream. I remember his pale fingers and the way his rings seamlessly decorated them. I shake my head out of my thoughts. There's just no way! There's absolutely no way they could be the same person. It's just a coincidence. I turn, and find my bags and books placed neatly on a chair by the door.
"He just has a very common face," I murmur to myself.
I pull my bag on so it hangs off my shoulder and grab my books. I start feeling a bit nervous as I reach for the doorknob, something impending, as if something dark lies on the other side of the door. I rest my hand on the knob as my heart begins to race. Taking a breath, I disregard the feeling and pull the door open, only to slam directly into a figure. I stumble back but recover quickly. Not again. I look up expectantly, but I am surprised not to see the brown-haired man.
Instead, it is the man from earlier, the one who stood down the hall watching me with disdain. As I look up at him, I can't fully make out his features because he's wearing a black hoodie and his black hair covers his eyes. However, I quickly register his sharp jawline and coral-coloured lips. The tattoos peaking above the neckline of his sweater also catch my attention. I barely see the dark moth wings, but se enough to recognize it. I'm reminded of the brown-haired man but their tattoos are different. I have a feeling that they know each other. I observe him curiously for a moment then furrow my brow when I notice that he doesn't plan to move.
I ask, "can I help you with something?"
I'm surprised to see him flinch at my words. His lip twitches like he wants to say something but instead he sneers as if angry with me. I'm confused, but I don't plan to find out why this guy hates me, I've had enough weirdness for today. His eyes are still obstructed but the cynical curl of his lip says enough about how he's feeling in this moment. He stays silent and unmoved but hovers over me as if waiting for me to do something.
I scowl, "if you're not going to say anything, can you at least get out of my way?"
When he doesn't respond, I push past him. The moment my shoulder touches him, I feel something warm flicker inside me like a lighter. The heat radiating from his body is unbelievable. I feel another presence in the room but it goes as fast as it comes. I turn to face him but I'm bewildered by his sudden disappearance. I look around frantically, there is no trace of him.
"What the h-"
"Milly!"
My head whips in the other direction. I squint at the familiar figure running excitedly towards me from the end of the hall. Her black and orange cheerleading uniform is flopping and damp from practicing in the rain. I look back once more where the black-haired man once stood. He's really gone. Oh my God! I can't take another weird occurrence for the rest of the day.
I approach her, "Hey, Lay."
"Milly, are you alright?" She asks breathlessly, her eyes widen with concern.
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I question, confused.
"I heard you passed out in the middle of the hallway today," She straightens as her breathing slows. I finally realize what she's talking about.
"Oh, that..." I pause, searching her face and thinking about how best to answer her question, "honestly, I don't remember much," which is true.
I begin walking down the hall and she follows me. I confess, "I don't even know how I got to the nurses office."
Her eyes suddenly grow even wider as if recalling something and she grabs my shoulders, I instinctively step back. She squeals, "Milly!"
"Yes!" I mimic her volume sarcastically.
"I heard one of the hot new guys carried you all the way there!"
I become rigid, my breath catching in my throat. I'm bewildered, "what?!"
"Yeah, Jenny told me they were all over you," she exclaims, "I nearly lost my shit!"
Something is really strange about those three. I look at Layla as she beams with excitement as if waiting to hear the juicy details of the encounter I can't even remember.
I look at the posters pasted against the walls and lockers as we walk by them.

I use this opportunity to change the subject, "Coach Wellis really has you practicing in this nasty weather?"
She shrugs lazily as we head towards the exit that leads to the field, "Coach Wellis is an old athlete reliving his glory days through us."
"But does he really need you guys?"
"What's a team without its team spirit?" She shakes her pom-poms at me then continues, "Plus, it's really not that bad," she pauses a moment to think. A slightly wince appears on her face, "Although... he did drag Foxy out to practice too."
A laugh escapes me, "not the freaking mascot!"
She grins in response, "yeah, that was cruel."
"Poor Billy Benson," I sober as we exit the building, "I have no idea how he breathes in that thing."
She nods, "I don't even think I've ever seen that suit get washed since freshman year."
I grimace, "oh, that's nasty!"
"Tell me about it."
We laugh and I follow behind Layla as she approaches the other cheerleaders. I immediately get a mosaic of glares and eye rolls as I approach.
"Practice is for players and cheer squad only," I hear Jenny bark out from the bleacher.
I look at Layla, "did you hear something?" Layla smirks and I continue, "I almost thought I heard myself giving a FUCK what Jenny thinks." Some of the other cheerleaders laugh and Jenny glares at them.
Coach Wellis yells at the players to divide themselves into two teams for a practice game.
I start, "anyway, I..."
I trail off as I notice all the cheerleaders suddenly looking at me with dazed expressions. It takes me a moment to realize that it isn't me they are looking at, but someone or something behind me. I turn around slowly and meet the eyes of the brown-haired man from my dream. A mischievously wide grin spreads across his lips. I blink rapidly. It's really him this time. He stands a few inches from me, looking down into my face playfully.
"You're Millicent," It sounds more like a statement than a question. The mischief in his expression seems to reach his voice.
Before I can respond, yelling interrupts me, "INCOMING!"
I don't have time to react. I only look at the football wide-eyed in his hand, fingers casually curled around it, as he holds it an inch from my face.
"Holy shit."
"Did you see that catch?"
"What the hell was that?"
The players and cheerleaders react to his catch like a spectacle.
I hear Coach Wellis's familiar voice as he jogs over, it's rusty from old age and smoking, "Hey son! Do you go here?" He calls.
The brown-haired man's grin seems to widen from the attention, but he keeps his attention locked on me. I'm frozen in place, it feels like my heart is going to explode. It takes me a moment to release the tense breath I've been holding. He lowers his arm with the football to put his perfectly white smile on display.
"I'm Jax."