With ten minutes left on the clock, the game was reaching its boiling point.
Sweat clung to Vince's brow. Theo's shirt was soaked. Dale was breathing hard but grinning like a maniac. The rest of the team looked the same—tired, but hungry.
The ball bounced between midfielders in enemy territory. Every pass was contested. Every touch mattered.
Vince glanced toward the bleachers.
Vanessa was watching now—really watching.
No sketchbook. No distractions.
His pulse kicked up. Something about her focus sparked him.
He raised his arm, signaling the press. "Go!"
The team surged forward.
A winger intercepted a loose ball and tore down the right flank like his life depended on it. Three defenders swarmed him, trying to cut him off—but he outpaced them, slipping just outside the box.
Instead of crossing, he paused. Waiting.
Dale sprinted in, arriving like clockwork. The pass came sharp and clean. Dale took it in stride, slipped past a sliding defender, and looked like he was about to shoot.
The crowd held its breath.
Then, in a flash, he lifted the ball—soft, controlled—over the last man.
Vince was already there.
One touch. One strike.
Boom.
The ball slammed into the back of the net.
Silence cracked into thunder.
The bleachers erupted in cheers, students leaping to their feet, shouting Vince's name. His teammates swarmed him, grabbing him in a pile of sweat and adrenaline.
On the other side, their opponents stood frozen, shoulders sagging. With just two minutes left, they knew it was over.
Vince looked up again.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Vanessa leaving the bleachers, walking alone toward the school building.
The cheers, the claps, even Karina running toward him with her arms raised—it all blurred.
He moved right past her without a word.
Inside the building, the hallways were quieter, cooler. He knew exactly where she'd go.
Sliding the art room door open, he spotted her immediately—standing near the window, holding a broom like she was mid-cleanup.
"Huh?" Vanessa turned, eyes a little wide. "You scared me."
"You're here," he said, catching his breath. "Did you... see the match?"
"Yes," she replied, setting the broom aside. "I didn't really have a choice. But... you did good."
Vince's grin spread. "Finally. A compliment."
"Does my praise mean that much to you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
He grabbed a chair and spun it around, straddling it backward just a few feet behind her.
"Right now? Yeah. It means everything."
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
"Flirting after a game? Is that how you seduce all the girls?" she asked.
"Seduce? That's a strong word."
"It won't work on me," she said, brushing past him to straighten the paint supplies.
He watched her quietly for a moment, then said, "That's not what I'm trying to do."
She paused, her hand hovering over a jar of brushes.
"Then what are you trying to do?" she asked without turning around.
He leaned back in the chair, eyes on her.
"I'm Trying to matter to you."
"Are you?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
"Will you ever give me a chance to prove it?" Vince replied.
Vanessa looked at him, expression unreadable. "Who knows. Depends."
He blinked. Did she just... not say no?
"Wait—did you just say it depends? Hold on—" He stepped forward, lit up with surprise.
But the school bell rang, loud and merciless.
Vanessa quickly grabbed her bag, putting the broom away like she hadn't just tilted his world.
"I'll see you—" she started, heading toward the door.
Vince reached out and tugged her bag gently, stopping her.
"What are you doing?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
"I'm walking you home."
"No, you're not," she said flatly. "I'll be fine."
"Okay, how about this—let's make a bet." Vince smirked. "If you can get to the bus before I grab my stuff from the locker room... I'll leave you alone."
"For life?" she asked, skeptical.
"That's... extreme. Fine. I'll stop coming to the art room."
Vanessa stared at him for a beat. Then she twisted her bag free and bolted.
"Bet."
Vince watched her disappear down the hall, a grin stretching across his face as he took off in the opposite direction.