Chương 2: Lacrosse

The sharp ring of a school bell cuts through the air as a wave of students floods the courtyard outside a weathered brick building. While everyone else surges toward the entrance, Crimson pauses, drops his backpack, and hikes up his shirt just enough to reveal a bandaged gash low on his back, proof for his sceptical friend Churro.

"It was pitch black, but I'm telling you, I saw a wolf."

"A wolf? No way. You're losing it." Slipping his pack back on, Crimson strides toward the school's double doors, Churro at his side.

"I heard it howl," he insists.

"No, you didn't."

"What do you mean 'no, you didn't'? You weren't even there!"

"Wolves haven't been in California for sixty years, genius." Churro rolls his eyes, but Crimson isn't backing down.

"Well, if you won't buy the wolf story, you're definitely not going to believe me when I say I found the body." Churro freezes.

"You what? Seriously?"

"I wish I was joking. That image's gonna haunt my dreams for weeks. Dude. That's insane! This is the most exciting thing to hit this town since, since Scara Hall was born… and speaking of, look who's walking right at us." Churro's gaze locks onto a girl gliding down the hallway like she owns the place, strawberry-blonde hair catching the light, confidence radiating with every step. Scara Hall doesn't walk; she performs.

"Hey, Scara! You good? Or are you just gonna ghost me again?" Churro calls out as she starts to veer away.

"You're the reason I'm invisible now, Crimson," she mutters without breaking stride.

"Hanging out with you dragged me straight into nerd oblivion. I've been Scarlet-nerded, thanks to you." Laughing, they melt into the student rush, weaving toward their first class, English.

Crimson slides into the seat beside Churro just as Mr. Parker strides into class, silencing the room with a look.

"Just so you're all aware," he begins, voice cutting through the morning haze,"a body was discovered in the woods last night. I know those overactive imaginations are already spinning horror stories but relax. The police have a suspect. Case is moving." Crimson flicks a glance at Churro, who responds with a blank shrug, news to him too.

"So instead of playing detective," Mr. Parker continues, dropping the syllabus onto desks with a snap, "you'll focus on this. Read it. And by 'read,' I mean absorb, not just let your eyes glide over the words." The class bows their heads, except Crimson. A phone rings. Sharp. Clear. Out of place. He lifts his gaze. Everyone else is buried in paper. No one reacts. He scans the room, searching for the source, until his eyes lock onto the window. Across the quad, standing in golden morning light, is Willow Ash.

Sixteen. Ethereal. Like she stepped out of a dream. She lifts a phone to her ear, and suddenly, Crimson hears it. Not just the ring. Both sides of the conversation, crisp and metallic, as if broadcast through an old radio.

"Mom, three calls on day one? A little much."

"I just want to make sure you're settled," her mom replies. Willow rummages through her bag, then freezes.

"No pen. Oh my God. Did I seriously forget a pen?"

"Breathe. Borrow one. You'll be fine."

"Okay, love you, bye." Crimson can't look away. Then the principal appears, guiding Willow across the courtyard. With every step, their voices sharpen in his ears.

"San Francisco wasn't your hometown?" the principal asks. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

"No, we stayed over a year, which is rare. Dad's job keeps us moving." Even after they vanish inside, Crimson still hears them, the door creak open, heels tapping down the hall, fading but distinct.

"Here's hoping Lanturn City sticks for a while." The classroom door swings wide as everyone looks up.

"Class, meet Willow Ash, our new student. Make her feel at home." Crimson goes still as she walks straight toward the only empty desk, right behind him. She sets down her notebook and looks up to find he was already turned, holding out a pen. A smile, relieved, intrigued, flashes across her face as she takes it.

"Thanks." He nods, turns back, but catches her reflection in Churro's mirrored sunglasses. And just like that, he's hooked.

"Alright," Mr. Parker starts, "let's dive into Kafka..." But the bell cuts him off. First period, gone in a heartbeat.

Moments later, Crimson stood at his locker when a flicker of movement caught his eye, Willow, just steps away down the hall. Their eyes locked. A spark. She begins to smile, recognizing the guy who handed her that pen with quiet charm. But before the moment can land, Scara Hall cuts in like a storm front. Nearby, another student yanks open a locker, and books explode onto the floor. As Willow drops to help gather them, her gaze lifts, finds Crimson's again. And just like that, his world snaps back into focus.

Sound returns. Clarity. She smiles wider now, clearly remembering him. But as she rises, Scara swoops in once more.

"That jacket? Deadly. Where'd you score it?"

"My mom used to buy for a boutique in San Francisco."

"You're coming with me," Scara declares, hooking her arm and steering her toward the elite cluster forming at the hall's end. Larch, Scara's current flame, tries to drape himself over Willow, but she brushes him off, laser-focused on the conversation. From a side corridor, Fiona "Rowler" Rowlet spots Crimson still frozen by his locker, fingers fumbling the combo. He keeps glancing back, can't look away.

"Seriously," Rowler mutters, "how does New Girl walk in five minutes ago and already get pulled into Scara's inner circle?"

"Simple," Churro says, swinging open his own locker beside Crimson.

"Beauty breeds gravity. Hot people orbit together."

"And Lydia's not orbiting you because…?"

"She's a slow burn. High return, long game. I've got the patience," Churro fires back, though his voice wavers slightly.

"I don't even think New Girl's that stunning. Crimson, what about you? You think she's pretty? Crimson?" No answer. He's locked on Willow, unblinking.

"Yeah. That's a yes." Crimson tilts his head slightly, tuning into the distant exchange.

"Friday night," Larch says, leaning in.

"You should come. It's going to be wild."

"Can't. Family Night. But thanks."

"You sure? Everyone shows after the scrimmage."

"Like… football?" Willow asks. Larch actually snorts at the word.

"Football's a joke here. Lacrosse rules Lantern. Three straight state titles…"

"Thanks to a certain team captain," Scara jumps in, flashing a smirk.

"Every season kicks off with a scrimmage to crown the new first line. Ever seen a real Lacrosse game?"

"Honestly? I know it's intense. And… kind of brutal."

"Then come see it live. We've got practice in a few. Got plans?"

"Well, I was just gonna..."

"Perfect. You're in." Scara grins, triumphant.

A sharp whistle cuts through the air as the Lacrosse Team's Assistant Coach pulls the squad together on the field, Churro and Crimson trailing behind, caught in a moment of quiet tension.

"You're really gonna leave me out here alone? Who's gonna talk to me if you're playing?" Churro pleads, half-joking, all heart.

"I can't spend another season watching from the bench," Crimson fires back, voice steady with resolve.

"My whole life's been sidelines. This year? I'm first line." As he turns toward the field, something stops him, Scara climbing the bleachers. And right behind her? Wilson.

"Croft! You're in goal!" Coach Moon Johnson calls out, tossing him a heap of goalie gear. The man means well, but understanding teenage pressure? Not exactly his strong suit.

"But I've never played goal," Crimson protests, nerves flickering beneath the surface.

"Exactly," Moon grins.

"Let the guys rack up a few easy goals. Boost their confidence. First day jitters, you know? Get 'em fired up."

"What about my confidence?"

"Just… try not to get hit in the face." Not exactly reassuring. Strapping on the pads, Crimson steps into the net, and instantly locks eyes with Willow in the stands, sitting beside Scara. They're watching. She's watching.

"That guy?" Scara asks, nodding toward Crimson.

"Who is he?"

"He was in my English class," Willow replies casually.

"Why?" Crimson freezes, did she just ask about him? Before he can process it, another piercing whistle blasts through his skull, snapping his focus back. A hulking player surges forward, catching the pass and launching a blistering shot. Still dazed, Crimson looks up too late. the ball slams off his helmet, drops into the net. Laughter erupts. Even the coach chuckles. His Face burning beneath the mask as he also grits his teeth. Next one. When the whistle blows again, he's ready.

Another shot rockets in, this time, he snags it. Then the next. And the next. One after another, shots vanish into his stick like magic. In the stands, Willow leans forward.

"He's… actually good."

"Very good," Scara corrects, eyes now locked on Crimson, who stands taller, sharper, until he sees Larch step up. Their eyes meet. Larch smirks. Crimson tightens his grip on the stick like he wants to crush it.

"Oh God…" The ball tosses into the air. Larch snatches it, spins hard, and unleashes a bullet toward the net, only for Crimson to move like lightning, glove snapping shut around the ball with eerie precision. Silence. Then, explosion. Churro leaps off the bench, roaring. In the stands, Scara jumps to her feet with a wild whoop, locking eyes with Larch and flashing a smirk that says: You just got schooled.

Grinning under his mask, Crimson flicks his wrist, the ball zips across the field and lands perfectly in the pocket of the Assistant Coach's stick. Game on.