"If obsession were a person, it'd be you."
A street racer by evening, and a high-school student by day, 17 year-old Ola Sainz is forced to move to Los Angeles with her mother, where she crosses path with a typical California teenage boy.
Theo Lauder...
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"Lauder, I'm gonna need you to go a little faster than that!" Coach Garcia yells as I beeline for the goal across the field.
Antonio, the goalie blocking my line of sight shuffles from side to side, and for the first time in a while, I find it difficult to kick the ball right where I need it.
With a groan, I place my hands on either side of my hips and get off the field. Frustration and disappointment are an understatement of what I'm currently feeling about my performance for today's practice.
A few curses escape under ragged breath, blurring out the disappointed sighs of my teammates and the screeching sound of Coach Garcia's aggressive whistle.
"What was that? You could have passed it to me!" Julian, one of my teammates shouts, waving his arms in the air as if that would alter the result.
"One lap around the field!" Coach Garcia orders us. Kade runs to my side, curiously bubbling inside of him. "Medina!" Kade jumps at the mention of his name. "Get on with it before I add another lap!"
"Ah, here he goes," Kade flashes me a look, gurgling water down his throat before dashing off into the distance.
Before I can recover from the shame, Coach pulls me to the side.
Promptly, my head falls as sweat travels down the side of my face and neck. The feeling of my overgrown hair sticks to it, causing more irritation to rise in my chest. "Coach," I huff out, rolling my shoulders back.
"The hell was that, uh?" I could practically see the spit flying out the man's mouth from how furious he was. "Julian was right there. You ignored him."
Technically, it wasn't intentional. I only had eyes on the target, that being the goal, and that was obviously my fault.
"Sorry, Coach," I pressed my mouth into a tight line, not wanting to anger him more. It was clear as day that my mind was solely divided, resulting in my failure. '"I didn't see Julian."
"Bullshit," he calls. "Don't give me these excuses. Even my nine-year-old son can come up with something much more reasonable."
My body tenses as a result of his harsh words, and I can feel the heaviness of my legs and the pain searing through my cleat-clad feet even more intensely than before. "He was asking for the ball, Lauder. Where is your head at today?"
My head shakes, abashed. "That was my bad. Sorry, Coach. It's just the finals taking a toll on me, but I know that's not a reason."
