Momentum

Honestly.

I tug on the body of the lock for the billionth time, certain that I entered the right combination only a few seconds ago. My mom took me to get a new lock last week, after I told her that I had lost the key to the one that Katie handed down to me after she graduated. She had rolled her eyes, reluctant to drive to the store when she had just gotten home from work, but she rose out of the recliner with a sigh nonetheless.

I check the notes saved on my phone to make sure I'm dialing the correct numbers and try again. The stupid latch just won't come undone, and I step back, frustrated but unsure of what else to do. I'll have to track down the school's janitor and ask him if he has some sort of tool that can cut through metal.

Alex stops next to me to grab something out of her own locker. "What's up?"

"My combination won't work."

"Oh. Let me see if I can figure it out."

She slides her algebra textbook into her bag and starts to fidget with the device keeping my locker sealed.

"What's the combination?"

"17, 13, 23."

She turns the dial to the corresponding digits, and the shackle separates from the body automatically. I put my hand over my face in an attempt to hide my incompetence.

"I was putting the combination in correctly. I swear."

She smirks and gives me the lock. "Sure, Tobs. Seeya at tryouts later?"

"Yeah." My tone is mildly dejected. "Thanks."

I watch her head down the hall towards the exit of the building, her brown hair trailing behind her. She meets up with Kelly at the defender's locker and the two of them head outside, ready for their next class. I grab my biology notebook out of the small compartment before me and close the steel door languishly.

You don't have a chance, Heath.

I turn around to start walking to the sciences wing and pause when I spot someone staring at me from the doorway of a classroom across the hall. Her bright green eyes are sheilded by a pair of large, circular glasses, and her curly hair hangs over the right side of her face, enshadowing it. Her canary cardigan appears to be a few sizes too large for her, and her fingertips barely poke out of the ends of her sleeves.

I recognize her as the teacher's assistant from my Spanish class. I raise my hand up and wave hesitantly, confused as to why she's looking at me, but she doesn't respond, or even move. She just keeps looking at me, her lips slightly parted and her gaze occasionally broken by her own blinking.

"Christen! Come take a seat!"

The girl jumps, surprised by the commanding voice, and then looks away, embarrassed by her reaction. She remains focused on the ground as she quickly steps back into the classroom and closes the door behind her.

That was weird.

I look around, unsure of what just happened, and then figure that I should head to my next class. I'll get detention if I'm late again, and with tryouts this week, I need to make sure I'm free after school.

● ● ●

Foudy blows her whistle to get our attention, and the conversations around me die down as my peers redirect their attention towards the coach.

"Alright. I want to make one thing clear. I don't care if you've been playing on club teams since you could walk. I don't care how much the returners like you. Hell, some of them might not even make the roster. The only thing I care about is what you show me over the course of the next five days. I expect each and every one of you to push yourself harder than you have ever pushed yourself before, because when you play on my team, that is what I will demand of you every time you step on this field."