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"Settle down. What's your name miss?" Dr. Daniel asks, looking directly at me.
Two classes down, four more to go.
Like Dean Richards said, I could have changed all my classes today, but I needed this. A push closer to the edge. A reason to force me to change something that can't be changed back. My way of self-preservation.
Sometimes, you need to be the punching bag to see how hard you can take a hit and learn from it.
"Elena Sincere," I say.
Dr. Daniel straightens when he hears my last name. "Sincere."
"That's right." I grimace when I get up, collecting my things. "He's right. I am in the wrong class."
Santi chuckles. "Told you... she is in the wrong class."
I descend the steps slowly. Ezekiel's gaze narrows when I pass by.
"Are you sure? I can check…"
"It's unnecessary," I tell him, walking down the steps. It will get it sorted. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking." I grit my teeth from the sting from the last step. “I got the times mixed up."
"Elena," Ezekiel calls out.
I look up and glare but don't miss Santi's laughing sitting next to him.
"Keep laughing,Cabron, "I hiss.
Ezekiel shoves him lightly.
"Let her go, man. She's annoying," Santi says with a smirk.
"Yo, Santi. Isn't she the one cheering at your games wearing your number? I thought you were cool with that," the guy to his right says, "I thought you were exaggerating… she does stalk you."
"That's enough,” Dr. Richards scolds and then turns. “Miss Sincere, please check the times and make sure you're in the right class."
Everyone laughs when I walk out, embarrassment, clawing my gut, fueling my next fix.
There were times I thought fate might be a little bit broken. I accepted things the way they were to fulfill my family's legacy. To continue what they have built.
I wrapped myself around Santi, hoping to feel loved by him. I wanted to feel his touch. But all I have felt is the sting of a wound. The need to watch it bleed. To see it scab and reopen when it's not yet a scar.
It's true when they say we want something we can't have. I want Santiago Cortez. I want him to love me, but all I see is his hatred for my existence. I hear it spill from his lips and wish I could stop it. I just wish I could change the way he sees me.
Sometimes, I question if I am worthy of love. I imagined love being like a burning flame. It lights, and the fire starts small, then grows bigger after you feed it. Giving off a beautiful light, and everyone can see it. But it's dangerous, and you hope it doesn't burn you alive when you realize the other person will not save you. They walk away and watch you burn.
I take a seat on the bench. Sweat is dripping down my face, neck, and my balls. I'm hot. My blood is pumping in my ears. It's 68 to 74, and we barely have the lead.
"Good job, Cortez!" Elena screams above the crowd.
I shake my head, annoyed because she doesn't get it. She has my number thirteen painted on her face.
My gaze swings to Evelyn, cheering on the sideline, with my number painted with glitter on her cheeks.
"Which one's your girl?" Smith jokes when he takes a seat next to me, taking a break. I rarely talk about girls in a game, but there is only a minute left. A foul is called. We'll win it after we shoot free throws, and then we'll run the clock.
"Very funny, Smith."
He knows it's Evelyn. I've been fucking her since the semester started hoping Elena would back off and get the hint.
