The Unwanted Pact With My Enemy

The screech of rubber soles against the polished hardwood floor pierced Vesper's eardrums. She stood at the edge of the court, her chest tight. The gym was massive, echoing with the sound of bouncing basketballs and shouting men. She squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights, searching the sea of moving bodies for the number zero. A collective gasp drew her attention to the paint. Slade leaped into the air, his muscles flexing as he slammed the ball through the hoop with violent force. The metal rim shuddered loudly. A group of cheerleaders sitting in the front row erupted into high-pitched screams. The coach blew a sharp whistle. "Five minutes!" Slade landed gracefully. He grabbed the hem of his sweaty jersey and wiped his face, exposing a deeply carved, sweat-slicked abdomen. Vesper's throat went completely dry. Her instinct screamed at her to turn around and run back to the quiet safety of her studio. Instead, she forced her legs to move. She wove through the crowd of lingering fans and walked straight toward the team bench. Slade reached for a blue sports drink. Vesper stepped right in front of him, blocking his hand. He stopped. He slowly lowered his arm and looked down at her. His eyes scanned her paint-stained flannel and the dusty canvas apron she had forgotten to take off. "I'm your sculpture partner," Vesper said. Her voice shook, so she cleared her throat and tried again, louder. "For Cromwell's class." Slade's lips twitched into a slow, arrogant smirk. "Are you the one who sent that stalker text?" Vesper's face flushed hot. "It was a formal academic request." Slade scoffed. He twisted the cap off his bottle and took a long drink, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Look around, art girl," Slade said, his voice carrying easily over the gym noise. "My schedule is packed. I barely have time to sleep, let alone sit around while you play with clay." Two of his massive teammates stepped up behind him. "Another crazy fan using homework as an excuse?" one of them whistled. "You're getting creative, Forrester." Slade didn't correct them. He just shrugged, his eyes locked on Vesper's burning face. "Find someone else." The teammates burst into loud laughter. The sound felt like a physical slap. Vesper's blood rushed straight to her head. The humiliation burned behind her eyes. She gripped the strap of her canvas bag so hard her fingernails dug painfully into her palms. She didn't say another word. She spun around, shoved her way through the laughing crowd, and practically ran toward the exit. She pushed through the glass doors. The freezing air hit her wet cheeks. She hadn't realized she was crying until the wind made the tears turn ice-cold. Vesper walked as fast as she could down the tree-lined path toward her dorm. Her chest heaved with every breath. She shoved her key into the lock and pushed her dorm door open. Deafening pop music blasted from a cheap Bluetooth speaker. Her roommate, Rowan, was sitting cross-legged on the rug, painting her toenails a bright cherry red. Rowan looked up, saw Vesper's pale face, and immediately hit pause on her phone. "Who died?" Vesper threw her heavy bag onto the floor and face-planted into her pillow. She didn't have the energy to explain. The bathroom door clicked open. Their third roommate, Casey, walked out with a towel wrapped around her wet hair. "Did you guys see the roster for tomorrow night's game?" Casey asked, oblivious to the tension. "Student Body President Julian Hayes is going to be sitting in the VIP family section." Vesper's breath hitched. She slowly pushed herself up from the mattress. Her heart, which had been heavy with humiliation, suddenly spiked with a frantic, nervous energy. Julian. She turned her head and looked at her desk. The crumpled piece of paper with Slade's name on it sat next to her pencil cup. Julian was Slade's roommate. Vesper's jaw hardened. She was going to that game tomorrow night. She was going to see Julian, and she was going to make Slade Forrester pay for humiliating her.