2 STRINGS

A Day for Wins and Wounds

Wednesday, November 20th

The day began with a buzz of excitement that made it hard to focus. My thoughts kept drifting to Xolo—the way he looked at me, the sound of his voice, and how he always made me feel like I was the only person in the room. I almost forgot I had a game until Melody's call yanked me back to reality.

"Jamie, please tell me you remember today's game," her voice practically barked through the phone.

"Of course, I remember," I lied, sitting up in bed and pushing my hair out of my face.

"Sure you did," she teased. "Get your ass in gear, superstar. I'll see you later."

I sighed and hung up, already reaching for my phone to call Xolo. Hearing his voice always had a way of grounding me, no matter how chaotic my day felt. When he picked up, the deep timbre of his voice immediately brought a smile to my face.

"Good morning, Sinclair," he said, his tone playful.

"Good morning," I replied, unable to keep the grin from my voice.

"You sound... suspiciously chipper for someone who has school today," he teased.

"Well, I'm talking to you," I shot back, feeling bold. "That's enough to put anyone in a good mood. And, plus, I have a game today."

He laughed, and the sound was rich, warm. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Sinclair. Tell me about this game. What time should I show up to cheer you on?"

My stomach flipped. "You're coming?"

"Of course," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Xolo, it's a public game," I said hesitantly. "People might recognize you."

"I'm not worried," he replied confidently. "I'll keep a low profile. I want to see you play. And besides..." his voice softened, "it's important to me."

The sincerity in his words made my chest tighten. "Okay," I said quietly.

"And after the game, we still have our plans, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," I murmured, my cheeks warming.

"Good. Now, go win. I'll see you later, Sinclair."

The morning rushed by in a blur. Over breakfast, my mom handed me my jersey with a proud smile.

"Big game today, Jamie," she said. "Show them what Sinclair talent looks like."

I grinned, taking the jersey from her. "You know I will."

At school, the anticipation for the game hung in the air. Melody and I sat together at lunch, dissecting strategy, when Greg surprised us by plopping down at our table.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Free period," he said with a shrug, stealing a fry off my tray.

Melody smirked. "Or maybe you just missed us."

Greg rolled his eyes but didn't deny it. "Don't let it go to your heads. The cafeteria food was just more appealing than whatever I packed."

We laughed, and for a moment, I forgot about the game, the pressure, and even Xolo.

When the game finally started, I threw myself into every play. Sweat dripped down my forehead as I raced up and down the field, my cleats digging into the grass. Things were going great—until an opposing player came out of nowhere and slammed her cleat into my thigh.

"Motherf—!" I yelled, barely biting back the curse as pain shot through my leg.

"Jamie, are you okay?" Melody called from across the field.