Stolen Jerseys / ✓

0.05: chapter four

S C O T T

Have you ever met someone who left an immediate impact on you? Every word they said left you feeling a certain type of way? Someone you knew you would never forget? Elle was that person. Except that impacts she left were just awful.

I had only known Elle for a few days, yet every time I talked to her, she left me feeling more annoyed and angry than before.

She was a few benches down, huffing and puffing about how I had rejected her apology. And I couldn't help but roll my eyes every time she turned and looked at me, eyes narrowed into slits. She had absolutely no reason to be mad because I hadn't accepted her apology. She was the reason I was sitting out with a busted and bruised nose.

I turned and caught Elle's gaze. Her light eyes narrowed again and she turned the other way, making me scoff. I had met a lot of people in my life - annoying teammates, rude schoolmates, even family members that I dreaded visiting. But Elle was the worst. She was just so annoying.

My phone buzzed and I looked down, seeing a message from Connor. I had texted him the whole thing that had happened, since it didn't look like Coach Monroe was going to be letting me back in the game anytime soon. Plus, I just needed to rant about Elle before I exploded.

From Connor:

wait, wait. slow down. you busted up your nose.. at the second practice? HAHAHHAHAHAH.

I glared and typed back a quick, 'screw you, she busted it' and stuffed my phone back into my bag. I heard it vibrate a few more times, but I ignored it. Regardless of what I told Connor, the second I walked through the door, he'd want me to tell him the whole story in full detail. He was like that; no matter what I texted him, he wanted to hear everything in person.

"You know," her voice rang out, much closer than I thought she was, "you're not, technically, supposed to have your phone out during practice."

I turned, not surprised to see that Elle was leaning against the glass wall that separated the players from the audience, a few feet away. She was still frowning, but now she wasn't pacing around, glaring, and muttering things under her breath. (I was sure they were all rather rude, but I didn't bother to ask).

"Great," I muttered, pulling the paper towel from my nose and dropping it next to me. It had stopped bleeding - Thank God, "but in case you didn't notice, Elle, I'm not practicing. I'm not even allowed to participate in practice."

She rolled her eyes, "It's that kind of attitude that gets you busted noses."

My eyes widened in anger and annoyance, "No. It's you, yelling out while I'm trying to focus that gets me a busted nose."

I was prepared to get up and leave - since I really couldn't stand Elle at that moment - but she held up her hands and shrugged, letting it go. I sighed and sat back down, leaning back against the edge of the bleacher behind me. There was only a few minutes left of practice, and I was practically counting down the seconds until I could go.

Neither Elle nor I said anything. I did feel a bit bad about how quickly I had rejected her apology, and how fast I had almost snapped at her. But every time I talked to Elle, she was either insulting something I had done wrong, saying something sarcastic, or getting me an injury. It was hard to want to talk to her.

She twisted her fingers, looking a bit uncomfortable. I quirked an eyebrow lazily and she sighed, "Scott - "

Before she could finish her sentence, Coach Monroe blew his whistle. He turned to me and beckoned me back onto the ice. I didn't want to hear what Elle had to say - I jumped up and made my way through the bleachers.