AIM

|Chapter One|

"So, why'd you oversleep?" Emma thought it would be a good time to ask. I was confused at first, somehow forgetting that I'd mentioned my rough sleep at all, but it came back to me. "I'm guessing you were up all night reading a book or watching Iron-Man again."

"Not really." I wished that were the case. "I had a nightmare, actually."

"About?" Emma slowed down. When I said nothing, she stopped altogether, dread darkening her chocolate eyes. "Should I be worried?"

"No, no," I said, with a reasonable dose of conviction, too. "It's probably just a case of the jitters, don't worry."

"Yeah, the last time you said that, you went and chopped off all your hair."

"It wasn't all of it!" I expressed with a huff, for only the hundredth time.

Emma was referring to the first day of sophomore year, on which I had decided to cut off most of my hair and put magenta dye on the rest – just like my favorite superheroine. I'd tried to do the same once in fifth grade, when all I'd had to work with were safety scissors and acrylic paint. Emma hadn't liked it then either.

"Aimee, it wasn't – cute." The word came in a curt breath, like it had gotten caught on something before falling out at once. Standing in front of us was a young man with eyes that held a fresh supply of guilt, as they should've, for nearly ploughing us over.

"Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going," he admitted.

He was a junior; I recognised him from English. Was it English?

"It's totally fine," replied Emma, tucking wayward hairs behind her ear. Em was sweet by nature, precisely sassy, but she could be plain saccharine for a face like that.

Under the circumstances, I wasn't keen to entertain her. There was something about him, I felt, that warranted suspicion. He shouldn't have been so near to the lockers, let alone by himself. The boy observed us, seeming to deduce by our jerseys and my impatient expression that our team was waiting for us. When I caught his gaze, a casual smirk exaggerated his features, and he turned to leave, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets.

"I heard you're the best the school's had in years. I'm rooting for you."

"We are," said Emma with enough confidence for the both of us. "And thanks."

"No problem," he replied – now that smirk was essentially a wink. "Break a leg."

Why do people always say that? It's really not ideal... I flinched as Emma jabbed her elbow into my side, an attempt to get me to play nice or something. She could be glad that we were just outside the locker room or my temperament would have been so much worse – being late once was bad enough, and Kirkwood would not be so lenient a second time.

"Sorry, again," said the stranger, amusement on his lips as he stalked off to the bleachers.

I took Emma by the hand to encourage her to move along; whoever this guy was, he didn't matter right now.

"Just to clarify, did you see what I just saw?" she mumbled around that last bite of sugar cone as we entered into the locker room.

"Hm?"

"Aimee, come on. That boy is an actual dream!" she insisted. "Did you see that jawline?"

"Okay, Cupid."

Sometimes, it was like Em had designated herself my own personal matchmaker. Last summer, she had worked tirelessly to land me a date with Troy Tomlin: tall-dark-and-handsome captain of the boys' football team. We soon discovered our relationship had actually been anxiously anticipated, and not just by Emma – apparently, beautiful people were meant to flock together – but it didn't last. After about two months of hand holding, homework dates, and attending each other's sports matches, we agreed to just be friends. We might've broken up sooner even, if we hadn't been so worried about whose feelings might get hurt. By the end of it, I was convinced Emma was more his type anyway. She was witty, beautiful, and had both a killer fashion sense and sense of humor, but I guessed their connections with me would have made things awkward. It just never happened.

"Never mind," sighed Emma, rolling her eyes at me as I fetched our cleats.

My lack of interest in our objectively attractive passer-by-friend had all but broken Emma's heart. Again, she could just date him herself if he seemed so wonderful. I wasn't so lonely that she needed to find me a suitor. Was I? Did she think I was? I had her and my parents and Siegfried – he's a good boy.

By the time we were set, everyone was already filing out. We managed to slip past Kirkwood and hastened to join the others, right before the Talons were called onto the field by a woman with pink cheeks and thinning blonde curls.

"We shouldn't have left the locker room," I whispered, ducking in behind Emma.

"Hey, we are going to win this," she reminded me gently, keeping her gaze ahead of her. "We have ice-cream power."

I tried a smile, but for some reason, I felt thwarted and struggled with a sudden weight in my chest. Shake it off. Emma's right; a little ice-cream isn't gonna stop us from bringing our A-game. Who knows, we might even play better now.

Each team rushed out onto the field, slotted into position. As the whistle sounded, the audience cheered raucously, like their volume was on a dial turned all the way up. Second half had begun. We'd made it back in time. Now, all that mattered was that we won.

After all, everyone was watching.