Twenty-Six: The Outcome †

1.8K 132 85

My knee was recoiling up and down repetitively.

My hands were clutched together in my lap but when I thought it looked peculiar I divided them and rested them on my knees. Only then did they begin to get moist with sweat so I interlocked my fingers, the sweat letting them glide through one another.

Every time Jason scored a goal, I almost couldn't look. I kept asking myself what if this is the winning goal? So far, he'd scored two goals. The score was two-all for both teams. There was about fifteen minutes left on the clock and the pressure was mounting for Jason to score the winning goal.

It was still plaguing me whether Jason actually desired to score the winning goal or not. I mean, Lea seems to be his entire world so why would he ever jump at the chance to cheat on her? I was conflicted having to just try and decipher what his exact objectives were and failing was a scarcity to me.

"You seem so nervous," Verity observed. "Is something wrong? Do you feel sick?"

Sick seems to be the right word to describe it, I mused, having it abruptly click in my mind. "No, no, I'm fine. I'm just a little chilly," I lied. "And plus, it's soon going to be the athletic competition."

Verity nodded, comprehending my words. "Yeah, I get you. I'm nervous for that, too."

I waggled my head slightly, not evening nodded as I didn't reply. I turned my awareness back to the pitch and the time was declining down to ten minutes and both teams were still neck and neck.

The ball was kicked to the left side, nearing the other team's goal. I shunted forward in my seat, perching literally on the bony edge. Verity brought me backwards again, hauling me by my arm and almost chuckling at my reactions. It wasn't fair to keep everything from Verity but for now, it wasn't hurting her.

"You're acting so weird tonight," she explained. "Seriously, calm down."

I flushed feverishly at her comment, dipping my head to let my hair act as curtains. My flush was reducing as I lifted my head back up, glancing quickly at the clock. Seven minutes to go. Then everything would be set in stone and it would happen.

Scott was trotting along the pitch at the moment from the other side. The ball was by his feet. He had managed to intercept two of the opposite players on the other team and ultimately, he kicked the ball to Jason who was a couple of metres from him.

Jason continued down the pitch, flat-out running. The opposing team was having a hard time trying to keep up with him since he was so fast. Conversely, a player began running at him, a flash of navy blue blurring in front of him. The player seized possession of the ball. My chest deflated.

I didn't know I'd be quite so... disappointed that Jason was so close to scoring and yet, he missed his chance. Even Jason turned around, fists and jaw clenched as he began jogging leisurely back up to the other side.

Four minutes to go.

Jason was running out of time. His cheeks were flushed crimson from the workout and he had a smear of dirt on his right leg. Infrequently, he wiped the dog chains in his hands, rubbing them together before letting them drop back down to his chest and hit it.

Three minutes to go.

Another player on Jason's team with jet black hair and dark tanned skin had ownership of the ball. He began passing it down, weaving in and out of players and performing all these fancy tricks like turning with the ball to keep custody over it. Finally, he made it down halfway into their box

Two minutes to go.

The inexplicably-talented boy passed the ball to someone else as Scott came running up behind him to give him some back up. The boy passed to Scott as they began nearing the semi circle of a D to the goal. The goalie began jumping from side to side, his knees bent, poised and equipped for the shot.

The Psychology ProjectRead this story for FREE!