"YOU DIDN'T HAVE to get in trouble for me."
Max had a towel folded and wrapped around his neck, the soft material absorbing his stress along with his sweat. The dim light in the locker room eased the tension in his eyes, a stark contrast to the brightness of the training room.
He couldn't help the guilt creeping up in his chest. If he had endured the exercises for an added ten minutes, Lyla wouldn't have to spend an extra hour of practice.
The moment he and Lyla stepped out of the training room, he was filling his head with accusations at his inability to keep up with the pace of the others. He was undoubtedly strong, but he needed to put a double effort to step up his game.
If he was stronger, Lyla wouldn't ruin her impression of their new leader.
Lyla shot him a crooked grin. She shut her locker with one hand, holding a fresh pair of leggings, a T-Shirt and ankle socks with the other. "I've told you for the hundredth time, Maxie, it's fine."
Max sighed, his fingers tugging on his honey-colored curls. "It isn't with me. I know you want others to hold a great impression of you."
Lyla sat on the bench, placing the clean clothes beside her. "I do want to leave an acceptable impression wherever I go, but that doesn't mean I won't defend myself or my friends when someone is unfair," she told him as she unlaced her shoes. "Besides, we shouldn't give people excessive worth. He's a new entry in town."
Max let out a breathless chuckle. "You're right."
Lyla, however, wasn't joking. "I'm serious," she said, both knots of her shoes lose. She freed her feet from the heat, curling her toes with a satisfied smile. Enjoying the simple things was the key to life, even if they were as casual as the relief of a break after an exhausting practice.
He rubbed the nape of his neck, his nerves calming slowly. "What are you going to do now?" he asked.
Lyla had tossed her head back, hanging in mid-air. The soft light illuminated her face. She averted her stare from the ceiling to him and at her questioning look, he elaborated, "I mean, are you really going to go?"
She allowed her eyelids to fall shut. She reopened them shortly and drew in a breath. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
Max couldn't share her point of view. Lyla, or anybody in this world, couldn't be commanded to do something they weren't willing to put their hearts into. "You can always skip it, you know. Come up with an excuse that your stomach is hurting, or the guys and I can go straight to him and tell him it's your time of the month."
Her eyes widened and she hastened to bring her head back to her sitting position, aligning it with the rest of her body. She forced her back to withdraw from relaxation and her cheeks flushed, a pink hue spreading across them.
Max shrugged, trying to conceal his mirth to no avail. "It is a valid excuse to get away without questions arising."
Lyla shook her head, flustered. "It won't work. Unfortunately, he's anything but foolish." She didn't want to add she believed he could stand outside of the female bathrooms before he walked in and waited on a counter for an ungodly amount of time to confirm the guys were stating the truth.
"I heard something about period?"
Lyla and Max whirled their heads to the entrance of the room. Tyson and Johnny strolled to their lockers, proceeding to remove their own T-Shirts.
Her eyes stayed on their exposed upper half for no longer than three seconds. Belonging to a team of boys with her as the only female had trained her not to blush or ogle at their half nakedness. It indicated she could breathe in the same room as them without a hot rush of energy coursing through her, possessing her mind with highly inappropriate thoughts.
It also indicated whenever a soccer game was over and a serious eye candy happened to take off his shirt, it would cause many of the girls present to swoon in their seats with hearts in the position of their dilated pupils. Lyla's immunity would threaten to burst. She would sigh, pleading her friends to scurry away.
For her, they were bodies with heads with the exception of her teammates, where those bodies with heads would have personalities and would be her friends.
It demanded precisely three seconds for Lyla to appreciate the sculpted bodies of her boys. Goldstream Academy was indeed a fictional place painted to life with all those handsome boys striding in the halls. She couldn't begin to imagine the numerous girls who joined the school and the first thought that sprung in their minds at the sight of the dangerous level of male beauty was: damn, was that what I was missing?
She had included herself in the category but fell out after a year. Pretty faces weren't all she wanted. An appearance was necessary, important even, but it wasn't all she craved.
She wanted someone that would knock the strength out of her knees. Someone that would leave her star-struck in both terms of face and personality. Someone whose wit would balance his distracting features. She wanted it all and she wouldn't be offended if someone called her a bitch about it. She'd answer anyway.
A memory flashed in her head. Lyla's mind traveled back to that day where she, Hilary and Mariah had gathered in the cafeteria. Lyla had asked them, during the conversation, if what she was wanted was absurd.
She hadn't gasped from surprise once Hilary told her her expectations were sky-high. Her friend had justified her argument with the plain statement of boys remaining forever boys. A few of them would see the light of the day where they would be actual men, men that existed in fiction thus far.
Mariah had sealed her agreement with a nod of her head, but both girls consoled her with the reminder Lyla deserved everything after all the pieces of her heart were glued together. Her parents' divorce combined with the buried-in-the-past heartbreak, courtesy of her old, childhood best friend had almost brought her to the edge of her inner cliff, her heart wavering on the thin line.
All the pain she experienced had shaped her personality, strong and courageous, with an unexpected maturity and wisdom the majority of her peers lacked. Lyla deemed that this pain alone could be the reason as to why she craved from the bottom of her heart and wanted all of it.
She deserved her own fairytale.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Lyla blinked rapidly. She returned her consciousness to reality and cursed herself for not controlling the habit of getting lost in her thoughts, spacing out here and there.
It didn't take her long to register Tyson's palm placed on her shoulder, the warmth sinking in her skin. Her eyes snapped to meet his and he cupped her other shoulder, a towel resting on the curve between his shoulder blade and his neck.
"Yeah." She nodded, closing her eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said when she opened them to face him. "I'm sorry, did I miss something?
Tyson pressed his lips in a grim line. He despised how Lyla could be vulnerable in the most random of places. He despised it because it meant there was something troubling her and Lyla's overthinking nature didn't serve to help.
His chest constricted painfully at the idea of Lyla having to tackle problems concerning her family or that shadow of the past that broke her heart. Lyla had told him a year ago—and that because it happened to slip from her soul, she wouldn't have revealed it under original circumstances—it wasn't his fault for guiding them both to madness.
Tyson faced difficulties in believing her once the words were out. He wasn't sure whether Lyla's kind heart preferred to mask the harsh truth, or if the confession was zero percent sugar-coated.
He had rolled with it, shaking his head. He had no right to doubt his best friend. She had done nothing to prove dishonesty and disloyalty in their friendship. If only, Lyla's dedication and tenderness were signs that she was far from them.
The look he was earning from her was so lost, as if she was a small child exposed to the world, its brightness and darkness fighting to win her over in their side respectively. He wanted to pull her in for a hug, to stroke her hair and murmur she was okay and she would be okay, no matter what.
Her past self would have had found comfort in the dark as melancholy would slip away in intangible waves before she rose from the blackness and stepped into the light.
But Lyla Hart wasn't a fragment of her past.
Light was the road she had come to know, the road she was traversing and the road she would continue pushing her way through.
She no longer stepped back to the dark.
Both of them recovered and Tyson welcomed back his usual self. "You obviously weren't here when I said Max's plan is wicked." Then he turned to Max with a sly smile. "Max, you little shit. Using female hormones as an excuse to weasel our friend's way out, that's devious!"
"Devious, but genius all the same," said Johnny, shooting Tyson a pointed look.
Johnny retrieved his clothes from his locker. "Don't have too much fun without me." They were his parting words as he headed to the showers.
Tyson nodded and shifted his attention from Max and Johnny to Lyla, the latter observing him with mild curiosity. He hadn't moved his hands from where they were resting on her shoulders.
"Tyson," she murmured, her eyes trained on his palms.
He was dumbfounded for a fleeting moment before he took notice of his hands steadied on her. "Oh. Right, sorry," he said, his arms dropping to his sides.
Lyla smiled softly, her gaze regarding. Tyson's cheeks were tinged with pink, the rosy color adding youth to his skin.
She was certain her eyes weren't playing tricks with her. Was Tyson...blushing?
Lyla suppressed a sigh. Despite the countless times she'd thought of it, much less consider it, she couldn't move Tyson from the friend zone. No matter how much she wanted to try the idea they could take their friendship a step further, her heart was holding her back, preventing her from painting the what-ifs and maybes to life. It wouldn't be right.
It wouldn't be right not because the circumstances were an obstacle, in fact, they were the complete opposite; encouraging, favorable. Tyson's close friendship with her and the endless moments of laughter, the endless moments of her eyes smiling, reflecting the happiness in her soul were proof there was a solid foundation, a bond that provided the opportunity for rendezvous of the souls.
It was just that the rendezvous weren't the ones destined for her. If they were, they wouldn't remain rooted in the friendship level.
On one side, she would let pity wash every fiber of her being at her inability to feel anything past genuine, infinite and selfless philia for Tyson. He had it all; the striking features, his night blue ocean eyes were the jewels adorning his face and his irreplaceable personality returned the color in the grey skies of her gloomy days.
On the other hand, not all friends were destined to fall in each other's arms with love as their main source of oxygen. Not all people who were friends were suitable to begin a relationship together. Lyla figured this had to be the case with her and Tyson, otherwise, the situation would have had taken a turn for the next stage a long time ago.
Still, she couldn't help but love him with no bounds. He was the brother she never had, always there in her good and her bad.
She was grateful, so damn grateful. Life had blessed her with health, a loyal family, a home and friends she found a second family in them, a second home.
As much as Tyson had it all, she had it all as well. And only greater things awaited them from that point and forth.
With that thought in mind, she focused her attention on Max and Tyson who was preparing his stuff to end his day in the Academy, following Johnny's style of relaxation—a much-needed shower.
She lifted her clothes from the bench, balancing the weight on her hands. "You boys go on without me." She tilted her chin in the direction of the showers. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Tyson sucked in a breath. "Wow. You make this seem like a scene out of a novel. I don't know what's worse. Me or goodbyes, I can't decide."
He drew a laugh out of her. "Trust me, it's not that hard to choose."
He fought the urge to huff. "I forgive you because we had a rough night."
A heavy silence descended among them. Tyson's failure to get the message across with the right phrase lingered in the air, rendering the attempts of caging in the laughter futile. "And you're wondering why I'm calling you a pervert," Lyla said.
Max raised his hand, an amused smile etched on his lips. "Third wheel."
Lyla turned to Max. "You're not third-wheeling, Max. Don't let Tyson's pervert nature confuse you."
"I'm not a pervert!" he protested, puffing his cheeks. "It just happens unintentionally."
"And I'm tall. All lies," she scoffed. Some of her hair was sticking out and she undid her ponytail.
"About the night," she continued, bowing her head to make all of her hair fall to the front, her fingers running through the ginger color as she fixed them, "correction: have a rough night. Not all of us are as fortunate." She gestured at Tyson and Max, after she had straightened her back, passed her hair through the hairband and tightened its grip on them.
She did not regret her decision of not straightening them the previous night. The ponytail was ending in waves and even though she was sure some of it wasn't secured in their place, she paid no heed. There were minimum to none students around.
The teachers of Lyla's year were a different matter altogether. A lot of them stayed until late to choose the missions their students would head out to, others practicing trickier spells for them to master.
Lyla, however, wasn't concerned. Her heart wouldn't be pounding in her ears due to the fact that her appearance wasn't eye-stopping perfection. She had no one to impress and if she did, the exhaustion seeping under her skin had numbed her thoughts. Her top priority was to walk without her legs trembling as a victor and survivor of the Second Round of the Hell Trials.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Lyla bid Max and Tyson goodbye. She promised to share the details of the rest of the tale tomorrow.
She watched their backs making their way to the showers. Lyla relished the sound of the water drops, so liberating and cathartic, sloshing from the open tap of Johnny's booth.
She made her shower quick. After she was fully clothed, she lifted her backpack from the ground, sliding it on her shoulder. Her fingers locked around one strap and she took a moment to prepare herself mentally, breathing in and out.
Nervousness settled low in her stomach, her heartbeats picking a different rhythm. She couldn't understand the logic behind the inexplicable flare of her nerves.
She wondered if logic existed behind emotions. If it did, she wouldn't be incapable of pausing the crescent beats. Logic could interpret everything, but whenever emotions meddled, it failed to find the words.
Lyla gathered her courage with a determined breath.
She strode to the double doors leading to the backyard. Lyla took a step outside, under the building's shed, the night air a gentle caress on her cheeks.
Lyla didn't set foot in the yard. She walked under the shed, the stars donning the sky with a soft brightness.
She was inwardly glad the night lacked the presence of the moon. Her deep, unwavering love for the stars had created a refreshed appreciation of their magic on the night sky.
It gave her a million, tiny reasons to be happy and grateful scattered everywhere, whereas the full moon outshone everything. Its glory should never be doubted or questioned, but its imposing existence left no room for respect for the small things. It left no room to indulge in them.
The full moon was proof that the biggest things solely deserved to absorb the fondness and the appreciation of humanity. It overlooked the connection of the dots leading to a certain point, stealing the light away.
This must be added to my notebook.
Lyla made a note, hoping not to forget the characteristic phrases, but her instinct told her the last thing she'd be remembering after a night of survival tests would be her complaint about the stars not receiving a fair amount of affection, compared to the moon.
Lyla reached the grey cobblestone path leading to the area for training and flying purposes of the backyard. Her eyes were fixated on the vast space of grass, surrounded by a wooden fence that reached the back of her knee.
Her anxiety spiked. Her knees were dangerously close to giving out all of her strength, the energy within them shuddering with each step she made to cover the distance.
Dear Lyla,
Please stop embarrassing yourself with the ridiculous stressful and overanalyzing habit. You'll be fine.
Yours sincerely,
Yourself.
She damn needed someone to knock some sense into her, but since no one was around to help her to accomplish her wish, the task was transferred to herself.
Lyla's gaze landed on Kai—or rather on his back. Her fingers curled around the wooden surface, the coolness of the night twisting its scent in the air.
She hopped above the short fence, supporting the weight of her body on the firm grip of her palm on the fence, swinging her legs forward.
Kai had been staring at the city lights, the myriads of colors displayed illuminating it alive in the distance, under the veil of the night. A vast, freed from the traffic street—an advantage the Academy offered, was expanding after the other end of the fence, the side Kai was leaning on, leading to the rest of the city.
He had gone to the grass field ten minutes earlier from the predetermined time to clear his head. The weight of Keith's—his uncle's—expectations of him as far as the company was concerned was a constant burden he couldn't shake.
The bastard had kept wisely his mouth shut during lunch the day he arrived in Estrella. His aunt's scathing look directed at him was a privilege. Without Mirabella's discreet manners, the peaceful lunch would have had exploded into war. The unrelenting decisiveness thrumming into the Hudsons' blood wouldn't have had ameliorated the situation.
Lyla's feet met the ground successfully. The low, soft sound drew Kai's attention, a highly welcomed excuse to pull him away from the tight hold of his thoughts.
She rested her backpack on the ground, waiting for him to turn around to face her.
He didn't. Asshole.
She wanted to finish this as soon as possible. The images of her bed beckoning her to return weren't helping. They only increased her desire to follow the lead of her teammates; to go home and call it a night.
He had the courtesy to end the stretched silence. "You came. Gotta admit, I half expected you not to honor us with your presence," he said, his tone laced with the pretense of a surprise. The shocked expression etched on her features, intertwined with her unmasked annoyance when he demanded her appearance after practice betrayed that she would come anyway.
Lyla crossed her arms. His audacity was infuriating, a torture to bear along with his lack of politeness. "Well, I live up to shatter your expectations."