Bloodsport

chapter 7

The following morning Harry woke up late. He had stayed up for several hours, unable to sleep. His fingers kept scrolling through old text messages between him and Jasmine, worry eating him up from the inside. When he’d finally fallen asleep, the sun had already begun to rise.
He threw the first clothes he could find on and shoved his unruly hair into a small knot on top of his head, ridding his eyes of the hair. He jumped into the car without eating breakfast, and as he left the curb in a hurry he was briefly grateful he’d left his football equipment in the car the previous night. At least he had his cleats.

Unfortunately, the school lot was almost filled by the time he arrived. There was no way he’d be able to grab a spot at the front, which meant there was more time for Jasmine to catch him as he made his way inside the building. It bothered him, and as if to confirm his worries he noticed her standing near a car at the end of the lot. Harry couldn’t stop there, and he circled for almost five minutes before he noticed a free spot somewhat closer to the school, away from her.

The only issue seemed to be that there was another car heading right towards that particular spot. Harry recognised the vehicle as he pressed down on the gas. It was Louis — who else? The guy would be freaking livid about this, but that didn’t matter now. Had it been another car, Harry still would have done it.

He pulled what was probably the shittiest move in the book, and blocked Louis’ car in a precarious move that could easily have scratched his paint job and dented Louis’ front in the process. Louis came to a screeching halt before that could happen, and Harry smoothly slid into the parking spot. He grabbed his belongings and jumped out of the Rover. As he did, he glanced over at Louis’ car — a blue, older vehicle with dusty rims. He found the guy scowling from inside it.

Harry didn’t find it hard to admit that despite the circumstances, pissing Louis off was perpetually entertaining. It felt deserved, too, seeing as Louis hadn’t stopped being a dick since they fucking met. Harry sent a grin at Louis through the of windshield the car, and added an obnoxious wave before striding off towards the school building.

Zayn met him by the lockers, and Harry once again felt a little bit safer. The classes that day were unusually slow; history was long and confusing, maths particularly gruesome, P.E. naturally easy, but French class worrisome as he hadn’t even come close to finishing his homework. Mrs. Jones gave him shit for it, too, and Zayn wasn’t of any help. When Harry looked at him for guidance, he only muttered some shit like Je m’apelle Zayn.

Harry didn’t know how, but by the time he got ready for practice, he’d managed to escape Jasmine throughout the whole day. Perhaps that day, just today, he’d have a somewhat normal, good day.

He ran footie training as he’d planned it. They warmed up using traditional exercises, after which Harry added a few new ideas he’d come up with. The moves had the lads laughing once they realised that even though they looked silly, they definitely weren’t easy. Even Louis seemed to get a bit winded, though he hardly admitted to such a thing.

About halfway through, the loud noise of people chatting reached them from the bleachers. Harry blanched as he noticed a cluster of girls heading into some seats, but this time he refused to even look at them. He didn’t want to see Jasmine, and he definitely didn’t want to hear her call out for Louis Tomlinson with her preciously innocent smiles. He ignored the spike of anxiety within, and pretended the people on the bleachers didn’t exist as best as he could.

Towards the end, Coach stepped in and asked them to practice something technical of their own that they thought required improvement. Coach Abrahams was planning to chat with each of the players in the forthcoming weeks and needed some of the boys’ attention during the last few minutes.