𝓓𝓪𝓽𝓪: 𝓐 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴𝔀𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓬𝔂

{6} Heartache High

"You could take a picture; it’ll last longer," he said, his voice carrying a mix of confidence and amusement, like a musician striking the perfect chord.

Data blinked, snapping herself out of her daze. Had she really been staring? He sounded like a bad boy but in reality he looked like a gentle hot nerd.

"Wait," she muttered under her breath, "hot nerd? That definitely didn’t come out right."

"I’m Matthew, by the way and you are ," he said, stretching out his hand, his smile as warm as freshly baked bread.

Her gaze flickered from his hand to his face, then back again. Something about his ocean-blue eyes pulled her in, but she quickly snapped out of it.

"Can’t believe that’s been keeping you up all night, can't believe how important I am, anyways I'm.... ," she said, her words laced with sarcasm.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. Expecting her to finish her statement.

"Definitely not telling you," she retorted with a smirk, her voice as sharp as a knife.

"You’re a tough one," he chuckled, withdrawing his hand. "Anyway, you know my name. I’ve got football practice. If you’re interested, you can come watch."

"Yeah, no thanks," she said flatly, turning away.

"See you around, the pretty girl who won't tell me her name," he called over his shoulder, his voice trailing off like the last note of a song.

She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "I hope I never see that one again."

---

The tryout field stretched before her like an arena, buzzing with energy and anticipation. Girls in glittery outfits moved with practiced grace, but one figure stood out—a vision of pink so blinding it could rival the sun.

Disney would fit in properly, she thought.

"Next up, Emerald Grant," the leader called out, her voice echoing across the field.

Data stepped forward, her confidence a palpable force. She immediately recognized the leader's type: Queen Bee, dripping in fake smiles and oozing superiority.

"I’m Angela," the girl said, her grin sharp enough to cut glass.

"The talking one or the cleaning one?" Data quipped, making reference to a video game, earning a ripple of laughter from the others.

Angela’s smile faltered. "Quiet!" she barked, the word snapping through the air like a whip.

The group fell silent as Data took her position. Her movements were fluid, each twist and turn executed with precision. She flipped effortlessly, her body a blur of grace and power. By the end, the field erupted in applause, the sound washing over her like a wave.

"You did great," Angela admitted begrudgingly, "but I’ll still have to watch you closely."

With a snap of her fingers, her entourage scrambled to pack her things.

"Typical," Data muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she walked off the field.

Glancing up at the bleachers, she half-hoped to spot a certain pair of ocean-blue eyes. Instead, her gaze landed on someone else—a tall, dark-skinned guy with a punk cut and a mischievous grin.

He winked at her, his teeth gleaming like polished pearls.

"What the fuck," she muttered, scowling. Why did everyone in this school think they could flirt with her?

Without hesitation, she raised her middle finger, earning a hearty laugh from him.

---

Later, the quiet sanctuary of the library wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. She sat at a table, engrossed in a dusty book from the 90s—an odd choice for someone her age, but it felt like a portal to a simpler time.