Tangled In The Captains Game (Short Story) The Game

CHAPTER 4
Chemistry was calling my name, and not in a cute, romantic way. There’s something incredibly satisfying about organizing molecules and figuring out the madness behind reactions—like playing God with a bunch of tiny building blocks. I had my nose deep in a chemistry textbook, highlighting the electron configurations of noble gases—riveting, I know—when my door swung open, shattering my peaceful study session like a glass dropped on a tile floor.

Zuri burst in first, radiating energy like a human firework, with Alya right behind her, looking like a fashion icon on a casual Tuesday. “Get up, Nova!” Zuri practically sang, yanking me out of my chair with an enthusiasm that suggested she’d just chugged a gallon of coffee.

“What’s this all about?” I blinked, still halfway lost in the periodic table, my brain attempting to catch up with the chaos.

“You’re coming with us to the football game,” Alya declared, linking her arm through mine as if this was a life-or-death situation.

“Oh no, I’m not,” I replied, trying to slip out of her grip and retreat back to the safety of my desk.

“Did we give you a choice?” Zuri asked, eyebrow raised like I’d suggested we go swim with sharks.

I paused, realizing—no, they weren’t giving me a choice. “No,” I muttered, feeling the walls of my autonomy slowly close in.

“Exactly!” they yelled in unison, and with that, they left me to navigate the perilous waters of my wardrobe.

I rummaged through my bag like it was a treasure chest, staring at my options. My inner debate was intense. Crop top or hoodie? Crop top or hoodie… Eventually, my love for comfort won. I threw on a gray hoodie with a shark design on the front, olive green cargo pants, and dark blue Converse sneakers. Classic, casual, and perfectly cozy. My hair? Well, as usual, I tossed it into my signature messy bun. Ready to go, or so I thought.

I stepped out of my room, feeling pretty confident… until I saw them.

Alya and Zuri had clearly planned their outfits like they were walking the runway at New York Fashion Week. Alya was in a black-and-white patterned tank top paired with oversized gray denim jeans and black Converse that somehow looked designer. A cropped green jacket hung perfectly off her shoulders, and her wireless headphones were casually slung around her neck like she was too cool for school. 

Meanwhile, Zuri was rocking  a light gray, long-sleeve top with flared sleeves and high-waisted, light-wash baggy jeans. A cream handbag with a bow, a matching hair scarf, and a silver bracelet completed the look, along with white textured sneakers, giving off a relaxed but stylish vibe.

And then there was me… in a hoodie.

The moment they saw my outfit, they stared at me like I had sprouted a second head. Spoiler: I hadn’t.

“What are you wearing?” Zuri said, eyes wide.

Before I could respond, they grabbed me by the arms and dragged me back to my room with more force than necessary, like I was a reluctant puppet.

“Okay, we love you, but no,” Alya declared, sifting through my clothes as if my wardrobe were a thrift shop.

After what felt like an eternity of back-and-forth, they dressed me in something that screamed ‘football game spectator’ more than ‘I just rolled out of bed.’ A trendy outfit layout featuring a gray and black cropped graphic t-shirt with a star design, light-washed cargo jeans with multiple pockets, black oversized sunglasses, a black drawstring tote bag, silver star-themed jewelry (a necklace and earrings), and black and white Nike sneakers.

“Better,” Zuri nodded, satisfied with her creation as if she were my personal stylist for the day.
Finally, we arrived at the football game just in time for the second half to start. The Wildriders were going up against another school, and things were intense. The scoreboard showed 2-2, which felt like a nail-biter movie scene. Both teams were neck and neck, and I could feel the tension crackling in the air like static electricity before a storm.

The crowd was buzzing, students screaming for their teams, and I clutched my bag of popcorn like it was a lifeline, ready for the action to unfold. Ryder and Eric, the team captains, were pacing on the sidelines like lions ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey—or in this case, the opposing team.

During halftime, I could see the boys from our school getting a good scolding from the coach. I swear I could almost hear it from the stands. “You call that playing? I’ve seen more coordination from a herd of cats!” he yelled, waving his clipboard like it was a magic wand, trying to conjure up some team spirit.

As the second half started, Ryder’s eyes found mine. He gave me a once-over, his eyes lingering just a second too long on my outfit, and then, with that stupid smirk of his, he shot me a look that felt like it could power a small village. I could feel my face heat up, but I quickly regained my composure—no way was I letting him see me flustered.

The game resumed, and Ryder and Eric were back in captain mode. Eric, who barely spoke a word to anyone, had this intense “bad boy” vibe going on—something always felt familiar about him, but I couldn’t quite place it. While Ryder—well, he was Ryder. The two of them led the team, working together like a well-oiled machine or a perfectly choreographed dance number.

Jake, one of the fastest players on the field, was quick to set up plays, his speed rivaling that of a cheetah on caffeine. Holden, the strategic powerhouse, read the opponent’s moves like a book—no, like a best-selling thriller! Meanwhile, Asher—my brother—was a solid defender, blocking shots like he was guarding a vault filled with gold. Blake had the stamina of a marathon runner, constantly in motion like a well-trained hamster on a wheel, while Damon was the guy who always seemed to be at the right place at the right time, like he had a GPS for football. Kai was the wildcard, unpredictable but brilliant when he pulled off those impossible passes that made you question if he had a sixth sense.

The tension was palpable as the clock ticked down. Just when it seemed like the game would end in a draw, Ryder pulled off a perfectly timed shot, firing the ball into the net like it was on a mission. The crowd erupted into cheers, and I almost dropped my popcorn in excitement, my heart racing like I’d just run a marathon. 3-2! Victory for the Wildriders!

After the game, I made my way down to the locker room, figuring I’d congratulate Asher—how hard could it be to say “Good job” and bounce off? Very hard, apparently. I didn’t think twice before pushing the door open, but what greeted me was… well, a lot. My brain short-circuited as I took in the scene of several shirtless guys, including my brother—who I wasn’t checking out in a weird way, I swear—surrounded by the chaos of post-game locker room banter.
Oh my god. Abs. So many abs.

It was like I’d accidentally walked onto the set of a fitness commercial—suddenly, I felt like I was on an awkward first date with my own eyes. My gaze betrayed me and lingered for just a beat too long. Why am I even here? I snapped back to reality when I noticed everyone was staring at me, their faces a mix of surprise and amusement. Cue the embarrassment.

Before I could make a run for it, I felt a firm grip on my wrist. “What are you doing in here, Skylar?” a voice asked, deep and slightly rough around the edges. I was shocked for a moment before I remembered… no one calls me Skylar anymore. I used that name -my second name- back in primary school when things were simpler, but not now. No one uses it. I looked up and found myself staring into the eyes of..

AUTHOR’S NOTE!

Hi yalll so what do u think of this chapter? let me know in the comments, the wildriders won!!!, who do you think dragged her out? Jake? Kai? Blake? Asher? Ryder? Eric? Damon?. Sorry for late posting…. anyways as always I love yall byesiesss 🫶