04 unexpected audience

Max’s POV

The football tryout is a rush, every move scrutinized by Coach Williams and the upperclassmen. Tyler Gates, the team captain, watches me with a mix of curiosity and assessment. Coach runs me through the gauntlet: a 40-yard dash to clock my speed, throwing drills for precision, snapping the ball, receiving passes, navigating tire courses, kicking field goals, punting, and slamming into a padded blocking sled. Sweat drips, muscles burn, but I’m in my element. Football’s my life.

Coach’s nod after the dash tells me I’m on track. My throws spiral clean, my kicks are solid, and the sled takes a beating. By the end, Coach claps my shoulder, grinning wide. “You nailed it, Cooper.” He heads off to talk to the others, but I’m buzzing. I know I’m in.

Tyler strides over, offering a fist bump. “Welcome to the team, Max. Glad to have you.”

I smirk. “Coach hasn’t said anything official.”

“He will,” Tyler says, confident. “He was stoked. Expect the call tonight.”

My chest swells with anticipation. Tonight, I’ll know. For now, I’ve got to deal with Luna Klein and our damn English assignment. She’s probably waiting, nose in a book, oblivious to the world. I’m soaked in sweat, so I head to the locker room to clean up.

That’s when I spot her on the bleachers, engrossed in a book, the breeze teasing her hair. She tucks a strand behind her ear, lips parting slightly as she reads. It’s like she’s in her own universe, untouched by the chaos around her. My eyes linger longer than they should. Goddamn slow motion. She’s annoying even from here.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Tyler’s sharp voice cuts through my thoughts. His jaw is tight, eyes burning with something darker than irritation—anger, maybe even resentment.

Before I can process it, one of his buddies, some guy whose name I can’t recall, yells at Luna. “Hey, Lunatic! What do you think you’re doing there? Get lost.” He follows Tyler toward the locker room, leaving me stunned.

Lunatic? The word grates, dripping with venom. I don’t know Luna well, but that was uncalled for. Jogging after them, I catch up. “She’s waiting for me,” I pant. “We’ve got a group assignment.”

Tyler rolls his eyes, his expression cold, like my explanation’s irrelevant. He stalks off, fists clenched, radiating tension. The other guy sighs, turning to me. “Word of advice, new guy. Keep her out of Tyler’s sight. Don’t even mention her.”

I frown, confused. “Why’s it a big deal? If he doesn’t like her, he can ignore her.”

He shakes his head, like I’m missing something obvious, and heads inside. I glance back at Luna. She’s still on the bleacher, book closed now, eyes on me. Her face is unreadable, like that guy’s insult didn’t faze her. Like she’s used to it. What the hell’s going on here?

“Hey,” I call, approaching her. “Gotta hit the locker room to clean up. Then we’re good to go.”

She nods. “Okay.”

In the locker room, I shower fast, still buzzing from the tryout. Coach corners me, reiterating how I crushed it. “You’ll hear soon, kid.” I change, sling my black jacket over my shoulder, and head back to the field. Luna’s still there, same spot, like she hasn’t moved an inch.

I give her a look, and she stands, following me to the parking lot without a word. We stop at my motorbike, and she freezes, eyes wide, like she’s never seen one before. Of course. She’s probably used to limos, not bikes.

“You okay with motorbikes?” I ask, half-expecting her to balk.

“Huh?” She blinks, snapped out of her daze.

I scoff. Rich girl’s never ridden one, I bet. Hopping on, I slip into my jacket and start the engine. I consider offering her the jacket—the wind’ll be cold—but her blazer looks warm enough. “You just gonna stand there?” I snap. “Jesus, Luna, the world won’t wait forever.”

The words are harsher than I mean, especially since she waited hours for me. Guilt prickles, but I shove it down. She hesitates, then climbs on, barely gripping the sides of my jacket, like touching me might burn her. It’s not safe, but I’m not about to baby her.

“Gonna get yourself killed like that,” I mutter.

She adjusts, holding a bit tighter, but it’s still timid. Fine. I’ll ride slow, keep her in one piece. But as we pull out, I can’t shake the image of her on the bleacher, unfazed by that asshole’s insult, or Tyler’s burning glare. There’s a story here, and I’m starting to wonder what I’ve stumbled into.

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Luna’s POV

I clutch my book, sitting on the bleacher, trying to lose myself in the pages. The football field sprawls before me, alive with the tryout’s energy, but I keep my eyes down. I shouldn’t be here. Tyler’s out there, and the thought of seeing him twists my stomach. But I need to meet Max for our assignment, and this is the only way.

A shout jolts me. “Hey, Lunatic! What do you think you’re doing there? Get lost.” I glance up, heart sinking. It’s one of Tyler’s teammates, his voice dripping with malice. Tyler’s nearby, his jaw tight, eyes burning as he glares at me. The word lunatic stings, but I’m used to it. I’ve heard worse.

I look away, pretending it didn’t happen. My book stays open, but the words blur. Max jogs over to them, saying something I can’t hear. Tyler stalks off, fists clenched, and his friend follows. Max turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Gotta hit the locker room to clean up,” he says. “Then we’re good to go.”

“Okay,” I reply, voice steady despite the knot in my chest.

He’s gone for a while, and I wait, the breeze cool against my skin. When he returns, jacket slung over his shoulder, he’s fresh from a shower, hair damp and messy. He gives me a look, and I follow him to the parking lot, clutching my book like a shield.

We stop at a motorbike, and I freeze. A motorbike? My eyes flick to his face—strong jaw, green eyes sharp with impatience. His hair’s a mess, but it suits him. I shake off the thought, embarrassed. “You okay with motorbikes?” he asks.

“Huh?” I stammer, caught off guard.

He scoffs, hopping on and starting the engine. “You just gonna stand there? Jesus, Luna, the world won’t wait forever.”

The words cut, especially after waiting hours. I climb on, hesitant, barely gripping his jacket. “Gonna get yourself killed like that,” he mutters. I hold tighter, but it’s awkward, my hands brushing his sides. He doesn’t say more, just pulls out, riding slower than I expect.

The wind whips around us, and I try to focus on the assignment, not Tyler’s glare or that cruel “lunatic” jab. Max doesn’t know my history, and I hope he never does. But as we ride, his earlier question lingers: Can we be friends? I shut him down to protect him from my mess, but the guilt gnaws at me, mixing with the strange warmth of being this close to him.