Witch Academy

Chapter II

The soft glow of sunlight crept through the curtains, gently pulling me out of sleep. I blinked my eyes open, stretching under the covers, feeling the familiar ache from yesterday's practice in my legs. Groaning, I glanced at my phone on the nightstand—it was later than I wanted. Game day.

With a sigh, I threw off the covers and dragged myself out of bed. My feet hit the cool hardwood floor as I padded over to the bathroom. I flipped the switch, the bright light momentarily blinding me. As I reached for my toothbrush, the reflection in the mirror revealed the traces of exhaustion still lingering under my eyes. Last night’s restless sleep hadn't done me any favors.

I quickly brushed my teeth, the minty foam offering a brief respite from my grogginess. After rinsing, I splashed cold water on my face, the chill jarring me into full alertness. Today wasn’t just any day—it was game day, and I couldn’t afford to be sluggish. As I washed up, an unsettling sense of unease clung to the edges of my thoughts. It wasn’t just pre-game nerves. Something else felt... off. I tried to shake it off for now.

Once my routine was complete, I slipped into a hoodie and leggings, pulling my hair into a messy bun before heading downstairs. The smell of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee greeted me, cutting through my fog of nerves. My mom was already at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. My dad sat at the table, reading the morning paper, a steaming cup of coffee beside him.

“Morning,” I mumbled, sliding into a chair and rubbing my face in an attempt to wake up fully.

“Morning, sweetie,” Mom said with a warm smile, glancing over her shoulder. “How’d you sleep?”

I yawned. “Not great. Kinda restless.”

Dad looked up from his paper, raising an eyebrow. “Game day jitters?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Coach worked us pretty hard yesterday. Just trying not to psych myself out.”

Mom placed a plate of pancakes in front of me, golden syrup pooling at the edges. “You’ll be fine, honey. You always are.”

I nodded, though the odd feeling lingered. It was hard to tell if it was the nerves, the game, or something else entirely. As I started to eat, Mom added, “And remember, if things start to feel different... just breathe. You’re in control.”

I paused, fork halfway to my mouth. “What?”

Mom exchanged a glance with Dad, who folded his paper and set it aside. “Sometimes things can feel... off. Just don’t let it get to you.”

I stared at them, a frown tugging at my lips. “You’re being weird.”

Dad chuckled, grabbing his briefcase. “We’re always a little weird, Alana. But your mom’s right—just stay focused today.”

“Uh-huh,” I said slowly, still puzzled. “Thanks, I guess.”

He kissed the top of my head on his way out the door. “Good luck, kiddo. You’ll do great.”

Mom smiled at me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hinting at something. Something I wasn’t quite understanding.

After finishing breakfast, I grabbed my soccer bag and headed out the door. The sky was a clear blue, and the air felt crisp against my skin as I walked to school. It was the perfect weather for a game, but even the nice day couldn’t shake the odd conversation I had with my parents.

I walked quickly, trying to push the thoughts away. Maybe they were just being their usual cryptic selves. They’ve always had their quirks—saying strange things that didn’t make sense until later. Still, something about this morning felt different.

When I finally reached the school, the field was already buzzing with activity. My teammates were scattered around, warming up or chatting in small groups, their voices carrying through the crisp air. Coach Harris was near the bleachers, clipboard in hand, barking instructions at a few of the girls.

I dropped my bag by the bench and began my warm-up routine. Stretching my legs, I focused on shaking off the strange feeling from earlier. This was soccer. This was familiar. No room for anything else.

“Hey, you ready for the game today?” Jenny’s voice broke through my thoughts as she jogged over, looking as tired as I felt.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just trying to get my head in the game.”

Jenny stretched beside me, rolling her shoulders. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this. Coach is just pushing us hard because he knows we can win. Remember last season? We made it to the finals, and today’s our chance to take it all.”

“Right,” I muttered, half-listening. My mind was still racing. Was there something I was missing? Or was I just being paranoid?

Coach’s whistle interrupted my thoughts. “Alright, ladies, hustle up! Time to focus. We’ve got a big game ahead of us.”

We gathered in a circle. Coach Harris began outlining our game plan, his voice steady and authoritative. I tried to concentrate, but a nagging feeling kept pulling at me. Something felt different today—like the air was heavier, or time was moving slower. I brushed it off as nerves, but it lingered at the back of my mind.

“Alright, let’s get into our drills!” Coach called out. The team dispersed, and I moved into position, trying to shake off the strange feeling.

As the drills progressed, I went through the motions, my body moving on autopilot. But my mind? It was a million miles away. I kept glancing at Amelia, who was sitting on the bleachers, her dark hair cascading around her face as she watched us intently. She wasn’t on the team, but she was always around. Her quiet, enigmatic presence seemed to heighten my unease.

“Alana, focus!” Coach Harris’s voice snapped me back to the present.

I blinked, realizing I had missed my cue for the drill. The ball had sailed right past me, and my teammates were looking at me expectantly.

“Sorry,” I muttered, jogging back to my position. I caught Jenny’s eye as I reset, and she raised an eyebrow.

“You good?” she asked quietly, her breath heavy from the running.

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just distracted.”

Jenny nodded but didn’t press further. She knew me well enough to sense when something was off without needing to pry. We got back into the drill, and I made a conscious effort to stay focused. But that lingering unease kept bubbling just beneath the surface.

As we continued, I caught sight of Amelia again. Her gaze was fixed on the ball, but her expression was unreadable. Something about her presence felt... odd. It was like she was observing more than just our practice, as if she could see right through me.

Suddenly, the ball was passed to me again, catching me off guard. I reacted instinctively, sending it to Jenny with a clean kick. But in that split second, something strange happened. The ball—already in mid-air—seemed to veer slightly, as if an invisible force nudged it into a better trajectory.

I froze, blinking hard. Did I just imagine that?

Jenny caught the pass easily and continued down the field, oblivious to what had just happened. The rest of the team was busy with their own drills, and no one seemed to notice anything odd. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different.

“Hey, Alana, are you alright?” Jenny’s voice pulled me from my thoughts again. She had jogged up beside me, concern etched on her face. “You’ve been off today.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, trying to brush it off. “Just a little distracted, I guess.”

Jenny frowned but nodded. “Alright. Just don’t let it get in the way of the game. We need you at your best.”

“Got it,” I replied, offering her a weak smile.

After practice, I lingered behind while the rest of the team packed up and left. I sat on the grass, staring at the empty field, trying to make sense of what had happened. Was I just tired? Was my mind playing tricks on me?

I glanced over at the bleachers one last time. Amelia was still there, her gaze briefly meeting mine before she looked away. That fleeting connection sent a chill down my spine. There was something about her presence, something I couldn’t quite explain.

I grabbed my bag and hurried off the field.

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the soccer field as we gathered for the game. The stands were filling up with students, parents, and a few teachers. The buzz of excitement carried through the air, heightening my mix of adrenaline and nerves. I took a deep breath, trying to focus. This was the moment we had been training for.

"Ready for this?" Jenny asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet beside me. Her usual pre-game nervous energy was evident as she adjusted her headband.

I nodded, tightening my cleats and giving the field a once-over. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Coach Harris was pacing near the bench, clipboard in hand. His stern gaze swept over us as he barked last-minute instructions. "Keep your heads in the game, girls. I want to see focus, teamwork, and hustle out there. No room for mistakes today!"

The opposing team was already lined up on the other side, stretching and passing the ball around. They looked tough, and I could feel the weight of expectation pressing on us. We had beaten them last season, and the pressure to repeat that success was palpable.

As the whistle blew to signal the start of the game, everything else faded away. The noise of the crowd, the tension from the day—it all disappeared, replaced by the clarity of the game. The ball moved quickly, and I fell into the rhythm, darting between defenders and calling out plays to my teammates.

We were ten minutes in, and the score was still tied at 0-0. The other team was aggressive, pressing us hard and forcing us to defend more than we were used to. But I kept my eyes on the ball, waiting for the perfect moment.

Suddenly, an opportunity opened up. Jenny managed to steal the ball from midfield and passed it to me with a quick, sharp kick. "Alana, go for it!" she shouted, her voice filled with urgency.

I sprinted forward, dodging a defender, my eyes locked on the goal. The goalie moved into position, but I saw my opening—a narrow gap near the left post.

I took the shot, my foot connecting with the ball perfectly. It sailed through the air, heading straight for the goal. For a split second, I felt that same strange sensation from earlier at practice, like the ball was moving exactly where I wanted it to go, almost as if guided by something invisible.

The ball hit the back of the net with a satisfying thud, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

“YES!” Jenny shouted, running up to give me a high-five. “Nice shot! That was amazing!”

I smiled, trying to push away the unsettled feeling. “Thanks, Jenny. That felt... different.”

“Different good or different weird?” she asked, a playful grin on her face.

“Definitely weird,” I admitted, though I tried to sound casual.

The game continued, and the strange feeling didn’t go away. Each time the ball came to me, it was like everything slowed down, and I could see the field in perfect detail—where every player was, where the ball needed to go, and how to get it there. I played better than I ever had before, leading our team to a 2-1 victory by the end of the game.

As we celebrated on the field, Coach Harris gave me a nod of approval, his usual stern face softened with a rare smile. "Good work, Alana. Keep playing like that, and we’ll be unstoppable."

“Thanks, Coach,” I replied, trying to savor the win. But my mind was preoccupied with the moments that didn’t make sense. I knew I was good, but not that good. Something else was happening, something I couldn’t explain.

As I looked over at the stands, my eyes caught Amelia’s figure standing off to the side. She wasn’t cheering like everyone else; she was just... watching. Her gaze was focused, her expression unreadable.

A shiver ran down my spine. There was definitely more to her than I had realized. And somehow, I had the sinking feeling she knew exactly what was going on with me—even if I didn’t.

By the time I got home, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a deep shade of purple. My legs ached from the game, but the thrill of victory still lingered. I tossed my bag near the front door and made my way to the kitchen, where the familiar smell of dinner was already filling the air.

"How was the game?" Mom asked from the stove, turning to smile at me. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and she was stirring a pot of something that smelled amazing.

"We won," I said, sinking into a chair at the table. "2-1."

Dad looked up from his spot at the table, where he was casually reading the evening paper. "That’s my girl. You’re on a roll this season."

"Yeah, it was... something." I hesitated, my mind still stuck on the weird sensations from earlier. Should I tell them? Or would they think I was crazy?

Mom set a plate of food in front of me—steak and mashed potatoes. "You must be starving after all that running around. Eat up."

I twirled my fork around the mashed potatoes, trying to push the strange feelings aside. "Something weird happened today," I blurted, feeling the words escape before I could stop them.

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance—a brief, almost imperceptible flicker, but it was enough to catch my attention.

"Weird how?" Dad asked, setting down his paper and leaning forward slightly.

"Like, during the game, it was like... I don’t know. I felt like I knew exactly where the ball was going to go. I could see things happening before they did." I looked down at my plate, feeling ridiculous for even saying it out loud. "I know it sounds crazy."

Mom didn’t say anything right away, but I noticed the way her hand tightened on the spatula, just for a second. Dad was the one to speak first.

"Well, sometimes when you’re really in the zone, your instincts take over," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "It’s all about focus and tuning everything else out."

"Yeah, but this wasn’t like that," I insisted. "It felt... different. Almost like I was making it happen."

This time, Mom sat down beside me. Her eyes softened, and she gave me a reassuring smile, but there was something else in her expression—something cautious, like she was holding back.

"Alana," she said, her voice gentle but serious. "Sometimes, things happen that we don’t fully understand. Especially at your age."

Dad nodded in agreement, but there was an edge to his tone. "You’re growing up, and there may be things you’ll start to notice about yourself. Abilities, let’s call them. But you don’t need to be afraid of them."

Abilities? What were they talking about?

I raised an eyebrow. "Abilities? Like what?"

Mom opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, the doorbell rang. We all looked at each other for a moment before Dad stood up. "I’ll get it."

I watched him walk away, my mind racing. Abilities? Were they saying they knew something about what was happening to me? The way they had glanced at each other, the way Mom had almost said something before the interruption—it was like they were hiding something.

Mom reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze. "Don’t worry too much about it right now. Just know that if you ever feel like something’s off, you can talk to us."

Before I could respond, Dad came back into the room with a small package in his hand, his brow furrowed in confusion. "This was left on the doorstep for you, Alana."

"For me?" I stood up and walked over, taking the package from him. It was small and wrapped in plain brown paper, with no return address. My name was written on the top in neat, looping script.

I stared at it for a moment, a strange sense of foreboding washing over me. Who would send me something? And why not just hand it to me at school?

“Are you expecting anything?” Dad asked, his eyes curious.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t even know who it’s from.”

"Go ahead, open it," Dad urged, his curiosity matching mine.

I carefully tore the paper away to reveal a small, ornate wooden box. It looked old, with intricate carvings etched into the surface. When I opened the lid, I found a single silver pendant inside—a crescent moon hanging from a delicate chain.

Mom’s face went pale when she saw it, her eyes widening in shock. She exchanged another quick glance with Dad, but this time, there was no hiding their concern.

"Where did this come from?" I asked, feeling a chill run down my spine.

Dad cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "I’m not sure, but it’s... probably nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" Mom shot him a sharp look before turning back to me. "Alana, I need you to be very careful with that. Don’t wear it until we know more about where it came from."

I frowned, staring down at the pendant. "Why? It’s just a necklace."

"Please," Mom said, her voice firmer now. "Promise me."

I nodded, too confused to argue. "Okay, I won’t wear it."

But as I closed the box and set it on the table, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life had just taken a very strange turn—and that my parents knew a lot more about it than they were letting on.

After dinner, I helped clear the table, the mysterious package still weighing on my mind. Mom and Dad tried to act normal, but their concern was palpable. I could tell they knew something I didn’t, and it was driving me crazy.

I trudged up to my room, exhausted but too keyed up to wind down. My phone buzzed on the bedside table as I walked in, and I glanced at it to see a notification from the school's social media page.

I picked up my phone and unlocked it, opening the post that had just gone live. The school's official page had shared a photo of me celebrating after the game, with a caption that read: Alana Mueller leads the team to a stunning victory! Great game, Alana! 🥇⚽

I swiped through the comments, which were filled with congratulatory messages from friends and classmates. My heart swelled with pride as I read through the praise and excitement.

Jenny had commented: Amazing game today! You were unstoppable. Can’t wait for our next match! 🎉

A few more messages praised my performance and my leadership on the field. The recognition was nice, but it also felt a little overwhelming. I wasn’t used to being in the spotlight, and the post-game high was starting to wear off, replaced by a nagging feeling of unease.

I set my phone down and changed into my pajamas, trying to push the thoughts of the mysterious package and the strange conversation with my parents out of my mind. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, the day’s events replaying in my head.

My phone buzzed again, and I picked it up to see a new message from Jenny: Hey, don’t let the victory go to your head! We’ve got a lot more games ahead. 😊

I smiled and quickly typed a reply: Thanks! Just trying to stay grounded. See you tomorrow.

After sending the message, I set my phone on the nightstand and turned off the light. I stared up at the ceiling, my mind still racing. The excitement of the game, the mysterious pendant, and the strange hints from my parents all swirled together in a jumble of thoughts.

Just as I was beginning to drift off, I heard a faint, almost imperceptible sound—a soft, rhythmic tapping, like a distant heartbeat. I sat up in bed, straining to hear. The house was quiet, except for the usual creaks and groans of an old building settling into the night.

I glanced at the pendant, which was now sitting on my dresser. Its silver surface seemed to gleam in the dim light of my room, casting faint shadows on the walls. The strange feeling I’d had earlier returned, more intense this time, as if the pendant was somehow connected to the tapping sound.

My heart pounded as I tried to rationalize it. Maybe it was just the house making noises or my imagination running wild. I lay back down, pulling the covers tighter around me. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the sounds of the quiet house and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on my wall.

Despite my efforts to relax, the tapping continued, and sleep seemed to evade me. The excitement of the game, the mysterious pendant, and my parents’ cryptic behavior all swirled together in a jumble of thoughts. I couldn’t help but feel that tomorrow might bring even more unexpected surprises.

With one last thought of the strange pendant and my parents’ secretive behavior, I finally drifted off to sleep, hoping that the new day would bring some clarity. The tapping faded into the background as exhaustion pulled me under, but the feeling that something significant was on the horizon lingered in my mind.