ELOISE
The submission confirmation for the university scholarship portal had flashed onto my screen at exactly 10:59 PM the night before, a digital green checkmark that felt less like an academic triumph and more like a temporary stay of execution. I had collapsed into bed with my fingers still aching from the frantic, late-night typing, but my sleep hadn't been peaceful. My dreams were a chaotic blur of dark lab tables, the smell of cedarwood, and the fierce, protective weight of Mike Weller’s bruised hands locking into my hair.
But by 5:00 PM the next day, the quiet anxiety of my bedroom was a distant memory.
The Oakridge High gymnasium was a roaring, suffocating cavern of sound. It was the biggest game of the regular season, a high-stakes showcase crawling with collegiate scouts,
