chaptet 7
1067 Words
Chapter 7
The meeting ended later than Sandra expected.
By the time she stepped outside, the campus had softened into evening—voices distant, paths less crowded, the sky streaked with fading gold. She glanced around instinctively, half-expecting to see Harvey waiting.
He wasn’t.
Instead, the sharp, rhythmic thock of a tennis ball echoed from the courts.
Sandra slowed.
The main courts were nearly empty now, most students already heading toward dinner. At the far end, Tim stood alone, gathering stray balls into a basket, his movements efficient and practiced. He wore a loose T-shirt, sleeves pushed up, hair damp with sweat. There was something stripped-down about him without the usual crowd—less guarded, more real.
She hesitated, then walked closer.
“Need help?” she asked.
Tim looked up, clearly surprised. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he nodded once. “If you want.”
They worked in silence at first, moving across the court, bending to collect balls. The quiet felt different from the charged silences she was used to—less tense, almost companionable.
“You stayed late,” Tim said finally.
“Committee meeting,” Sandra replied. “Emily runs a tight ship.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s one way to put it.”
When the basket was full, Tim straightened and rested his racket against the net. He studied her—not coldly this time, but with open curiosity.
“You never asked for a rematch,” he said.
Sandra raised a brow. “Maybe I was being merciful.”
That earned a real reaction.
He laughed.
Not the short, controlled exhale she’d seen before—but a full, unguarded laugh that caught him by surprise as much as it did her. It softened his entire face.
“I don’t want you crying after I beat you,” she added, teasing now.
Tim shook his head, still smiling. “You’re confident.”
“I’m honest.”
He considered her for a moment, then picked up his racket. “One game. No audience.”
Sandra’s pulse quickened—but she nodded. “Fine.”
They took their positions.
Without spectators, the game felt different. No pressure. No performance. Just instinct and movement. Sandra played with quiet precision, her body remembering patterns she didn’t have to think about. Tim adjusted quickly, pushing her harder this time—but still, she stayed a step ahead.
When the final point landed cleanly past him, the silence afterward felt louder than applause.
Tim stared at the spot where the ball had bounced. Then he laughed again, breathless. “Okay. That wasn’t luck.”
Sandra wiped her brow, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Told you.”
He walked closer, studying her like a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet. “You don’t play like someone who learned recently. Your footwork—your timing—it’s trained.”
She stiffened slightly. “I just pick things up fast.”
“That’s not an answer,” he said—not accusing, just curious.
She met his gaze, guarded now. “It’s the only one you’re getting.”
For a moment, it seemed like he might push. Instead, he nodded slowly.
“Fair enough.”
They stood there as the light faded, the court empty, the world narrowed to just the two of them.
“I didn’t think you’d be like this,” Tim said quietly.
“Like what?”
“Like someone who surprises people without trying.”
Sandra looked away. “I’m not trying to surprise anyone.”
He watched her for a long second. “That’s what makes it interesting.”
As she left the court, she felt it again—that subtle shift. Not attraction. Not trust.
Recognition.
And behind her, Tim remained standing on the empty court, watching her go—not with distance this time, but with something newly awakened.
Curiosity.
Morning sunlight stretched across the classroom, turning the desks into golden islands among scattered notebooks. Sandra placed her books down, inhaling slowly, preparing for the group project ahead.
Harvey arrived moments later with his thermos.
“Morning,” he said warmly. “Ready for this?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Sandra replied softly.
At the far end of the table, Emily leaned close to Tim—too close. She whispered something against his shoulder, and he tilted his head just enough to listen, smirking slightly.
A small spark of irritation flickered in Sandra’s chest.
Not again.
She forced her eyes onto her notebook, tapping her pen lightly. Her expression remained perfectly neutral—no one would guess the flames under her calm surface.
Except Tim.
He looked at her deliberately, meeting her gaze with a slow, unreadable expression that lingered a moment too long. Then he leaned even closer to Emily. She pretended not to notice, but her stomach knotted.
He’s doing it on purpose.
Harvey leaned closer, oblivious to the silent tension crackling across the table.
“Let’s outline the sections,” he said quietly. “Then we can split the work.”
Sandra nodded, trying to focus, even as Emily giggled softly at something Tim said. Every small brush of Emily’s hand against his arm sent another tiny pulse of irritation through her.
Joan leaned toward Sandra. “You’re doing great,” she whispered. “Keep your head down. Don’t let them get to you.”
Sandra gave the smallest smile. Joan understood more than she let on.
Across the table, Emily leaned closer to Tim again, whispering. He responded with exaggerated interest, fingers brushing the edge of her notebook. Sandra kept her pen steady, her breathing calm.
Inside, her annoyance simmered.
At lunch, Sandra walked beside Harvey, the courtyard warm and bustling around them. Joan, Jess, and Eric followed behind, laughing about something Eric had said.
Tim and Emily walked at a distance. Emily laughed too loudly. She brushed Tim’s arm again. Sandra swallowed her irritation.
Background noise, she reminded herself. Don’t give them the satisfaction.
Harvey glanced at her with a soft smile. “You’re doing fine.”
And she was—on the outside.
Inside, her fire burned quietly, controlled and focused.
She might not know what awaited her at the dance, but she was certain of one thing:
She could withstand North Rise Academy, even when people purposely tried to shake her.
And she wasn’t backing down.
- Writer
