My seven o’clock alarm startled me awake the following Monday morning. I sat up, sheets tangled at the foot of my bed. Summertime heat was already setting in through the window. Rolling out of bed with a low groan, I padded bare foot across my room to shower.

The kitchen was empty and the house quiet when I bounded downstairs twenty minutes later. This wasn’t a surprise. Mum’s conference meetings ran early at the beginning of each week and Dad was barely home enough to notice his absence. Left in their wake were polished floors and marble countertops like a perfect presentation of aristocracy.

My mother, though she didn’t work the long hours her husband did, still managed to compensate for the family time lost to hours of business meetings and work calls. She’d often leave a small breakfast on the counter for me or send a text to say good morning before I got to school. I’d trade it for a heartbeat if it meant she could make it to one of my games but she was trying and I appreciated the effort. She gave more than my dad did.  

Our lives weren’t always like this. My dad’s career was only just getting off the ground when I was born so Mum took a year off to stay home with me. We lived in a house smaller than this in a far less glamorous neighbourhood.

 I was four years old when Dad’s company hit the big time. Bernhardt soon replaced Ikea, Pollock and Kandinsky began to adorn the walls and we were packing everything up to live in a house bigger than a child’s imagination had the right to be.

Mum went back to work when I began school but did her best to be involved with my passions. My father had never particularly been a parental figure, believing that throwing money at my problems was as good as any resolve.

By the time high school rolled around I was used to saying goodbye to him more than hello. He was busy working and my time was spent in class and out on the soccer pitch. It was who we were, and his presence was a cold comfort to me now.

The refrigerator hummed quietly as I peered briefly into the empty kitchen. I sighed and slung my backpack over my shoulder, hunger non-existent this morning. I made my way out to my car and began the short drive to Ridgemount Academy.

Ridgemount was situated on the opposite side of town from Northshore. My days were a lot more tolerable with the knowledge that I wouldn’t have to see Connor.

The sexual relationship between us had no influence on our day-to-day affairs. We still avoided each other any time we weren’t on the field or in the bedroom. Our town was small so we had inevitable sidewalk encounters now and then but tended to avoid voluntary contact beyond that.

Even if other people found our relationship strange, it worked for us. Why break something that isn’t broken to begin with?

Early morning traffic turned a ten minute drive into twenty. My car rolled through the iron gates emblazoned with the Ridgemount Academy crest. Students made their way inside the large brown-stone building as I drove through the senior parking lot, coming to a stop in my usual space at the front.

The marble lobby was crammed with students bustling up and down the grand staircase to get to their lockers or the bathroom before first period started. Sliding easily into the pack, I watched in amusement as people began to clear a path for me.

Being popular in high school meant I was used to receiving plenty of attention from everyone. Today was no different. Greetings too friendly for this hour of the morning were thrown my way as I headed to my locker, acknowledging each with a simple nod and the occasional smirk.

Quinton was leaning against my locker when I arrived, looking wide awake with his brown curls gelled in a neat arrangement atop his head.

“Quinton,” I greeted when I reached him.

He smiled. “Dakota.”

“Where’s Keegan?” I asked, beginning to load notebooks into my backpack ready for first and second period.

My friend chuckled, dark glasses sliding down his nose with the movement. He pushed them back up, “Grandma probably won’t be here until the second bell.”

“Nice to know what you guys really think of me.”

A barely-awake Keegan sidled up beside me. He leaned heavily against the row of lockers, yawning every few moments and rubbing his bleary eyes  

Quinton chuckled, "Probably won't be here until the second bell."

I laughed at his antics. "Long night?"

Exhaustion tainted his smile. “Finally passed the Final Boss Level. Now I just have to wait until the sequel comes out next month! I pre-ordered it last night!”

I chuckled at Keegan's love for video games. Personally, I’d never been able to get into them but it was amusing to watch Keegan yell at a screen for hours and drone on about some new kind of animation, especially when the result is pulling an all-nighter just for one more humiliating defeat.

The bell rung overhead a moment later and the three of us began to walk to class together. We split ways when I entered my English classroom and my friends headed to their shared History class.

Ridgemount was an upper class school meant for the highly prosperous. Getting in was a cut-throat process but remaining a member was the real challenge. Students had to maintain a grade scale of at least seventy-five for every class and that pressure grew even worse if you were part of a club or sport team.

Ridgemount athletes were expected to not only maintain a high academic record but attend every scheduled practice and train outside school hours. There was a gym toward the back of campus that players were also expected to make use of between classes.

A brief glance inside the entryway of the building told you everything you needed to know about Ridgemount Academy. The walls were lined in dark mahogany panelling and floors checkered in black and white marble.

There were no tacky student-made posters with glitter glue and magic markers hanging from the ceiling. No ill-considered fluorescent lighting reflecting off rows of metal lockers. Ridgemount prided itself in presentation – if the black and red championship banners strung from the rafters and trophy case gleaming at the end of the hallway were any indication.

Interior design wasn’t the only way the school blew its own trumpet. A strict dress code had been implemented back in the 1860s that carried through to the twenty-first century: crisp, black blazers and ironed slacks with polished dress shoes. A red tie and the school crest on blazer pockets were the only splash of colour in the uniformed Ridgemount student’s conformity.

My English classroom was filled with individual desks made from cherry wood. I took a seat toward the back of the room. Our teacher hadn’t yet arrived so I spent a few minutes revising my notes from last lesson. We were currently studying A Tale of Two Cities and I had a good feeling our lesson on thematic conventions would make an appearance in the final exam.

My passion for literature was a secret I harboured like a dragon does gold. Although my parents had always wanted to afford me the opportunity of attending a private school with an advanced curriculum, I came into classical literature on my own. Perhaps it was my mother’s abundant collection that I would read from when she and Dad weren’t home that cultivated my interest.

A Tale of Two Cities was one of my favourites. The relationships between the characters intrigued me and their personalities were fun to analyse. Literature had been my favourite class since I elected to take it from third year onwards, not that I let it show. That information about me wasn’t worth knowing above all else.

"You're looking pretty invested in those notes, Dakota. Did someone have a late night? Didn't have time for homework?" Megan, an attractive brunette who sat opposite me, teased. She then frowned, "How can you even like that book? It's so stupid."

I tossed the book carelessly on top of my notes. "I don't. I just don't want to fail the essay. Can't lose those good grades, you know."

Megan shrugged and turned away. "If you say so."

I barely resisted the urge to eyeroll. Megan was hot but her judgemental side made me lose interest. She was the perfect example of why I didn’t reveal personal information about myself.

My image had been years in the making and was at its peak right now. I was the senior Captain of Ridgemount’s soccer team, academically successful and had the greatest rival story with the Captain of another school. Life was good, and I didn’t want to tarnish my reputation by coming across as a nerd. Even if that was somewhat the truth.

Before discovering new hobbies, I’d spent a great deal of time as a kid binging superhero comics and collecting action figures. I was in regular attendance at the historical museum two town over – likely due to my charitable upbringing – and my comfort place was the town library where the hours seemed to blur into days.

A lot of my passion for comic books had faded out when I took up soccer but I still kept a small stack of them hidden in a box under my bed. Many of them were in mint condition and valuable enough to not throw away over discarded loyalties.

They were some of my most prized possessions. My dad didn’t like that I wasted my time on, in his words, ‘childish entertainment with no real meaning’, but I’d been a stubborn child.

I was pulled from my thoughts when the teacher came in and class began. Time crept by slowly with me rolling my eyes every time someone got a question wrong. If people bothered to read the book, they would understand why Doctor Manette was in prison.

Handing my completed summary sheet to the teacher when the bell rung, I walked out of class and continued with my day.

When the final bell rung at the end of the day, Quinton, Keegan and I made our way down to the school's soccer field for after-school practice. We changed quickly in the locker room and headed out onto the field.

I greeted the team with my Captain-like enthusiasm and assigned stretches and warmups until Coach arrived. When he did, he instructed us to take a seat on the benches. I remained by Coach’s side, eyes on the clipboard in his hand.

"Alright team," he started, "first of all, congratulations on your win against Northshore last week. A very successful playoff in my opinion. You should be proud.”

The guys cheered. I cocked a smile.

"That being said," Coach continued. "One win isn't enough to guarantee us the season. We need to work hard and play hard. Starting now, training from four to six p.m. four times a week. No excuses and no complaints. You wanted to be on this team, now you need to put in the effort.” He met my side eye. “For the seniors, this is your last chance for a season victory.”

After running through a number of practice regulations, Coach retired his clipboard and turned to me. "Dakota, begin our drills?"

Nodding, I took over the practice and began with some basic drills. After warmups we moved forward with some of the new strategies Coach and I had discussed to try implementing this season.

The rest of our practice consisted of practicing passes, kicks and running drills as well as training assessment for each player’s physical stats. We could only win games when we were at our peak and united.

Regardless of the fact that we weren’t professional athletes, each season was treated as though it were a world championship. The mental preparation mattered as much as the physical and we were willing to do whatever it took to get us to that level. That meant working hard and keeping our bodies sharp if Ridgemount was going to cop another successful championship this season.

By the end of practice, I was hot and sweat clung to me unattractively. When Coach gave the okay, I made a beeline for the showers. The feel of clean clothes on my body after a long and hard practice was always comforting.

Keegan didn’t have his license yet so it was routine for me to drop him home after practice. Quinton went his own way in his car.

"Thanks man." Keegan said as he climbed out of the car. "See you tomorrow."

I waved to him and took off down the street, crawling toward my neighbourhood at a steady pace. School traffic was long gone by this time.

My parents still weren’t home when I arrived so I ate dinner by myself. Eating in my bedroom or in front of the TV never appealed to me so I sat at the kitchen island with a bowl of mushroom linguine in truffle sauce – courtesy of a local restaurant in the neighbourhood. Plus, Mum would kill me if I spilled on her perfect white furnishings.

Bored after eating dinner and completing my homework, I desperately tried to find things to entertain myself with. My parents weren't the kind of parents who never saw their child, but they did like to buy me things to keep me entertained when they weren't around. Unfortunately for them, it stopped working around the time I turned twelve.

Giving up on my crime documentary, I did the one thing I had left to try. I texted Connor.