Monday, 8th January 2018

Jean's first day back wasn’t going according to plan.

Instead of the smooth arrival she’d envisioned, the kind that would allow her to mentally prepare for the day, she found herself in a full-blown sprint through the corridor like her life depended on it. Today was the first match of the year for the boys’ football team and Jean was late.

Not ‘cutting it close’ late.

More of a charging-down-the-corridor-like-a-fugitive late. 

As the newly appointed Girls’ Captain, she was under strict orders to be on the touchline to observe, but she was failing miserably. Not exactly a great start to her second term of captaincy.

Her worn out trainer squeaked against the linoleum floor, the echo bouncing off the lockers as she hurtled through the empty corridor. She muttered rushed apologies to no one in particular as she raced forward, half-expecting to crash into someone at any second.

As she whipped around a sharp corner, her worst fears materialised. 

She collided, full-force, with someone standing squarely in her path. A solid, unexpected wall of a person that sent a jolt of pain shooting up her shoulder.

“Ugh—sorry!” Jean gasped, stumbling back, bracing herself instinctively against the cool, unforgiving wall to regain her balance. Her breath hitched. “Didn’t see you. I was heading to orientation—rushing, clearly.”

The boy she’d crashed into blinked, a slightly dazed expression on his face, before a crooked grin tugged at his lips. He didn’t look annoyed. If anything, he looked amused.

“No harm done. I was just standing here, being lost and useless anyway,” he replied, his voice light, touched with humour.

Jean finally looked up from the floor and took him in properly. Tall, she noticed immediately. Broad-shouldered. Handsome in an irritatingly effortless way. He had the sort of carefree attitude that felt completely out of sync with the high-strung energy pulsing through the school. His copper hair seemed to ignite under the overhead light, a striking contrast to the muted tones of the Gothic Revival corridor. 

He had the look of someone who hadn't quite figured out the school’s labyrinthine layout.

A stranger in a familiar land.

“You’re new here?” she managed, still a little breathless from the crash.

“Guilty as charged.” His smile widened, softening the corners of his eyes. “Elliot. And you are?”

"I'm Jean." She paused, a flicker of curiosity piqued. "Where are you heading?"

​“The pitch. Supposedly. If I ever figure out which direction that is.” He gave a sheepish chuckle, brushing a hand through his hair.

​She raised a brow.

​“Well, that’s a coincidence. That’s exactly where I’m going.”

​“Then I’m in luck,” he said easily. “Mind showing me the way?”

​"Sure," Jean agreed, already moving in the direction of the sports fields. "Just try to keep up."

​"Lead the way, my lady," Elliot replied smoothly, falling into step beside her, his long strides easily matching hers.

​She shot him a side glance, one corner of her mouth lifting.

​“Don’t push it, mate.”

"So, you into sports then, Jean?" he inquired casually as they walked, his voice holding an easy conversational rhythm.

"Football," she stated, plain and simple.

“Woah. Me too,” Elliot grinned, his voice lighting up with genuine excitement.

Jean slowed just a fraction. 

​“That’s weird. Mr. Leo didn’t say anything about new sign-ups this term.”

"Maybe I like making dramatic entrances," Elliot offered with a playful shrug, his grin broadening. "Keeps life interesting, doesn't it? Anyways, what position are you, then? Midfielder, forward, defender?"

"Attacking Midfielder," Jean replied, her gaze still fixed on the path ahead.

“Well, well. Looks like we’ve got a fair bit in common.” His gaze lingered on her a second longer than necessary. “Maybe it’s in the stars, eh?”

Jean caught the glance. She didn’t return it, not directly.

She noticed that Elliot had the kind of presence that felt both out of place and impossible to ignore, like a spark thrown into a quiet room. His dark ginger hair, a mess of windswept waves, fell just past his eyebrows and curled slightly at the ends, always in motion, like it refused to settle. There was a subtle precision to how it was styled, neat enough to suggest effort, wild enough to remain untamed. A small silver hoop in his earlobe added a modern edge to his otherwise classic looks. 

And those baby-blue eyes of his? They held mischief and the kind of disarming grace that could catch people off guard. 

Jean included, apparently.

Her attention finally shifted as the familiar sight of ten grass pitches across its sprawling school grounds came into view, bustling with the energetic chaos of pre-match warm-ups.

​"Here we are," she announced, stopping abruptly at the edge of the turf, the distant shouts of players already reaching them.

​"Cheers for the help," Elliot said, his eyes scanning the bustling activity on the pitch. "I've got a feeling this isn't the last time we'll meet."

​A small, knowing smile played on Jean's lips, a subtle curve that acknowledged the strange twist of fate that had brought them together.

​"You never know," she replied, her gaze meeting his. "This school's got a thing for surprises.”