The phantom sensation of a kiss lingered on my lips, a ghostly reminder of a lie I had swallowed whole just forty-eight hours ago.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the sunrise bleeding through the curtains. My mind drifted back to that night at the arcade bar—the "celebration" for our decision to transfer. The lights had been dim, the air thick with the scent of synthetic strawberry vape smoke and cheap beer. Lena had leaned in, her eyes reflecting the neon pink of the sign above us.
She had kissed me. It wasn't deep, but it was deliberate.
"Lena, what are we now?" I had asked, my heart hammering against my ribs like a striker in the 90th minute.
"Silly," she had whispered, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. "What else could we be?"
At the time, I thought it was a promise. Now, I knew it was a sedative. It was just enough sugar to make the poison go down, a tactical foul to stop me from asking questions while she maneuvered me out of her life to make room for Michael.
I stood up and walked to the mirror. The boy staring back looked tired, but his eyes were hard.
"Lena was right about one thing," I muttered to my reflection. "We don't match."
She was the illegitimate daughter of the Shaw family, desperate to secure her own happiness by playing games. I was the heir to the Chase legacy, and more importantly, I was a footballer. On the pitch, you don't lie. You run, you sweat, you bleed, and the scoreboard tells the truth.
I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in weeks.
"Harry?" My mother's voice was sharp, surprised. It was early. "Is everything alright?"
"I'm not going to Haleswood," I said, my voice steady. "I want to take the offer for the Valencia Academy in Spain."
Silence stretched on the line for a heartbeat, followed by a sudden, audible exhale of relief. "Thank God. I thought you were going to throw your life away for that girl. When do you want to leave?"
"As soon as the paperwork is processed. And Mom? I'm going alone."
"Good," she said, her tone business-like but pleased. "I'll have the jet ready. The academy scouts have been asking about you for months. Don't make them wait."
I hung up. The wind chimes by the window sang a soft melody. I closed my eyes, and for a split second, the image of Lena faded. In the darkness of my mind, a different silhouette appeared. A woman who looked somewhat like Lena, but she carried herself with grace rather than calculation. She smiled at me—a vision of a future I hadn't met yet, but suddenly felt destined for.
"Harry, sooner or later you were going to realize your worth."
I opened my eyes. The ghost was gone. The future was waiting.
I sat at my desk and filled out the final details on the Valencia application. Just as I capped my pen, the sound of the front door unlocking beeped through the house.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Click.
My stomach twisted. There was only one person besides me who knew the code.
I walked out of my bedroom to the top of the stairs. Lena was standing in the foyer, looking as radiant as ever in a oversized beige sweater. But she wasn't alone.
Standing behind her, looking around my living room like a frightened rabbit, was Michael.
"Harry!" Lena called out, her voice syrupy sweet. "You haven't come to school or answered my texts. I was worried."
I descended the stairs slowly, my hand sliding down the railing. "I wasn't feeling well."
"See? I told you he was fine," Lena said, turning to Michael. She grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
My eyes narrowed. Michael looked… pathetic. He was wearing ill-fitting jeans and a hoodie that looked suspiciously expensive—probably a gift from Lena. He saw me looking and flinched, shrinking behind Lena's shoulder.
"Harry, you're scaring him," Lena scolded, stepping between us.
"I didn't say a word," I replied, my voice flat. "And I don't remember inviting guests."
"Michael isn't a guest. He's... well, he was worried about you too," Lena lied effortlessly.
Michael peeked out, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry, Harry. I know you don't like me. I know you think I'm beneath you because my family is poor..."
He paused for effect, sniffing loudly. "But I showered before coming here. I made sure my shoes were clean. I wouldn't dirty your expensive floors."
I stared at him. It was a performance. A flop. In football, if a player dives like that without being touched, they get a yellow card. Here, Michael was looking for a penalty kick.
"Stop acting," I said coldly. "I don't care about your money, Michael. I care that you're in my house uninvited."
Lena's expression darkened. The sweet facade cracked. "Harry! That is enough. Michael is sensitive. He's had a hard life, not like you, born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You treating him like this really disappoints me."
"I'm fine, Lena," Michael whispered, tugging on her sleeve. "Don't fight with him. He's your childhood friend. I can't compare to that... I should just go."
"What nonsense," Lena snapped, turning to cup Michael's face. "You are unique, Michael. Harry is just... being difficult."
She turned back to me, her eyes cold. There was no love there. There was only annoyance that her 'lapdog' was barking.
"Michael isn't feeling well because of your attitude," she declared. "I'm taking him home. You need to reflect on your behavior, Harry. Honestly, you're becoming impossible to be around."
She moved to the door, opening it for Michael. Before she stepped out, she looked back over her shoulder. "Don't forget to get the Haleswood transfer form stamped tomorrow. I don't want to delay our transfer just because you're throwing a tantrum."
The door clicked shut.
I stood in the silence of the empty hallway.
Reflect on my behavior?
I let out a short, dry laugh. I had reflected. I had looked at the replay, and I saw clearly now that I had been playing for the wrong team.
I walked to the smart-lock panel on the wall.
My fingers hovered over the keypad. The old code was Lena's birthday.
I pressed the Reset button.
I punched in a new code: 0712. My birthday.
The lock chirped—a mechanical sound of finality.
I wasn't just locking them out of my house. I was locking them out of my head. I walked back to my room, grabbed my gym bag, and threw in my cleats. The transfer form for Haleswood sat on the desk.
I picked it up, crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it into the trash.
Tomorrow, I would go to school. Not to beg for forgiveness, and not to transfer with her.
I was going to get my exit visa.