“I missed a class,” I say to the figure on my screen. “No. “ My head shakes. “Classes. I missed classes.” Maria squeals. I plug my fingers into my ears. “Yasss. My baby girl is growing.”Only Maria applauds bad behaviour. I push my laptop forward and prop my elbows on the table. A small smile lifts the corners of my lips at the memory of Tuesday’s outing. My Benny. We should do more of it.“It was really nice, Maria,” I tell her. The talk, the moment of peaceful silence. His presence. Everything was perfect. Maria’s head bobs in agreement and I tuck my hands under my chin. “I think I’ll do it again.” Her screen goes black for a nanosecond, the ceiling of her room comes into view, then her face. Her jaw drops like she’s hyperventilating. She’s such a drama queen. Sure, I would never do something like that on a normal day but yeah, I did it. And

The boys are arguing about their football team. Again. It started as we were about to enter the cafeteria. Ben’s team must have lost because he’s the most aggravated. We have our trays in front of us but they are still arguing. The girls look bored as hell, myself included. Liam’s girlfriend yawns for the third time.“You okay, babe?” Liam asks her. “Yeah.” Lies. We are bored. We keep sharing glances each time the boys start on about a player from their team. I’m starting to think joining Ben at his table is a horrible idea. We always eat at my table. Since Maria is gone, it’s just us. I like it. But I don’t want to be the girlfriend who keeps her boyfriend from his friends. Ben pecks me. “You are not eating.” A hand cups my face, my cheeks grow warm as his friends stare. I shift on his lap, his free hand slips to my waist. He smirks, fully aware of his effect on me.

We win the first round. The screams from the crowd almost destroy my eardrums as they cheer us on. My heart pounds against my rib cage, Coach waves his hands in front of my face and I slowly snap out of my trance. Sweat stings my eyes, my chest rises and falls in tempo with my breathing. I accept the towel Coach offers me to wipe my face as best as I can under the mask. Ben flashes me a grin. We both fought but he doesn’t look half as disoriented as I do. Not fair. He gives my shoulder a firm squeeze when the referee returns to the middle of the ring. “If you win this round, then it’s over,” Coach screams over the noise. “Can you do that?” I drag in a shaky breath. Everything fades to the background, it’s only Coach and Ben that matters. I nod. If we win this round, we will qualify for the next match. If we don’t, I can’t say for sure that my body can last another fight with the

Mum is calling again. I ignore her call and the new text that pops in and redial Ben’s number for the umpteenth time. Only now, it doesn’t go to voicemail, instead, it’s switched off.  My heart is heavy as I pull out of his street. His bike is out front so I know he’s at home. I was hoping we could talk. Are we breaking up? If he’s mad at me for this, he will hate me when he finds out I picked NYU and other schools outside San Francisco. In a few months, I will know my fate and I didn’t tell him to avoid hurting his feelings.  But it doesn’t matter now.  Tears trail down my cheeks as I resume the drive home. He’s not a good boyfriend. A good boyfriend would have tried to hear me out. Does he think I want to move away? He just left me. He won’t pick my calls. He won’t even let me see him. It’s unfair. I want to be with him too and he is acting like this. The lights in our parlour are on. Mum is most likely making finishing touche

Ben’s mum is nice. Really nice and sweet. I want to be on Ben’s side but my little interaction with her makes it hard to believe she and Josef are the bad guys in Ben’s story. I steal another peek at Ben, he pushes his meal around and finally takes a bite. His mum stares at him for a full second, then smiles. “How’s football?” Maddie, his mum, asks Ben. Josef beams at her question, maybe he also likes football. Football was Ben’s first love. I think she’s trying to lighten the mood but it is the wrong question. Ben stopped playing last session after his knee injury. He found fighting and has not turned back to football. Ben’s fork stops moving on his plate and a wave of anger rolls off him. “It’s fine,” I reply on his behalf. He clenches his fist on the table and I wrap my hand around his to calm him. “He’s taking a break from it.”  “Ah.” Her mouth closes. I stare at my plate and count the seconds until the awkwardness passes. Sadly, it doesn’t b