Chapter 4 — Gym Class Rivalry

Jorge

The gym reeked of floor polish, sweat, and teenage ego—a concoction so potent it could probably peel paint. The faint bounce of basketballs echoed from the far corner while Coach Wyatt hollered at someone about their lazy footwork. I leaned against the bleachers, arms crossed, trying not to inhale too deeply. Somewhere in the corner of my mind, I could still hear Braden’s voice from this morning, reminding me to “stay sharp” like I had some big reputation to uphold even in gym class.