Looking at the target ahead of me, I took a deep breath in. I made a series of small adjustments to my compound bow. When I was satisfied, I relaxed my fingers and slowly slid them off the string.

The arrow flew through the air in a straight line before landing at its target.

“Damn,” I said. “I suck.”

The arrow just missed the bullseye, landing on the line between the second and third ring. However, it was clearly on the third one, bringing the points I got from that shot to nine instead of ten.

“You’re being too hard on yourself. A nine is still good,” Mr. Ramsay said. “Especially for being outdoors, taking only ten seconds, not using a release grip, and being 90 yards away.”

The archery club was looking at the shots in awe. They mostly hit the red and blue areas, seldom hitting the yellow. In contrast, most of mine were close to the bulls-eye and staying in the yellow.

“Last shot,” I said as I grabbed the last arrow out of the quiver. Putting it into the bow, I began to set up the shot.

Using my cheek as an anchorpoint, I felt the wind around me. It was light and wouldn’t affect the arrow too much. I kept my eye on the crosshair in the center of the target as I pictured the path of the arrow. My initial guess was almost spot on, requiring very little adjustments. Only a few millimeters.

I took a deep breath as I got ready for the release. At first, my muscles tensed, but they slowly began to relax. Paradoxically, the trick isn’t to release the string but to no longer be holding it. My fingers gracefully began to release pressure before the string shot forward and my fingers moved out of the way.

The arrow streaked through the air, traveling at a great speed towards its target. As it began to arch down, it made contact, hitting in between the first and second ring, worth ten points. But something odd was that the first arrow seemed different.

“Did the end get cut off?” I asked as I squinted my eyes.

“Holy shit,” one of the archery members said. “You almost robin hooded it!”

“Huh, I did,” I said with a small chuckle. “I need to get scouted.”

“Okay, I think it’s safe to say that Zack has earned his spot on the team,” Mr. Ramsay said. “Now we just need two other people. Any volunteers?”

They all looked at each other nervously. No one raised their hand up. The other school we’d play against is a private school. However, their archery team is nationally ranked, in the top ten. Especially this year, they’d reach an all time high. Needless to say, no one was looking forward to losing in front of the whole school.

“In my personal opinion,” I began. “I think that Logan and Jack are the best candidates.”

“Us?” Jack questioned. “We’re not the best shots.”

“That, I’m not too concerned about,” I commented. “It’s just that you two have the best … intuition. You know that you should adjust, but not how.” I turned over to Mr. Ramsay. “Is that fine?”

“I’ll be honest and say that I think you know more about this than me, so it's up to you.”

I nodded my head.

“What about me?” another teammate asked. “I have one of the best shots.”

“You …” I thought about the words to best describe how I felt. “-have a hidden talent. Keep it hidden.”

“What?! I hit yellows and reds!”

“Like 4/10 times. In the other six you completely miss the target.”

“If you average it out, it’s higher!” he complained. So now someone volunteers to be on the team.

“You know what? Logan, grab a bow.”

He reached for my bow, only for me to pull it away. “Last I checked, you weren’t a leftie.”

“Oh, right,” he grumbled. I gave a small laugh at the pun.

He looked around and spotted the bows a few yards in front of us. He jogged to the table and gazed over the selection. He lifted a bunch and pulled the string, finding the one that felt best to him. When he did, he took it and a pair of arrows and headed back, getting into a shooting position. His feet were narrow, eyes were focused on the target while pulling back on the release grip.

“First off, your stance is way too close.” I put my feet in between his and lightly kicked his ankle until it had proper spacing. “Should be about a shoulder length apart.”

“You’re also leaning too much to your right. You want your toes pointed to the target and your weight evenly distributed. Picture a straight line running from your toes to the target.”

“Mhm,” he sounded out as he made the adjustments.

“You're also holding on too tightly. It should be steady, but not tight. It should feel like an extension of your arm. When you think about moving left, you subconsciously move it.”

At first, he loosened and the bow began to tilt. He immediately applied more pressure and continued to gradually decrease the pressure until it remained stable. He moved the bow from side to side, practicing his control, before realigning it to the target and making smaller movements.

“Now notch the arrow and draw back,” I ordered. He followed my instructions and began to enter a state of complete focus. I saw his eyes begin to zero in on the target, not showing any signs of wanting to look away.

“Breathe in and out,” I said in a silky smooth voice. “Feel the wind lightly brushing against your arm. Picture it affecting the path of the arrow, moving it ever so slightly towards the right. The path, always visible and changing as you move your arm just a few millimeters.”

“Shoot only when you’re confident,” I said. “And as you do, slowly decrease the pressure instead of moving it out of the way. Feel your fingers relaxing as the string begins to restore back to its natural position.”

He took around fifteen seconds, making adjustments and trying to get the best shot. With a loud deep breath, he released the arrow.

The arrow sailed through the air, following one of the possible paths that I’d visualized. With a satisfying thud resonating through the field, it landed on the target.

“Awh!” he exclaimed in pain as he shook his hand. The string had hit his fingers.

“A nine,” I said, squinting my eyes to see. “That’s a big improvement. Go three more shots.”

He nodded his head and notched another arrow. Following my advice, he hit two red 7s and just a little off yellow 9.

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“I believe it averages out to be higher now,” I cheekily said.

“Uh, Mr. Ramsay, no offense but why isn’t he our coach?”

“Because he has to be nice to you. I don’t.”

“That pretty much explains it,” he said with a laugh. “I guess that settles the competition issue. And that’ll be all for today’s meeting. Go enjoy the rest of your free period.”

“O captain, my captain. Abandoning ship for an early dismissal?”

“We can sit here for another ten minutes if you want.”

“No!” the whole team exclaimed at once while covering my mouth. I nodded my head.

“Well, good day then.” He gave a wave before walking off.

While I took off my gloves and packed up my bow, I was swarmed by the team. Everyone was asking questions on what they could do to improve.

This is exactly the problem with letting everyone know you’re the smartest one in the room. They’ll always ask you to help them. Even worse when you’re with experts.

Putting my bow in my case, I closed it and put it into my backpack. The extra weight was really noticeable as I felt a solid inch come off my height.

I just slowly made my way away from the archery range and towards the benches near the cafeteria on the other side of the school. I did feel a little nervous. The big case sticking out of my backpack oddly resembled that of a gun, and I got a lot of weird looks.

Turning the corner, a smile appeared when I saw Blake. He was with Jocelyn and Leah.

“Why do you look like a school shooter?” Blake asked as soon as he saw my backpack.

“Shut up. I’ve had to deal with weird looks and awkward explanations my entire walk here.”

“Hi Zack,” Jocelyn greeted quietly.

“Hey Jocelyn,” I responded. “What’s good?”

“So you know how the dance is today?” she asked in somewhat of a mumble. “Well, my dad saw the emojis on your contact name when you texted, and-”

“You put emojis on my contact name?” I repeated while rubbing your head. “And your dad saw? What emoji did you exactly use?”

“Three hearts,” Leah said with a snicker.

“Oh my god,” I exclaimed. “There is no way this is going to have a good ending.”

“And he wants to meet you because apparently I never tell him anything about you,” she said, adding the cherry on top.

An odd silence hung in the air. It was evident that they had discussed this earlier, and no doubt were already laughing at my misfortune.

Blake took his phone out and tapped around for a few seconds. My phone suddenly buzzed aftwards. Pulling it out, I looked at the message I just received.

Remember when you said you wanted to get close? I guess it worked a bit too well.

(˙ ͜つ˙ )╭∩╮

Hitting send, I put it back. “Isn’t it tonight? When does he exactly plan on meeting me?”

“Ideally before we walk in,” she said. “Otherwise he’s going to wait outside.”

“Of course he is, cops have nothing better to do than surveilling people.”

“Wait,” she began. “How do you know he’s a police officer?”

“Uh,” I said. Fuck! I slipped up. But I couldn’t show it. My heart began to race, but I tried my best to limit my body language. I focused on controlling my voice, not allowing any fluctuations.

“It fits the whole ‘law is sacred’ mentality you have,” I said casually and playfully. Next comes humor. “Either that or your parents are internationally wanted criminals that you hate, but you talking to your dad negates that possibility.”

“Huh, lucky guess,” she mumbled, her voice sounding somewhat suspicious. “What about your parents? Do they know?”

“No,” I responded immediately. “They don’t,” I said somewhat grimly.

“Well, are you going to tell them?”

“They’re away indefinitely,” Blake said, responding for me.

“Lucky. You don’t have to deal with overprotective and controlling parents,” Leah commented. My smile dropped. I know that she didn’t know the circumstances, but it still didn’t stop the hurt.

“I’ll meet at your house if that’s fine with you.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” she said. “But can we go through a practice round so that you at least have an idea of what to say.”

I nodded my head.

“I’ll be the dad!” Leah called out with great enthusiasm. We all gave her a questioning look.

“You volunteered a bit too fast.”

“So?” she asked. “No offense to Blake, but he’s not exactly father material.”

“Hey!” he complained. “I’ll have you know I’ve babysitted kids before.”

“For like a few hours, not 18 years.”

“She got you there,” I said. I saw Blake’s arm move back as he swung for a punch. But guess what Blake. I was ready this time. I actually dodged!

However, that didn’t stop him from kicking me. But hey, you can’t win them all.

“You gonna keep trying to touch him or are we going to start?” Leah asked.

“Your eagerness is slightly concerning,” I told her.

“I’m just trying to help the two of you out,” she replied. “Now greet me.”

I coughed dramatically to clear my throat and stuck my hand out. Blake and Jocelyn took a seat and watched with fascination like they were engrossed in a film. “I’m Zack Zephyr. It’s a pleasure to meet you sir. She’s said a lot of things about you.”

“Err,” Leah said. “Don’t kiss his ass. He doesn’t like it.”

“Wha? Who doesn’t like their ego getting stroked?”

“Apparently him. Trust me, I tried and got a lecture.”

I made a mental note of that. There’s only so much you can learn about a person by reading about them. I thought he was like every other law enforcement officer in terms of ego, but it seems he’s a bit better than them. Or at least, he wants it to be genuine.

“Try again.”

“Hi mister, I’m Zack Zephyr. Nice to meet you,” I said casually.

“Nice to meet you Zack. Would you like to go inside?”

“Yes, thank you for offering.”

“Alright, that’s it,” Leah said.

“What? What do you mean that’s it? It was only three lines!”

“Yeah, and I don't know what he’s going to talk about after that. And I don’t want to give any batshit advice.”

“You are so helpful,” I deadpanned. “Use your imagination. Like how did you two meet or something. Get into character!”

“Fine, but if your rehearsed responses don’t go down well, don’t blame me.”

“Too bad, I will,” I cheekily responded. As she opened her mouth, I got my words in quick. “Hi mister, I’m Zack Zephyr. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Zack, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said while shaking my hand.

----------------------------------------

“Tie or cravat?” I presented the two options in front of Blake while putting it over my collar.

“He’s not going to take the cravat well,” Blake said as he returned back to buttoning his suit. It was pitch black, even his shirt. Mine was more flamboyant; a two-button suit that was a lighter shade of green.

I pointed to him. “That is a great point. I think I’m gonna meet in the middle and go with a bowtie.”

Blake raised his eyebrow. “Well it’s better than the cravat, I’ll give you that.”

Humming a tune, I tied it around my neck and adjusted it until it was perfectly aligned. After, I put my phone into one of my suit pockets and wallet.

Turning, I pressed a code and went into the basement of the jewelry store. The hallway lit up as my massive collection of playing cards were on the left side. On the right were jewels and gems that meant a lot to Blake. Our two collections.

To give it a more dramatic flair, my cards were on watch winders. The boxes were spinning as I perused the section.

“You’re seriously bringing cards?” Blake called out.

“What’s the point of learning tricks if you can’t impress anyone!” I yelled back. My hands hovered over the many decks for quite a while before I finally settled on one. It was Odyssey themed, with intricate designs depicting the characters.

“By anyone, do you mean her dad?”

“Of course not! That would be irresponsible, and I would never be.”

“You are flying dangerously close to the sun,” Blake warned. “It was lucky enough that you were able to get a chance to meet him.”

“Relax, he’ll just see it as a coinkydink.”

“Leah was right when she said you're impossible.”

“Of course you’d agree with her, simp,” I added.

“Hush, just let me enjoy this night.”

I laughed on my way up. I saw him finalizing his outfit by putting on a diamond ring.

Blake, legally being able to drive, took the keys and headed to the car. A gray Honda Accord. When he unlocked it, we entered and he began to drive us to pick up our fair ladies.

“So,” he began. “Did you ever figure out the message?”

…

“Yeah, I did.”