Chapter Four

“It is widely acknowledged among those intimately connected to the tournament that while fate undeniably exerts influence over the games, many individuals actively seize control of their destinies.” – Tournament Director.

Emy & James

“Please don’t tell me that was just me?” Emy exclaimed, rising from her chair. James stood up beside her, his expression equally puzzled.

“I felt this strange pressure, and then the table started vibrating,” James said, eyes wide. “Do you think it was an earthquake?”

Emy shook her head. “That would be the oddest earthquake I’ve ever experienced. It was like my ADHD went into overdrive for a split second. I’ve felt a few tremors in the past weeks, but this one was the worst.” Emy and James glanced over at Patti, who sat behind the counter as usual.

“Did you feel it too, Patti?” they asked in unison.

Patti looked up, her brow furrowing. “Hmm? I thought it was just me. Got a bit lightheaded there for a second. Must have been a tremor; this area gets them now and then.”

Confused and still somewhat dazed by the event and Patti’s lack of reaction, Emy and James decided to play it off as nerves. They continued their lunch, attempting to move forward with their conversations.

After catching up, Emy and James gathered their things. James had another class, and Emy had a prep period before soccer practice, during which she hung out in her dorm and studied. They hugged and went their separate ways.

***

Emy

Struggling to convince herself that this wouldn’t be her final practice, Emy gazed blankly at her Chemistry book. Despite her usual enjoyment of studying, she remained fixated on the same page for half an hour until a sudden noise from her dormmate jolted her out of her trance.

Emy’s dormmate was Patricia, or “Trish,” as she preferred. Trish was a striking figure, her curly hair constantly adorned with hair ties and her headsets perpetually on. She was also on the soccer team, though not a star player. She held the position of backup midfielder, with a solid understanding of the game and a decent leg. Emy soon realized why: Trish spent her late nights absorbed in the new FIFA game on her console, her quirky personality shining through her gaming habits. Her witty, supportive nature was a constant, even if her love for nightly Doritos and Mountain Dew sessions didn’t align with Emy’s preferences. Emy tried to connect with her, playing matches together, but their perspectives on life were as different as night and day.

“Trish, you about ready to head to practice?” Emy asked, looking back at her dormmate.

Stolen novel; please report.

Trish pushed aside her headset, looking up from her game. “Oh hey, Emy! How was your test? And yep, I’m just finishing up a campaign raid with my party. This boss turned out to be way more underpowered than we expected.”

Emy raised an eyebrow. Trish was deeply immersed in a Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game or MMORPG that Emy had never quite gotten the hang of. She wondered how Trish managed to keep her grades up, but it seemed like academic success came effortlessly to her. Even with minimal study, Trish consistently earned the best grades on the team.

“Good, I think? I’m more nervous about practice than anything else. I’m still waiting for Coach’s verdict after yesterday’s match,” Emy confessed, her hand instinctively rubbing her face in a telltale sign of her anxiety. “By the way, did you feel that earthquake this afternoon? James and I had a rather unsettling experience during lunch.”

Trish nodded in agreement. “Oh, you too? Honestly, it didn’t feel much like an earthquake to me. I heard a rumble and felt more like a jolt, and then my game started glitching out of nowhere. But then, as suddenly as it started, everything returned to normal. Super strange! And yeah, I figured you’d be worried about practice, but I didn’t want to add to your stress. You were clearly already overthinking it… Ready to head out? We might as well face whatever comes our way.”

***

The practice began as expected—drills, stretching, and Coach Williams observing from a distance. The second-year players took charge, guiding the teams through the exercises when a voice called out from the sidelines.

“Ms. Fury, let’s have a chat! Come on over, please.”

“Good luck,” Trish whispered, suddenly beside her.

Emy felt herself gulp but attempted to hold her head high and jogged over to Coach Williams. It couldn’t be good if Coach were now using her nickname instead of her last name, Brandt, which he had called her all year.

Coach Williams, a middle-aged man still in the early half of his life, embodied the image of a traditional track coach. He was always seen with a golf polo, slightly shorter-than-expected running shorts, and sneakers. His calves hinted at a former life when he might have been somewhat heavier-set, but now he had a thin, well-toned body and a defined face. A large brown mustache adorned his upper lip, always looking a touch out of place, yet Coach proudly wore it—ever since he had shown up at Emy’s house during a recruitment cycle.

With multiple roles at Quill Creek, Coach Williams wore many hats. First and foremost, he considered himself a teacher—and a darn good one, according to most students who took his class. Second, he served as the Women’s Head Soccer coach and the lead athlete recruiter across all sports divisions for the school. Coach Williams discovered and nurtured many of the top talents within the school. His influence seemed to extend beyond even that of the Athletic Director. As Emy stood there, she channeled optimism, hoping that this conversation held a glimmer of hope.

“You’re out. The NJCAA has placed a mandatory two-game suspension against you. This came from the top. You must have somehow pissed off the wrong mom,” Coach Williams delivered the message in a flat tone, but Emy wasn’t sure if she caught a sly smile at the end.

Deflated, Emy gave the only response she could think of at the moment: “That can’t be fair. We have to be able to protest in some way. What… what am I going to do? Those two games span across a full week of soccer!”

“Sorry, Emy, this one is final. With Tuck last weekend and you this week, the Association is having a meltdown over this school.”

The coach let the words linger, a prolonged silence underscoring their significance, before trying to embrace the saddened girl.

“You will get through this and end up stronger because of it. You can count on that,” he assured her.

“Thanks, Coach,” Emy returned the gesture. But then, the man’s demeanor shifted, suddenly portraying excitement over another matter.

“But… We do have an opportunity for you and several others you know. Please plan to stay after class this Thursday for a meeting with me and a few others in the school. Bring James and Trish.”

Emy and Coach Williams exchanged a few more words, and the players watching the conversation saw a departing Emy with a look of confusion on her face.

“What’s the verdict?” Trish blurted out as Emy joined the group.

“Bad. I’m out, everyone. Two games.”

“Wait, why the look of confusion?” Trish pressed on, not sure if she was reading her dormmate accurately.

“Oh. Um. I think he wants me, err, US, to join a Chemistry Tournament?”