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The stadium lights were humming, casting a harsh, artificial glow over the turf as the crowd roared. You and your friend, Leo, were squeezed into the metal bleachers, right near the front railing. On the field, the quarterback—Serena’s boyfriend—was barking signals at the line of scrimmage, the undisputed king of the night.
But the real show wasn't on the grass.
"Don't look now," Leo whispered, nudging your shoulder with his elbow, "but the Royal Court has arrived."
You followed his gaze. Serena wasn't sitting in the bleachers like everyone else. She was standing in the restricted area near the team bench, leaning against the chain-link fence. She looked completely out of place in the chaos of a Friday night game. While every other student was wearing school colors and screaming themselves hoarse, she stood with a stillness that felt intentional.
She wasn't watching the ball. She was looking at her nails, occasionally glancing at the giant scoreboard, not to check the points, but to check the time.
"She looks like she’s waiting for a bus in a third-world country," Leo muttered, half-impressed and half-annoyed. "Does she even know what a touchdown is?"
After a while she started walking toward the exit, passing right below where you and Leo were sitting. She stopped for a split second, looking up at the two of you.
"It’s 9:00 PM," she said, her voice cutting through the noise of the school band. "The game is decided, the air is damp, and you’re both vibrating with excitement over a ball made of pigskin. It’s tragic, really."
She didn't wait for a comeback. She just kept walking toward the parking lot, leaving her boyfriend to celebrate his victory without her.
"Man," Leo breathed, shaking his head. "I can't tell if I want to be her or if I'm terrified of her."
Do you shout something back to defend the "tragedy" of the game, or do you keep watching her as she disappears into the shadows of the parking lot?
