[v2] Chapter 32: An Embarassing Moment

Saturday, May 4

Location: Football Field

Time: 12:45

I expected him to say something diabolical—maybe something out of a villain’s monologue—but he started surprisingly normal.

"Yeah? What about it?" I asked, wary.

Andre shrugged. "Just fascinated. You were the talk of the school—and still are, kind of. Just... not in the way you’d hoped."

I narrowed my eyes. "If you know about the accusations against me, why are you even talking to me?"

I said it with a dangerous amount of posh, like I thought I was royalty and he was some peasant in my way.

"I don’t think you’re the mole," he said plainly. "I think it’s just one of those conspiracy theories people spread about anyone who gets too popular."

"I wasn’t popular at all."

"Debatable. You are. You’ve been. You even talked to September, and you’re friends with Malachi. That puts you in a pretty exclusive circle." He smirked. "You’re a worthy opponent."

...Opponent?

"Opponent?" I echoed, voice flat and confused.

"You see," he said, tone shifting, "I never realized the status you have here. And beating you—being better than you—will be a field day."

"Beat me in what?"

"The sport you just joined," he said. And now, the vibe changed. The sinister aroma was undeniable.

"I’m going to be MVP. The face of every game. The one in all the press conferences—"

"There are press conferences?" Malachi asked from nearby, cutting in like a guy who just realized his life was being streamed.

"You’ve seriously never watched the games?" Andre said incredulously. "Of course there are press conferences. They're broadcast worldwide for spy mages. Entertainment and propaganda in one neat little package."

“Where are they even posted?” Tisiah jumped in. “It can’t be any regular platform. That’d get exposed instantly.”

“On the frickin’ YMPA site,” someone else chimed in from the far left. “They’re encrypted.”

Andre held his ground. “As I was saying—before everyone jumped in—I want people to see me as the better one. But more than that, I want you to be seen beneath me.”

I swallowed hard. “We’re on the same team. That’s not exactly... easy to do.”

“No, it’s not hard at all,” he replied smoothly.

“Why tell me this?”

For the first time, he hesitated—almost like he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“I still like a little competition,” he said finally.

I was so stunned I didn’t realize I’d stopped doing push-ups until Coach Wallaby noticed.

“Hey! Mole Boy—you think you’re done?” he barked, his tone slicing the air.

I didn’t answer. I just dropped and started hammering out push-ups like my life depended on it. I wanted out of that moment. Fast.

But his wrath didn’t let up.

“No, no, no! Stop. Everyone, stop!”

The collective groan of gratitude was immediate. Guys shot up so fast, they forgot how tired they were and almost fell over from the sudden jolt to reality.

“Push-ups. Now. And don’t stop until I say so.” His gaze drilled into me, making the whole thing ten times more humiliating.

Mole Boy? Seriously?

As if choreographed, the team formed a loose circle around me. I dropped again, sweat already sliding down my temples. I couldn’t use my Perk here. I had to use actual strength. And let me tell you—my "core strength" was mostly decorative.

I tried to keep my grunts quiet, but the tension shook through every limb. My arms trembled. My shoulders burned. Every push-up came slower than the last.

Coach Wallaby knelt beside me, unblinking.

“Respect,” he said, voice low but firm. “That’s what this is about.”

I kept moving. Barely.

“In football, when your quarterback doesn’t pass you the ball, or tells you to run a pointless route—you don’t argue. You don’t disobey. Because that breaks the team.”

My arms were noodles. Each movement felt like lifting a tank.

“See those boys?” he asked, nodding to the crowd. “Those are your teammates. If you can’t respect your coaches, your parents, your classmates—how are you going to respect them?”

His words landed. I didn’t want them to, but they did.

“Okay… get up,” he finally said.

I collapsed onto my knees, chest heaving.

Then Wallaby turned to the rest of the team. “And don’t think he’s beneath you,” he said, voice sharp. “You’re all at the same level. Treat him like he’s the best thing to happen to this team. Treat each other that way.”

He walked back to the sideline.

“Because forget about winning anything,” he added, “if you can’t even care about the guy next to you. Football isn’t about girls—though I know that’s what half of you are here for. Football’s about character. Start jogging.”

He said it calmly, but the weight of it made every guy on the field move like a scolded child. I glanced around. Malachi drifted farther from me. But Tisiah edged closer.

Then, from my right—I saw Andre’s smirk.

Or maybe I imagined it. My eyes were still adjusting. My pride definitely wasn’t.

This was probably one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. I felt like the kid in class who gets scolded by the teacher in front of everyone... except the teacher also lit the fire in the first place.

Ugh...

We started jogging. My heart still pounded—not from exertion, but from shame. Still, Tisiah sidled up beside me.

“You good, bro?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Monday

I was not good.

I was tormented by the replays in my brain—flashes of push-ups, Wallaby, “Mole Boy,” and Andre’s cryptic face all stitched together like some twisted highlight reel.

It felt like my thoughts were sports replays with exaggerated graphics and statistics. Only, I was the punchline in every clip.

I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t focus. My body crumpled into itself like a raisin. At one point, I physically curled into the fetal position. There may have been tears. I’m not confirming or denying anything.

And somehow, on top of that, I still had to find the mole. Or risk being fired from life.

Is this what being an adult feels like? My parents always said life was hard, but they definitely left out this part.

I was walking toward the cafeteria before Sensei Waine’s class, which wouldn’t start for another fifteen minutes. As I stepped inside, I felt dozens of eyes shift toward me.

Or maybe I was paranoid.

To my left, I spotted September near the hallway leading to the bathrooms. Normally, I’d never approach someone near that area, but I was desperate. I needed something to make me feel human again.

“Hey, Septe—”

“Nope.”

I blinked. “But—but—”

Without even looking up from her phone, she replied, “I don’t know what makes you think you can just approach me, given the fact that you may very well be a mole. It’s... irresponsible.”

“Okay—listen. Listen. I’m not the mole. That garbage rumor came from Jamal, who I’m pretty sure is the actual informant. I’m just trying to clear my name.”

I lowered my voice. “And maybe—I just need... a friend right now.”

My voice cracked. My chest was heavy. My eyes stung. And all she gave me was silence.

But... it wasn’t angry silence. It felt like something held back. Like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. And honestly? I got it. My reputation was radioactive. I wouldn’t have spoken to me either.

I turned away.

I looked around for Tisiah and Nikki. Not out of urgency—just because they were the last people who hadn’t vanished on me.

Greg was already at the table. It looked like they’d all seen what happened. Their expressions were unreadable, maybe because the cafeteria noise drowned everything out.

“We have to find out who the mole is…” Tisiah said with a sigh, both hands under his chin.

Then, out of nowhere, Mari slid into view, her expression unusually bright.

“Guys,” she said, tapping the table excitedly, “I think we were right from before.”

“About what?” Nikki asked. For once, her voice wasn’t cold—it was hopeful.

Which meant this mattered more than the drama between them.

And it definitely mattered most to me.