Chapter Seventy Eight - Bows, Sneakers & Goodbyes

The hallways of St. Phillips were humming with the restless energy that always came with the end of the school year. Posters for lost textbooks clung to peeling noticeboards, teachers leaned in doorways with coffees in hand, and students whispered about beach trips and summer jobs as they drifted toward freedom. Cody moved through it all with quiet ease and a lightness in his step that hadn't been there a few months ago.

"Mr. Baldwin!" came a familiar voice from the admin wing.

He turned to see Mrs. Calvert, smiling warmly at him from the doorway of her office. Her clipboard was hugged tightly to her chest, and her silver bob looked freshly cut.

"Hey, Mrs. Calvert." Cody said, adjusting the strap on his backpack.

"Come in, won't you? Just a quick chat."

Cody followed her into the office, greeted by the comforting scent of peppermint tea and sunlight filtering through half-closed blinds. Family photographs and framed graduation photos lined the walls—Cody spotted his own class picture tucked in one of the corners, his expression faintly guarded.

"Take a seat." she said kindly.

He sank into the chair opposite her desk as she sat down, setting her clipboard aside.

"I just wanted to say.." she began, "Your final reports are in. Your teachers are really pleased. You've made a huge turnaround, Cody. I hope you're proud of yourself. I hope that extra tutoring really worked for you."

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah... thank you. I've been trying harder. I'm talking to a counsellor now also, actually. It's been helping. Feels like I'm finally getting somewhere... even if it's slow."

"That's wonderful to hear." She leaned forward slightly, her tone gentle. "I know things haven't been easy. How are things at home, if you don't mind me asking?"

Cody exhaled, nodding slowly. "It's still a bit of a mess, honestly. The police are still investigating... but they've been coming by more, asking more detailed stuff. I think they're getting close to finding a suspect."

Mrs. Calvert's expression darkened slightly with concern, but she didn't interrupt.

"And Jackson—he checked himself into rehab." Cody continued. "I'm really proud of him. I think he's embarrassed, though. Keeps acting like it's some kind of failure. But give him time."

She shook her head. "It's the opposite. That takes a lot of courage."

"That's what I keep telling him."

A soft pause settled between them before she asked gently, "And Harper? How is she doing?"

"They're limiting visitors at Warren right now." Cody said, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "Something about new staff and needing time to stabilise the ward. I want to go. I miss her. I just... have to wait until they say it's okay again."

"I'm sure she knows you're thinking of her." Mrs. Calvert said kindly. "Please give her my well wishes, I hope to see her back at school soon."

Cody nodded, eyes flicking toward the window for a second. "Yeah I will."

Then, in a lighter tone, she asked, "What about you? Any plans for the summer?"

He smiled at that. "Actually... yeah. Millie and I are going on holiday. Just the two of us. I booked us this little cabin up north—by a lake, kind of hidden in the woods. No signal, no school stress. Just peace. I think we both need that."

Mrs. Calvert smiled, visibly delighted. "That sounds perfect. You deserve a break, Cody. Truly."

"Thanks. I'm really looking forward to it."

"And your sister?" she asked gently. "Aura. How's she doing?"

"She's... better. Eating more. Laughing more." Cody said, a soft smile blooming on his face. "I think it's slow, but she's healing. It's weird, after everything—sometimes I catch her just... humming in the kitchen, or reading by the window like nothing happened. And I think, 'Okay. Maybe we're getting there.'"

Mrs. Calvert nodded thoughtfully. "Healing isn't linear. But it sounds like she's finding her way, and she's lucky to have you."

Cody looked down for a second, then back up with a quiet confidence. "We're all lucky to have each other. That's what I keep telling myself."

She stood, and he followed suit. "Cody, no matter what comes next, I hope this summer brings you some peace. And I truly hope your family finds its way through this. You've shown remarkable strength. And I hope you come back ready for your senior year because it's a big one."

"Thanks, Mrs. Calvert," he said sincerely, shaking her hand. "For everything."

As he stepped back into the sunlit hallway, the final bell rang out across the building. Students cheered somewhere down the corridor, lockers slammed, and doors flung open to the promise of summer.

As the sun dipped low over the St. Phillips football field, spilling streaks of lavender, rose gold, and burnt orange across the sky like a watercolor painting stretched over the horizon. The empty bleachers stood like silent witnesses to a thousand cheers, chants, and stomps. Now, all they held were fading echoes. The summer breeze was soft and warm, scented with sun-baked turf and trimmed grass, and somewhere in the distance, a sprinkler kicked on with a rhythmic hiss.

On the middle of the field—where lines were fading and the endzone letters had long since peeled—a circle of thirteen girls stood in their cheer uniforms, their white sneakers grass-stained, navy and white skirts swishing in the breeze, hair tied with matching ribbons, some slipping loose with the sweat and tears of the day. Glitter still clung to their cheeks, though much of it had smudged from wiping at watery eyes.

Harriet stood in the centre, just a little apart, like the final dot in an exclamation mark. Her cheeks were flushed, her signature red bow slightly crooked from tumbling through their final pyramid, and her fingers were curled tightly around a battered water bottle. She didn't need the hydration—it was a grounding object, something to hold onto as her heart knocked against her ribs.

This wasn't a performance for parents or regional judges. There was no scoreboard tonight. No crowd. No pressure. Just them. Just their sisterhood.

Harriet let her gaze move across the circle. These weren't just teammates. These girls had become part of her. She saw scraped knees and rally cries, bus rides full of laughter and whispered pep talks behind locker doors. She saw their stubborn drive, their perfectionism, their fierce loyalty and their comic relief. She saw her freshman self in the wide-eyed younger girls—nervous, hopeful, desperate to belong.

"I, um... Oh my god." Harriet began, but her voice cracked instantly. She let out a laugh that was half-choked and half-teary. The squad stilled, watching her with open expressions—every single face a mosaic of admiration, sadness, and love.

"I just wanted to say a few things before we go." she said, drawing a deep breath, the kind that steadied her after a routine. "I knew this day was coming. I've been dreading it since freshman year. But now that it's actually here... I still don't think I'm ready to say goodbye."

Someone let out a soft, sniffly giggle. It broke the tension—just enough.

Harriet smiled through the wetness gathering in her eyes. "Being captain of this team—being your captain—has been one of the greatest honors of my life. Not because of the trophies—though let's be honest, we did smash regionals—" A ripple of laughter broke through.

"—but because of you." Harriet said, voice gentling, reverent. "You showed up. You gave your everything. You showed up in the rain, in the heat, after breakups and bad grades and long nights studying. You fought through twisted ankles and awful choreo and the time our music cut out mid-routine at Homecoming."

Finola let out a dramatic "Never forget!" that made everyone laugh.

Harriet's smile wobbled. "You trusted me. And more than that—you loved me. And I've never, ever taken that for granted."

She took a step forward, lowering the water bottle, her hands trembling slightly.

"I started out as just Harriet." she said softly. "The girl with too many snacks in her gym bag and an obsession with bows. But somewhere along the way... you made me more. You made me someone who believes in herself. Because you believed in me first."

A few of the girls blinked rapidly, fighting tears.

Harriet turned her attention to the four senior girls. "To my fellow seniors—Finola, Madison, Jenna, Lex—you're going to light up your college campuses. You've been the soul of this team for so long, and I already know the world has no idea what's about to hit it."

They nodded, tearfully smiling, arms wrapping around one another.

"And to the girls that we leave behind.." Harriet continued, her voice growing softer, tender, "thank you for keeping the flame alive. Cheer isn't just pom-poms and fancy flips. It's holding each other up. Literally and emotionally. Promise me you'll keep lifting each other, on and off the mat."

Her voice cracked again at the end, and she pressed a fist to her chest. "I really do love you. All of you. So, so much. And I'm going to miss this—miss you—more than words could ever explain."

"And if my sister, Harper joins one day.. please look after her. She's very fragile.."

There was no signal. No cue. Just instinct.

The squad moved as one, crashing into her like a wave—an embrace that was warm and tangled and full of wet cheeks and laughter. Arms wrapped around her shoulders, her waist. Ribbons fluttered like battle flags. Someone sobbed softly into her hair. Glitter smeared. Mascara ran.

"I love you too, Hattie." came a whisper into her ear.

"You're the best captain we ever had." someone else murmured, voice cracking.

They stayed like that—pressed together, holding one another through the ache and beauty of goodbye—until the field lights blinked on overhead, one by one, casting long shadows across the grass. Somewhere, a coach's whistle blew in the far distance. The world moved forward, but for this moment, time stood still.

Eventually, they pulled apart, dabbing their eyes with sleeves, giggling at how awful they looked.

Millie stepped forward, clutching a small white box with a navy blue ribbon. Her eyes were still damp. "For you." she said, voice wobbling.

Harriet blinked in surprise. "What is it?"

She untied the ribbon with delicate fingers, her breath catching in her throat.

Inside sat a simple, beautiful gold badge, engraved with the words: Three Seasons Strong.

Harriet let out a trembling breath and pressed her lips together to keep from sobbing.

"You always held us together." Millie said gently. "Now you'll have something to hold on to, too. Put it on your jacket."

Harriet didn't say anything at first. She just nodded, clutching the badge and then picking up her custom letterman jacket - a special gift that the athletic staff gifted all the seniors for their departure. She pinned it to her jacket and smiled brightly. Holding the jacket like it was her lifeline.

The team began to scatter after a while, slowly, reluctantly—hugs and waves and promises to meet up over summer floating into the warm twilight. The bleachers sat quiet once more.

Harriet lingered at the edge of the field. She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in—the fading chalk lines, the flutter of grass in the breeze, the echo of cheers only she could hear. She glanced down at her shoes, worn from years of routines, and up at the bright, humming lights overhead.

College waited. The next chapter was calling. But this field, this sisterhood—it would live in her heart forever.

She adjusted her bow, still crooked but still hers.

And with one last look over her shoulder, Harriet and Millie walked toward the parking lot, with Harriet's jacket on and soul glowing like the stars blinking into the sky above her.

While the school echoed with the sound of lockers slamming and students celebrating the first breath of summer, Aura stood silently just outside the gymnasium, her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her school bag. The sun filtering through the high windows cast long stripes of gold across the corridor floor, but she barely noticed it. Her stomach fluttered with nerves—not the bad kind she used to get before meals, but the kind she used to feel right before stepping onto the soccer field, heart pounding with hope.

She could hear the faint thump of a ball bouncing against the gym floor, followed by the rhythmic screech of sneakers and the shuffle of equipment being packed away. Inside was Coach Ramirez—stern, fair, and the person Aura admired most at school, maybe in the entire world.

She inhaled slowly, then pushed open the gym doors.

The smell of floor polish and old sweat hit her instantly—familiar, grounding. She stepped inside slowly, her shoes squeaking slightly on the polished hardwood.

Coach Ramirez looked up from a large plastic crate filled with soccer balls, her dark eyes catching Aura's immediately. Her braid—streaked with gray—hung over one shoulder, and a clipboard rested under her arm. She gave a surprised, warm smile.

"Aura Baldwin." she said, wiping her hands on her track pants. "Now there's a face I haven't seen in a while."

Aura gave a small, apologetic smile and walked further in, the gym feeling cavernous and strangely still without the usual buzz of players.

"I... I know I kind of disappeared." Aura began, her voice quiet but steady. "And I know I missed almost the whole second half of the season."

Coach Ramirez tilted her head slightly but didn't interrupt.

Aura's words came quicker now, tumbling out like they'd been rehearsed in her mind too many times. "I wasn't okay. Not really. I've been dealing with stuff—family stuff, health stuff... mental stuff. It got bad for a while. My grandmother got murdered. I was questioned by the police. My brother and sister are gone. But I'm getting help now. And I'm trying to come back to myself. I just—" 

She stopped, swallowed, and looked the coach in the eyes— "I want to stay on the team next year. Soccer really means everything to me."

Coach Ramirez walked slowly over to the bleachers and sat, gesturing for Aura to join her. They sat in the silence of the empty gym, the echoes of past games lingering in the walls.

"I can tell it means everything to you." Ramirez said after a long pause. "You play like it does. You move like someone who's got fire in her bones."

Aura blinked, surprised by the kindness in the coach's voice. "Sometimes I feel like I lost that fire."

"No, Aura." Ramirez said firmly. "You didn't lose it. You protected it. You stepped away to take care of yourself. That's something most adults don't even know how to do."

Aura's throat tightened. "I thought you might not want me back on the team. I thought I let everyone down."

"You didn't let anybody down." She replied gently. "You were hurting. You're still recovering. This team isn't just about goals and trophies, Aura. It's about strength, growth, resilience. You've shown all of that in ways most of these girls haven't yet had to."

A soft breath escaped Aura's chest—relief, gratitude, maybe even pride.

"I'm eating better now." she said quietly, eyes focused on a crack in the gym floor. "Not every day is easy, but it's not as scary anymore. And I don't feel so... alone in my head."

Ramirez nodded, reaching for her whistle and wrapping the cord gently around her fingers. "That matters more than any championship. I want you to earn your spot back on the team next year. Like everybody else.. I think you will do well. I think next year is your year." 

Aura smiled for the first time in days. It felt like sunlight breaking through.

"Thank you, coach." she said, voice trembling. 

"Now," the coach added, standing with a stretch, "Go and enjoy your summer. Read something that's not assigned for gods sake! Laugh too loud. Run for fun instead of training. You've got time to heal before the whistle blows again in September."

Aura stood too, her heart lighter than it had felt in weeks.

"I'll be ready!" she beamed. "Next year... I'll show you what I've got."

Ramirez grinned. "I know you will."

As Aura walked out of the gym and into the bright summer light, a breeze lifted her hair, and somewhere down the path, she heard Cody's voice calling her name. She turned, squinting, spotting him waiting near the school gates with Harriet and Millie beside him. The four of them would head home together—away from the echoes of classrooms and lockers and lunch bells—and into a summer they all desperately needed.