The squeak of basketball shoes echoed through the empty gym as Jace ran his final drills. Sweat darkened his practice jersey, his breathing heavy in the hollow space. Coach had left an hour ago, telling him to lock up when he finished. The rest of the team was long gone.
He glanced at his phone. 7:45 p.m. Katie should be here soon. The thought made him grin despite his exhaustion. He'd spent all day trying to figure out which cheerleader had written the note. Maybe it was Katie Martinez, she'd smiled at him in Spanish class. Or Katie Chen from the competition squad. The mystery had driven him crazy.
The gym lights hummed overhead as he gathered his gear, stuffing his practice clothes into his duffel bag. His footsteps echoed as he walked to the light panel, flicking the switches off one by one. Darkness crept in from the corners, broken only by the dim emergency lights near the exits. The back door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping into the cool night air.
The parking lot was empty except for his truck, sitting alone under the oak trees. Shadows stretched long across the cracked asphalt, dancing in the weak light from distant street lamps.
"Katie?" he called out, trying to keep his voice casual. "You out here?"
Nothing but crickets answered. He shifted his duffel bag, suddenly aware of how isolated this spot was. The back of the gym faced woods, hidden from the main road, perfect for a secret meeting or something else.
Movement caught his eye. A figure stepped out from behind the dumpsters, shorter than him, wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled low. He squinted, trying to make out features in the dim light.
"Katie? That you? Being shy?" He forced a laugh, but something felt wrong. The figure wasn't moving like a cheerleader. Their stance was different. Balanced, ready.
"What's the matter?" he called out, covering his growing unease with bravado. "Thought we were going to talk about—"
The figure moved. One moment they were 10 feet away. The next they were inside his guard. He barely had time to raise his hands before a strike hit his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. His duffel bag hit the ground. He tried to swing, but his attacker was too close, too fast. An elbow caught his ribs with surgical precision. Pain exploded through his side.
Before he could recover, his arm was grabbed and twisted behind his back at an impossible angle. Tendons stretched to their limit.
"Wait," he gasped.
But whoever held him wasn't interested in talking. His feet left the ground as his attacker used his own momentum against him. The world spun. His shoulders screamed in protest. Then the pavement rushed up to meet him. He hit hard, the impact rattling his teeth. Stars burst behind his eyes. His arm was still locked in that painful hold, threatening to snap if he struggled. A knee pressed into his back, pinning him down.
"Please," he wheezed, real fear replacing his earlier cockiness. "I don't have any money."
The pressure increased slightly, sending fresh waves of agony through his twisted arm. The message was clear. Shut up.
His attacker held him there for what felt like forever, but was probably only seconds. Just long enough for the pain to really sink in, just long enough for him to understand how completely helpless he was. Then the pressure vanished.
He rolled onto his back, cradling his throbbing arm, and looked up. The hooded figure stood over him, face hidden in shadow. They were smaller than he'd realized, definitely female based on the build. She hadn't said a word during the entire attack. She took one step back, then another, melting into the darkness between the trees.
Jace lay there, gasping, his ribs screaming with each breath. The whole encounter had lasted less than 30 seconds. Minutes passed before he managed to sit up. His phone had fallen from his pocket during the attack. With shaking fingers, he tried to dial 911, but stopped. What would he say? That some girl had just destroyed him in a fight, that he'd been taken down so fast he barely knew what happened?
The back door of the gym opened, spilling light across the parking lot. Mr. Rodriguez, the night janitor, stepped out with his garbage cart.
"Hey, someone help!" Jace called out, his voice breaking. "I was attacked!"
The janitor hurried over, already pulling out his phone. "What happened? Who did this?"
Jace shook his head, wincing at the movement. "I don't... I don't know. Someone jumped me. Came out of nowhere."
As the janitor called for help, Jace stared into the darkness where his attacker had vanished. His shoulder throbbed, and each breath sent spikes of pain through his ribs. But worse than the physical pain was the dawning realization. Someone had targeted him specifically. Someone had waited for him to be alone. Someone had wanted him to feel exactly this helpless.
Across town in a familiar garage, Amara knelt on the training mat. Her knuckles were red, her breathing steady. The hood of her black sweatshirt was pulled back, revealing eyes that held no celebration, only cold satisfaction.
"One down," she whispered, her voice barely disturbing the quiet.
The hallways buzzed with whispers Tuesday morning. Students huddled in tight groups, phones out, sharing details of what happened to Jace. He wasn't in school. His mom had posted on Facebook about taking him to the ER for X-rays.
"I heard his arm's basically destroyed," a freshman girl whispered to her friend by the water fountain. "My cousin works at the hospital," another student chimed in. "Said Jace was crying when they brought him in."
Bryce slammed his locker shut, making nearby students jump. His face was tight with anger as he turned to Connor, who was leaning against the wall, trying to look unbothered.
"This isn't random," Bryce muttered, checking over his shoulder. "Someone's sending a message."
Connor shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, man. You're being paranoid. Probably just some thugs from the east side looking to jack his truck."
"Nothing was stolen, genius." Bryce's voice dropped lower. "They didn't take his phone, his wallet, nothing. Just beat him down and left him there. That sound like a robbery to you?"
Before Connor could respond, the crowd in the hallway parted slightly. Amara walked past them, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She didn't look their way, didn't change her pace, but something about her calm demeanor made Connor's stomach twist.
"You don't think..." he started, but Bryce cut him off. "That girl?" Bryce forced a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "No way. You saw her in gym class. She can barely run laps without tripping."
But doubt had crept into his voice. They watched her disappear around the corner, her footsteps unhurried.