His Possession To Claim

Aria's gaze inadvertently locked onto a pair of mesmerizing hazel eyes glinting from the Bridgeton side. Their owner—a strikingly handsome platinum-blonde, leaning in lazily in his seat, his towering frame exuding effortless confidence. He seemed like a sculpture brought to life, and his sharp features made him impossible to ignore.

He had been watching Aria, captivated by her unexpected expressions as she reacted to the ongoing banter on the field. But what truly caught his attention was her smile—it was sudden, fleeting, and absolutely breathtaking.

Aria, however, felt unnerved under the weight of his stare. The discomfort made her shift in her seat, her heart racing for reasons she didn't quite understand. She wasn't used to being noticed like this, especially not by someone who looked like he had walked straight out of a romance novel.

"Yes, I want a piece of you!" Valarie finalized as she launched towards Arthuro smacking him hard as she grabbed a fistful of his gelled locs, entangling him into a fight.

"Oh, you better take your filthy hands off my hair, you nasty little brat! Do you even know how many hours—and dollars—this masterpiece took?!" Arthuro spat, still trying to get a hold of Valarie locs, but she wasn't ready give it to him. She had been in many fights to know how painful it was to be tugged at and also learning to avoiding it.

"Make me, you lazy, lousy, skimpy-looking bikini!" Valarie retorted, her grip tightening.

"You did NOT just call me that."

"Oh, yes, I did. What are you gonna do about it? Run home to mommy and—"

Valarie didn't get to finish. Arthuro deftly crossed his leg, tripping her with a precise movement that sent her sprawling onto her back, he quickly took advantage of the situation as on her belly, pinning her hands down to avoid any flying punch. But he had been too focused on Valarie that he did not see the flying kick from Erica, sending Arthuro flying off Valarie.

The commotion ignited a chain reaction, and soon both sides erupted into an all-out brawl. Students poured onto the field, fists flying and insults hurled, their loyalty to their respective schools fueling the chaos.

A sharp, shrill whistle cut through the mayhem, drawing every eye to the source. The coaches from both schools stood at the edge of the field, their faces contorted with rage.

"They started it, Coach!" a Bridgeton student tried to argue, but their protest was quickly drowned out by Lockwood's collective jeers and boos.

Another piercing whistle silenced the crowd. This time, it was Bridgeton's coach who spoke, his booming voice dripping with authority.

"One more word. Just one more word from either side, and I promise you this event will be canceled—not just today, not tomorrow, but definitely not the next. I'll see to it that this tournament never happens again, not even decades later! Unless, of course, you plan to come back as faculty?"

The students froze. The sheer wrath in the coach's voice could have melted steel.

"The game is about to start. Grow up and act like the adults you claim to be!" He looked like one who had a lot to say, but he let it wash down his throat storming off, still muttering angrily, while the Lockwood coach threw the students a stern glare before following suit.

Heads hung low, the brawlers slowly helped each other up. Dusting themselves off, they exchanged reluctant nods. Despite their bitter rivalry, the realization of their reckless behavior seemed to weigh on everyone. Yet, the competitive fire between the two schools still simmered beneath the surface. Soon the game would start, but half of them already looked like a mess.

Lockwood and Bridgeton had been at loggerhead since the latter's construction. Bridgeton coming with a more modernized and architectural building outshoned Lockwood, gathering up students from far and wide. Lockwoods taking it as a challenge had its own reconstructed, taking it a step forward than the Bridgeton. It didn't help when Bridgeton took a commercial shot while shading Lockwoods. And of course, Lockwood retaliated taking theirs on a whole savage level.

Their sports weren't any different as they are always neck to neck, barely surpassing each other. One might say Bridgeton or Lockwood was better than the other. But of a truth, no school was better than the other. They often have a healthy competition between each other, but some could lead to raw moments, which the government had their ways of settling both couples.

Aria, meanwhile, sat quietly, her nerves unraveling as the men's game was set to begin. The relay race, which would feature both genders, loomed closer, and Aria knew she couldn't afford to mess it up. Her GPA—and her scholarship—depended on it.

She recalled the counselor's stern warning as if it had just happened.

"Ms. Aria," the counselor had said, her tone both firm and pitying, "your grades have been slipping. If this continues, I'm afraid we'll have no choice but to revoke your scholarship."

Aria had swallowed the lump in her throat as the counselor continued.

"I don't understand what's going on. You used to be a top student with straight A's, but now—now, you're barely scraping by with a B-minus. You know, if something is troubling you, you can talk to me. We're here to help."

But Aria had simply shaken her head, offering no explanation.

"You've got this, Aria. You can do this," she whispered, she clenched her fists, willing herself to stay calm, though her body betrayed her, trembling with anxiety as she tried brushing off the memories.

Her unease only grew as she felt that gaze on her again—the same piercing eyes from earlier. They seemed to strip her bare, leaving her vulnerable. She wanted to march over and poke the guy's eyes out, but she knew better than to act on impulse.

"The match is about to start! Where are our players?" Ms. Loveth, Lockwood's coach, hissed under her breath, her irritation palpable.

"I don't know, they should be here by now," a girl offered. " I think they are still getting ready. Bet they want to look hot," another girl said, earning giggles from the others.

"What are they getting ready with? Make up? Or their hair suddenly decided to jump out of their skull? Ms. Loveth growled. "They better show up before I dock their points—"

Her threat was cut short by a deafening roar of applause and cheers from the Lockwood crowd.

"Go, Lockwood!" fans chanted, their voices echoing across the field.

"We love you!" others screamed, waving banners and posters. Some signs were hilariously misspelled—Aria even spotted one that read, "The trophy is ours" with the "s" awkwardly replaced by an "h". Still, the enthusiasm was infectious. It sure had to be counted among the supporters since they meant well.

But as Aria's eyes drifted to the entrance, where the players were finally emerging, a knot formed in her stomach.