Page 84 of Play Dirty

Everyonefalls silent as I enter, my gaze focusing on the empty spot where Nico usually sits. “Morning, Ms. Johnson.” Ms. Medina says softly.

I nod, forcing out a smile. “Morning.”

The class remains silent as Medina runs through today’s assignment and expectations. Once everyone is sitting with their assigned partner, the class fills with quiet chatter, while I focus on centering the clay, like she taught us. Stay still and breathe. Soft — not too much pressure. His words ring inside my head, causing me to do the opposite.

All I see is him.

The confusion.

The hurt.

The deafening silence.

The clay slips, splattering across my apron and thighs. “Fuck.” I say under my breath and try again. My palms press harder this time, as if shaping something that could fix what I broke.

But it doesn’t.

And it won’t.

I just want to scream. I want to cry. I want to run straight to the police station and take it back. But the image of June, cold and lifeless on the ground, flashes behind my eyes. The tears sting; I can’t take it back.

The spinning slows.

Ms. Medina sits across from me, her voice is soft as she wraps her hand around mine. “Too much grief sometimes clouds our judgment, leaving no room to think. To breathe.” She grabs the sponge as my hands tremble. “You need to breathe. It’s been a lot. The clay won’t shape if your hands don’t guide it. I can switch your partner.”

The words fly out of my mouth. “No.”

“No?”

She stops her eyes to meet mine. “I want to finish this with Nico. Even if he isn’t able to.” My voice breaks, the pain evident in my tone. Ms. Medina rises from the spot with a warm smile, while I continue to try to shape my agony into something tangible— something I can grasp, but that never happens.

The studio is empty by the time I step outside. I don’t even remember cleaning off my hands or packing up. I just walk towards the only spot I can find relief. It’s raining now, but neither the cold nor the mist bothers me.

The mist soaking up the day makes the world feel slower. Quieter. Like it’s mourning too.

I should go home or maybe to my next class, but instead I head to the field.

Empty bleachers. Water is pooling on the sidelines. The lines on the turf are blurred by the rain. I step onto the field, slowly, like stepping into a memory. The rain soaks through my uniform, my shoes, and my skin. I close my eyes.

Letting it wash over me.

This is where I watched him play for the very first time. Where I sealed his fate. Where I fell and never got up. I hear small footsteps approach, but I don’t turn around or open my eyes until a soft voice breaks through the silence. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

I turn.

Michaela stands a few yards behind me, umbrella in hand, covering herself from the rain. Dark purple rings appear beneath her eyes. Not even the makeup can hide the fact that she looks like she hasn’t slept in days. I still don’t speak.

She walks towards me, eyes filled with something like regret. Maybe pity. Maybe pain.

I’m not sure of anything anymore.

“You turned him in, didn’t you?”

I look away.

“You think he hurt her? “ She mutters softly. “But you’re wrong.”

I blink, my throat tightening. “What are you talking about?”