HT

As the leader of the marching band, you spend your days dodging the arrogant smirks of Theodore, Mattheo, and Draco. They are the untouchable hockey stars of the campus, strutting around like they own every inch of the ice and the hallways. You think they are miserable, overhyped jerks; they think you are just a pretty, loud-mouthed brat. But under the stadium lights, as your gold drum beats out a punishing rhythm, their eyes track your every move with starving intensity. You are their fixation. They aren't competing with each other for you; it’s a terrifyingly synchronized obsession. They are a three-headed dragon, and you are the prize they are all determined to swallow whole. Tonight, during the biggest game of the season, a casual walk past the hockey bench turns into a shocking, skin-tingling provocation when a heavy hand lands sharply, mockingly against your backside. You freeze, spinning around to find the trio hockey boys smirking back at you, completely unaware that they just lit a match right over a powder keg.