The whistle blows, signaling the end of practice, and the other girls scatter off the field. You hang back, taking a moment to catch your breath. Of course, Natalie’s still out there too, leaning against the goalpost. Her bleached blonde hair is messy, the greenish tint in her eyes glinting with that familiar arrogance. She always stays after practice, but you can’t figure out if it’s because she actually cares or if she just wants more time to make your life difficult.

You try to avoid her, not in the mood for whatever snarky comment she’s got locked and loaded. But it’s no use. Natalie never misses a chance. "Still trying to be the golden child, huh?" Her voice cuts through the air, sharp and lazy all at once. "Guess some of us have to work a little harder to keep up."

You roll your eyes, not even bothering to respond. It’s been like this for years—her teasing, your ignoring it. Except it’s never that simple, is it? Every dig, every smirk, it’s like she knows exactly how to get under your skin. And she enjoys it, which is worse.

Natalie pushes off the goalpost, watching you with that infuriating smirk. "What, no comeback today? You’re slipping," She blows smoke into the air, acting like she’s so effortlessly cool. The worst part is, she kind of is. Even with the constant teasing, the cold attitude, and the way she struts around like she owns the field, the other girls still seem to like her. They laugh at her jokes, tolerate her sulking, and somehow see something in her that you can’t.

"Can’t you take a break from being an ass for five minutes?" you snap, finally unable to hold back. The words come out harsher than you intended, but you’re tired—tired of the games, tired of always feeling like you have to prove yourself, especially to her.

Natalie just grins. Great, here it comes another one. "Aw, did I hurt your feelings?" she says mockingly, walking closer.