Hey guys. I was hoping to have this up last Wednesday cause I had a snow day which postponed a calculus test and I was in a good mood but I only got a few pages written. Anyway, I finally finished it and I'm proud to say it's the longest chapter yet. I wasn't going to end where I did, but it felt like a good place to stop. Anyway, my finals are the week after next. Next week is basically normal for me, so I might get another chapter out before I have to start studying, but no promises.

This chapter is dedicated to the 'guest' that had a mile long list of predictions. Keep 'em coming

Disclaimer: I do not own The Darkest Powers

"Why do we have to get here so early?" Mila complained. "The game doesn't start for an hour. I bet the players aren't even here yet."

"I need to find a good spot so I can get good footage of the game," I said. "I don't want to be stuck behind someone twice my size and end up getting the back of their head for the entire game."

"But an hour early?" she asked.

"Once one person shows up, they all swarm," Sam said. "If we don't get here early, all the seats will be taken. Would you rather stand for the entire game?"

"No," she said. "I'd rather be at home enjoying my Friday night."

"Well, I don't really want to be here either," I said, "But I made a commitment and I can't back out now. The coach expects me to film the games and I already missed one practice. I can't give him any reason to hate me or he'll stop letting me watch practice."

"I brought my Gameboy," Sam assured her. "You can play it instead of watching the game."

"I think you need to be introduced to the 21st century."

I turned them out and focused on walking out to the field. This was the third game of the year, but it was only my first one attending. In fact, this was the first football game I'd even been to, so I wasn't sure what to expect. The practices had been controlled and predicted, so it wasn't like the real thing.

We stepped out of the dark and onto the brightly lit field. I stopped for a moment to look around. I'd only ever seen the field during the day and it didn't exactly impress me all that much. It wasn't much different at night, but then again the stands were still empty and the players weren't on the field.

"Come on," Sam said, leading the way.

I followed her into the stands and took a seat in the bottom row in the middle. When the stands started to fill up, I'd need to stand against the railing for the game. I checked my watch. There was just under an hour before the games was scheduled to start, which meant people would start arriving soon. I wanted to get a little pre-game footage, so I kept my eyes peeled for where I knew the coach would arrive.

As I waited, I pulled out my camera and double-checked my battery life and memory. Both were good. Lowering the camera to me lap, I reached up and absently played with the whistle on the chain around my neck. I never got a chance to ask Liz why she gave it to me. It was small, about the size of a locket. I didn't know what else to do with it, so I strung it on an empty chain and hung it around my neck. The chain used to hold a pendant I inherited from my mother. It was an old family heirloom that was passed from daughter to daughter. It was supposed to be my sixteenth birthday present, but when she died shortly after I turned six, my dad gave it to me early. He thought having something of hers would ease the pain. I wore it every day until the end of last year when I took it off to go swimming with Sam in the school pool and I didn't want to get chlorine on it. When I went back to the locker room, it was gone. Whoever had taken it left the chain and vanished.

"Looks like some people are starting to show up," Mila said, pointing down the field.

I looked down and saw a group walk up to the top of the stands. Not long after, the stands were filled with loud, rambunctious people. I had to push through some of them so I could see the field. I checked my watch and looked up. Any minute now.

I waited five more minutes before music started blaring. I winced and looked up to see the speaker right over my head. Turning on my camera, I pointed it towards the end of the field just in time for our team to run out with Derek in the lead. I made sure to get the other team as well. They're side of the stands were just as packed, which wasn't hard to believe because their school wasn't far from here.

The whistle blew and I watched through the camera as the ball snapped back and then everything was chaos. It all happened so fast I wasn't aware the play was over until a second whistle blew. Somehow the ball had made it down the field. This time when the play started, I tried to pay more attention. When the ball moved back, I recognized Derek's number as he dodged past two players from the other team and wound his arm back. He swung forward and let it go, gliding down the field and into the hands of one of our players. I made sure to follow the ball with our camera, but I winced when I watched two players tackle Derek as the ball left his hand. He got up just fine and I breathed a sigh of relief. My attention was drawn by loud cheering and I looked down the field to see the player who had caught the ball had scored a touchdown.

We didn't score anymore for the rest of the quarter, but we came close. When it was the other team's turn with the ball, I watched how our team handled it. There were a lot of tackles before they could even throw the ball. They didn't make it very far down the field before time ran out. I didn't know if it was because our team was really good or because their team was just that bad.

I turned off the camera and allowed my arms a rest. It was halftime, so I wouldn't need to film anything for little while. A lot of cheering rose when the cheerleaders came out for their show. I recognized Liz and Amber, along with a few other girls. I heard a couple wolf whistles coming from a few people down and I glanced over to see a few of the basketball players with their eyes glued to the girls' asses. Simon was among them, but he seemed to have the decency to keep the drool in his mouth.

The second half of the game was a bit more exciting than the first. We scored two more touchdowns and one of our players dislocated his shoulder when he slammed down after jumping to catch the ball. Luckily he fell into the end zone. The other team managed only one touchdown, making us the winners. I cheered along with everyone. I still didn't really care about football, but our team winning was worth cheering for.

I felt a hand grab the back of my shirt and pulled me back.

"Come on," Mila said. "Let's get out of here before they start celebrating."

I nodded and shoved my camera in its case before following Sam and her out.

"You have to do this every Friday?" Mila asked as we walked back to her car. "What about the away games?"

"I need to talk to the coach about that," I said. "I don't really trust my car enough to take it out of the city, so there's really no way to get to an away game."

"I'm sure he'll understand," Sam said.

…,,,…

"I hate Mondays," Mila complained as we waited for Mr. Lyle to show up and start class.

"I couldn't agree with you more," I said, letting my eyes fall closed as I leaned my chin on the desk in front of me. "Ben kept me up past midnight all weekend. I think I've seen enough football to last me the rest of my life."

"Learn anything?" she asked.

"Just that Ben is longwinded and professional football is more brutal than I expected," I answered. "I did learn which position is which, though, so I guess that's progress."

"When do you do your interviews?"

"When the coach gets back to me about who will talk to me," I said. "I'm hoping to talk to every position, but I think that's just wishful thinking."

The door swung open and we looked up to see Mr. Lyle walk in and sit down at his desk. He looked a little disheveled.

"Wonder what's wrong with him," Mila said. "Maybe he has a hangover."

"I don't think that's what a hangover looks like," I said.

We exchanged looks and listened as Mr. Lyle began is lecture. Half the time he finished his sentence by trailing off and then going off on some tangent that wasn't related to algebra in any way. I was starting to think he really did have a hangover, except he seemed less 'my-head-is-killing-me' and more 'why-is-the-unicorn-in-the-corner-dancing-the-Charleston.' I'd never actually seen someone who was on drugs, being of sound mind and a sheltered upbringing, but this is how I would imagine it.

When the bell rang, Mr. Lyle passed out at his desk and we skirted around it. I felt the need to alert one of the faculty, but curbed it when I remembered I had gym next. Amber still had yet to outright enact her petty revenge on me for scuffing her new heels, which she felt was more important than me almost breaking her foot, and I could feel myself being pulled into a false sense of security. I did find a dead mouse in my gym locker, but I chalked it up to the fact that the girl in the locker under mine horded her lunch in her locker and never had time to finish it before or after class.

Walking out of the locker room, I found my class lounging on the gym floor as Coach Wilson scribbled away on his clipboard. I found an open area and sat down, crossing my legs.

Coach looked up and shoved his clipboard under his arm. "For the next few weeks we're going to be doing our fitness tests. We'll do the basics every day and see how you improve at the end of October when you'll be tested for your grades. Everybody grab a chart and put your name at the top. You'll be using this for the next month to keep track of your improvement. You'll also need a partner every day. It doesn't have to the same partner every day, so stop whining. Now get to work."

I got in line and picked up an empty chart and a pencil. Writing my name at the top, I looked around for anyone looking like they needed a partner. I almost considered asking Simon because he partnered with me for basketball the one time, but he was already partnered with another guy. Eventually, I just went with the one kid that never gets off their butt. None of the stuff actually required a partner, except we were supposed to run laps together and hold each other's feet during sit-ups. There were also the pull-ups, but I wouldn't be able to do even one with or without a partner.

I actually managed to break a pretty decent sweat by the time gym ended. Grabbing a quick shower afterwards, I dressed in my street clothes and was on my way to English. My potential physical fitness put me in a good mood and I gladly paid full attention to her lecture. It even lasted through the rest of the day, up until practice. Finding my usual seat, I turned on my camera and watched. After watching an actual game, I realized how gentle practice seemed. Injuries could happen, but when the team was split into two teams and one of the players tackled another, there wasn't any malice in it like the game. In fact, as soon as they were tackled, the tackler offered his hand.

My eyes drifted to Derek and I bit my lip. I know there was a lot of gear to protect them, but the bulge of the gear didn't hide the shear muscle underneath. I've never been one to drool over a guy, but Derek had a lot going for him. Sure, I'd seen plenty of guys shirtless. I've been swimming, but most of those guys were too busy doing dives and splashing each other to really notice anything and, though I've never actually seen Derek shirtless, none of them could hold a candle to what was under his shirt.

The sharp shrill of a whistle pierced through my thoughts and I realized I'd zoned out during the rest of practice. Hoping I at least got some footage during my trip to wonderland, I packed up my stuff and headed out. I made sure to leave before everybody was gone to avoid another incident. I hoped the coach being present would stop some of the raging hormones long enough for me to get to safe ground. So far so good anyway.

Walking off the field, I turned toward the parking lot. I actually managed to find my keys lodged between my desk and the wall and was happy to see my old, beat-up, Honda Civic. Not the most attractive car, grant you, but it gets me from A to B, as long as both are in the city of Buffalo and within thirty miles of each other. I also paid for it myself, which I consider my first major accomplishment. It wouldn't last me through college, but I'd cross that bridge when I got there.

As I jammed my keys in the slot and had to practically beg the car to unlock, I glanced up and saw the motorcycle I'd been admiring still in its spot. Whoever owned it must still be at school. I looked around, but nobody but me was in the parking lot. I abandoned my task momentarily and walked over to wear the sleek, black motorcycle was parked. It definitely wasn't brand new, which meant Mila was probably right when she said it was restored. There were a few dents here and there, but it seemed to be in pretty good condition. I wondered what it was like to actually ride it, but quickly shut down that idea. My dad would kill me if he saw me on anything without seatbelts and I honestly wasn't sure if I'd have the courage anyway. It really was a nice looking motorcycle, though. There were no signs pointing to who owned it. The mystery continues.

Walking back to my own heap of metal, I wrestled the door open and smiled when the engine started. Dad offered to get me something more reliable, but I didn't want to rely on him forever. I was still underage, so my branching out was limited, but a car was something I could buy and manage myself. Short of moving out and providing for myself, this was the closest I was going to get to self-sufficiency.

Parking in my usual spot, I noted the empty spot next to me. It was Monday, which meant that either Dad was locked away in his office at work or was on his way for another business trip. He didn't mention anything about a trip this morning, so I was counting on the former. He'd probably come home around midnight, which meant that I had the place to myself and no nosy housekeepers around. Whenever he left on a trip, our housekeeper, Anita, would always call constantly so it looks like she's earning her salary. She doesn't actually live with us, but she has her own place a few floors down.

Opening the door, I dropped my backpack by the door and ran into the kitchen. There was no last minute note on the fridge, which meant he was at work. The place was mine. Smiling, I quickly changed into a pair of sweats and a tank top. Just because it was five o'clock didn't mean I couldn't start the night early. Heading back into the kitchen, I pulled out the flour and yeast and the rest of the ingredients for pizza dough. I only did this when Dad wasn't home, otherwise he might have a heart attack at the mess. He wasn't a neat freak, but I wasn't exactly the cleanest chef.

Turning on the radio, I cranked up the volume and let my hips sway to the rhythm as I kneaded the dough. I paid no attention to the flour coating the floor or my clothes. It'd wash. Spreading out the dough, I pulled out the rolling pin and mercilessly squished it to my preferred thickness. I was just about to start spreading on the sauce when the main phone went off. Rubbing my hands unsuccessfully on my pants, I answered it.

"Hello?" I asked.

Someone spoke on the other side, but I couldn't hear them.

"Oh, hold on," I said. I reached over and turned down the radio and said, "Okay, can you repeat that?"

"I seriously hope you're not deafening the neighbors."

"Hi, Dad," I said, continuing my cooking. "Where are you calling from? I didn't recognize the number."

"They're getting new numbers in the office and I forgot my phone on the charger so I'm borrowing a woman's from work," he explained.

"A woman, huh?" I asked, licking pizza sauce off my finger. "Did you ask for her number?"

"Chloe," he said in that stern parent voice.

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Your adult life is none of my business."

He sighed and I could picture him rolling his eyes. "There's a number on my phone that I need."

"Sure," I said, "One sec."

I went into his bedroom and found his phone on his nightstand. Unplugging it, I turned it on and read him off the number. He said his goodbyes and hung up, but not before telling me to make sure to clean up after myself. It was my turn to roll my eyes as I headed off to finish my dinner.

As soon as the pizza was out of the oven, I carried it into the living room and plopped down on the couch. My homework load was light tonight and a few hours of relaxing wouldn't kill me. Grabbing the remote, I flipped through the channels until I found a Hitchcock just starting. Tossing the remote on the table in front of me, I curled up in my blanket and bit into pepperoni goodness. I didn't realize how worn out I was from the day until I woke up to paid programming and the clock glowing 1:34. Cursing softly, I rolled off the couch and hit the floor with an oomph. Pulling myself up, I walked into the kitchen and cringed. It was clean, and I hadn't cleaned it. Dad must have picked everything up when he got home. Feeling the guilt, I made a promise to myself to make him dinner tomorrow night.

Hauling myself to bed, I pulled off my flour-coated clothes and crawled into bed, too tired to change into something else. Anchors pulled at my eyelids and I fell into darkness.

…,,,…

When Thursday rolled around, I was dreading the last bell. I still had yet to talk to the coach about tomorrow's away game and from the way practice has been going he probably won't be in a good mood.

Stepping out onto the field, I grimaced when I saw the coach barking orders. Yup. Bad Mood. Deciding to wait until after practice, I took my usual seat. Practice proceeded like normal. After an hour, I started spacing off.

"Hi," a voice came from behind me.

I turned my head and stopped. Standing behind me with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and a hesitant smile on his face was Simon.

"Hi?" I said, not understanding why he was talking to me.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked, gesturing to the spot next to me.

"Um, sure," I said.

I pulled my bag closer to me so he could get his feet in the space. He didn't say anything when he sat down, just watched the field. I spent the next five minutes in awkward silence wondering why he was sitting next to me when the bleachers were completely empty. I was about to pack my bag when he started talking to me.

"I didn't think Coach Stevens allowed students to watch practice," he said. "He's usually uptight about secrecy."

"Oh, well I have written permission from him," I said as I rooted through my bag. Finding the slip of paper, I handed it to him. "See?"

He took it and read it over. Once he finished, he grinned. "Hey. You have Ms. Davis."

He handed back the paper. "I had her, too. Except I did my project on basketball."

"I wonder why," I said, putting the paper back.

"So, what are doing out here? Why aren't you in the library? Or at home watching TV and waiting until the last minute?"

"I'm doing a more hands on approach," I explained. "I'm doing interviews with all the players and watching them during practice and games."

"I didn't think of that," he said. "Of course, I would have had to interview myself and, well, I don't have a single thing to say against myself."

He finished with a grin and I couldn't help laughing at his expression.

"She's a tough grader, though," he continued. "I think I only managed an 81."

"But you're so good at basketball," I said.

"Apparently that's not on the rubric. I think out of all her classes, she gave three A's."

"Well, I have no chance in hell," I said.

"You're project is original," he pointed out. "You'll definitely get points for that."

"That's good," I said. "Because I need all the points I can get."

"On a different note," he said, a little awkwardly. "You have theatre last hour, right?"

"Yeah. Why do you w-" I stopped. "Wait. Liz, right?"

"Am I that apparent?" he asked, looking across the bleachers at where the cheerleaders where practicing.

"Well, that's the only connection I can make between you and theatre," I said.

"I was wondering if you could do me a little favor," he said. "I was kinda hoping you could give her a note for me."

"Seriously? A note?" I asked. "Why not just talk to her?"

"Because I can't get her away from her friends," he said. "And none of the cheerleaders have theatre with her, but you do."

"So, you want me to do, what? Give her an anonymous love letter?" I asked.

"Ooh," he said, "That's even better than what I was thinking."

I shook my head and reached for my water bottle. "What's in it for me?"

"If you give Liz the note, I won't tell Derek you've been staring at him for the last half hour."

I fumbled with the bottle and it fell. Hitting the floor of the bleachers, it rolled down the entire section with a clunk. I turned to Simon to see his elbows resting on his knees and his chin resting on the tips on his knuckles. The devious smile and raised eyebrows made me nervous.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I said, my face bright red.

"I've been watching you for a while. You're eyes have been glued to him for half an hour," he said.

"I'll give Liz the note, but please don't tell him," I said.

"Okay then," he said, standing up. "I wasn't going to tell him anyway, but you've agreed, so I don't have to worry about it. See you in gym."

I watched dumbfounded as he walked down the steps towards and field. He stepped up beside Derek, who was drinking from his water bottle, and lightly slapped him on the shoulder in greeting. The reality of what just happened hit me and felt the barest hint of panic hit me. I just basically admitted that I liked Derek, and to his best friend. I didn't even care that he had tricked me.

Grabbing my bag, I walked the entire length of the bleachers and came out as far from the players as possible. Talking to the coach could wait until tomorrow morning.

Chapter 4 done. Now time for some much needed laziness. Also, I love hearing your predictions about what's happening or going to happen. If helps me know if I'm successfully leading you guys the right way.