When an arrogant new student shows up in class, Victoria hates him at first sight. She seeks to avoid him, but finds herself partnering with him in solving a mystery revolving around a ghost. And against her will, sparks fly.
Life takes a turn that rips Victoria of her innocence and places her stepmother as her footstool. Once, she'd wanted a chance for love, but all she wants now is revenge. And not even her Prince Charming can stand in her way.
Will she follow her heart and let love win, or will she follow her head and be a slave of vengeance?
I sprinted. Sweat trickled down the contours of my face. Everyone and everything blurred. A teammate waved at me. She bounced on the balls of her feet to catch my attention, but I had no intent to pass the ball. I would claim the goal. And I'd be proud to have added one more goal to my collection.
With feigned oblivion of my teammates hinting for the ball, I stared straight ahead. Opponents darted after me. Three caught up with me, but dribbling came easy. Would Cynthia not try to make this a challenge? Maybe she doubted the ball would make it to the net. I looked forward to the look on her face when the rival goal keeper conceded my goal.
Although Cynthia played in my team, our personal differences had driven her to become the deadliest on the field. I lost count of how many times she had launched herself at me in game play, causing me to dislocate a bone or two. Today though, I had planned tactful ways to escape her advances. And so far, I had a firm hold on success.
Standing face to face with the goal keeper, my heart lurched, forcing me to acknowledge the monstrosity of her build. Having the body of a ballerina, I stood no chance against the legged intimidation before me. What did she do with her spare time? Did she lift bags of cement, or did she waste away at some local gym?
Amidst the girl's monstrosity, I caught a glimpse of uncertainty. Surely, she reminisced over the other occasions my flaming ball had flown past her, and into the net. The fear on her face could not be mistaken. It assured me of the victory in my grasp. This time, it would not slither. I would be the one to turn things around; score a last-minute goal to bring the game out of its goalless state. I would save Western High from the clutches of near-defeat.
Only after the ball left my foot did I realize I had ruined our final chance of victory. Disappointment flitted across my sweaty face as I watched my effort carve through air and toward the sky. I had raised the hopes of my supporters, only to dump them in the sewer.
The referee's whistle shrieked, piercing through the susurrus snaking around the stadium. Somewhere behind me, someone cackled. Cynthia.