Chapter 69 *

Chapter 69 Chapter 69
Angelina’s POV
The hallways were packed with jerseys. Lakers purple, Patriots red, Seahawks blue—everyone was repping their team for Spirit Week's Athletic Day. I spottedMia andLogan waiting by my locker, both wearing matching Golden State Warriors jerseys.
"There she is," Mia called out, waving me over. "Girl, where were you all weekend? You ghosted us."
I walked up and leaned against my locker. "Around."
"Around?" Logan raised an eyebrow. "That's all you're giving us?"
"I was at the track," I said. "Picked up an apprentice."
Mia's eyes went wide. "Wait, what? You actually took Silas Reid as your apprentice? Like, for real?"
"Yeah."
"No cap?" Logan looked like I'd just told him I bought a yacht.
"No cap."
Mia grabbed my arm. "Aria, are you sure about this? That guy's a total player. What if this is some kind of setup?"
I met her eyes. "He wouldn't dare."
The way I said it made both of them go quiet for a second. Logan recovered first, a grin spreading across his face.
"Okay, but hear me out," he said. "If he's your apprentice now, you should totally make him do all the heavy lifting. Like, carry your books, get your lunch, all that stuff."
Mia laughed despite herself. "That's so mean."
"But kinda genius," Logan added.
I didn't say no. The image of Silas hauling my textbooks around actually wasn't terrible.
What I didn't tell them was the part where I'd broken into Principal Morrison's office with Silas on Saturday. Yeah, that would've made their jaws hit the floor. Some things were better kept quiet.
The Spirit Week chaos continued. Wednesday was Decades Day, and the school looked like a time machine exploded. Neon windbreakers from the '80s, oversized flannels from the '90s, low-rise jeans from the 2000s. I kept it simple—'70s athletic style, because we had P.E. and I wasn't about to run in platform shoes.
Coach Martinez, our P.E. teacher, stood in the middle of the gym with her clipboard. She was in her mid-thirties, always intense about fitness testing.
"Alright, everyone," she announced. "Today we're doing long jump assessments. This goes into your gradebook, so take it seriously. Boys and girls will test separately. Everyone head to the track."
Great. Fitness testing. My favorite.
Logan fell into step beside me as we headed outside. He was wearing baggy '90s track pants that looked two sizes too big.
"You ready for this?" he asked.
"It's just jumping," I said.
"Yeah, but Coach Martinez is gonna be all official about it. I heard last year some kid false-started twice and she made him run laps."
We reached the long jump area on the track field. Coach Martinez's assistant, Coach Thompson—this older guy in his fifties—was already setting up the measuring tape. Students lined up according to roll call, boys on one side, girls on the other.
Coach Martinez explained the rules while Coach Thompson prepped his clipboard. Standard stuff—run-up, jump from the board, land in the sand pit. They'd measure from the board to wherever you landed.
The boys went first. Logan took his turn, got a decent jump, then jogged over to the sideline where I was waiting.
"Your turn's coming up," he said, grinning.
Some guys from our class started making noise.
"Yo, Logan's simping hard," one of them called out.
"Are they dating or what?" another one added.
Logan's face flushed. "We're just friends, dude."
"Sure you are," the first guy laughed. "That why you're over there cheering her on?"
"Because she's actually good at this stuff," Logan shot back. "Better than me, honestly."
That got bigger laughs.
"Yeah, right," one guy said. "A girl better than you at track? Come on, man."
"Girls can't jump as far as guys, that's just facts," another added.
"Wanna bet?" Logan challenged.
I tuned them out. Typical high school competitive BS. I'd been through training that would've killed them ten times over. Jumping off cliffs in my past life, where one mistake meant death. Landing wrong meant you didn't land at all. The ones who survived that training could outjump any professional athlete.
"Girls' turn," Coach Martinez called out. "First up—Aria!"
I walked to the starting line. Coach Martinez stood by the sand pit with her clipboard ready. Students lined the sidelines, watching.
The setup was simple: run-up lane, takeoff board, sand pit. I positioned myself at the start of the run-up and waited.
"Ready, set—" Coach Martinez called.
Most students would be nervous right now. Worried about their grade, about embarrassing themselves in front of everyone.
I felt nothing.
"Go!"
I moved.
A slight crouch, then my legs exploded forward. My body shot down the run-up lane like I'd been launched. I hit the takeoff board and pushed off—hard. For a split second, I was airborne, weightless.
Then I landed.
Past the twenty-foot mark.
The entire P.E. class went dead silent.
I straightened up in the sand and brushed off my hands. When I looked back, everyone was staring at me like I'd just sprouted wings.
Coach Martinez had jumped to her feet, nearly dropping her clipboard. Her mouth hung open.
"What—how—" She couldn't finish a sentence.
Coach Thompson was staring at the measuring tape like it had betrayed him. He looked up at Coach Martinez, then back at the tape.
"Did I—did I measure that right?" he stammered.
"What was last year's class record?" Coach Martinez asked, her voice shaky.
"For girls?" Coach Thompson flipped through his notes. "About sixteen feet. The top girl was Sarah Gentry at sixteen-two."
"And she just—" Coach Martinez pointed at where I'd landed. "She just cleared twenty feet."
The math wasn't hard. Girls in our P.E. class usually maxed out around sixteen feet. I'd jumped four feet farther than last year's best. And the run-up lane in a high school P.E. class wasn't even that long—maybe thirty to forty feet max. A college athlete with a longer run-up could easily break twenty-five feet.
But I'd done twenty feet with a basic high school run-up.
Coach Martinez finally found her voice. "That's... that's almost college athlete level! I need to check if this is a school record."
Around me, students started pulling out their phones. The group chat was probably blowing up right now.
Logan spun around to face the guys who'd been talking trash earlier. His expression was smug as hell.
"See?" he said, pointing at me. "I told you she's way better than me! What were you saying about girls not being able to jump?"
The guys had nothing to say. They just stared.
Coach Martinez approached me, still looking stunned. "Aria, you don't need a second attempt. This is already way more than enough for your grade. Have you done any formal track and field training? Like, outside of school?"
"No," I said. "Nothing formal."
That made it worse. Her expression shifted from shock to complete disbelief.
Around the sidelines, girls from my class were whispering excitedly. The guys looked somewhere between impressed and threatened. Someone was definitely recording this for social media.
"Did you see that jump in P.E. today?!" I heard one girl say into her phone.
Logan jogged up beside me as we headed back toward the locker rooms. He couldn't stop grinning.
"Dude, you're gonna be all over the school by tomorrow," he said. "Wait till this gets around. Everyone's gonna be talking about it."
I didn't respond. My mind was elsewhere.
Inside, I was frowning. Twenty feet. That was it. Just twenty feet.
In my past life, that would've gotten me killed. Jumping from cliff to cliff, where the gaps were wider and the landing zones were jagged rocks—twenty feet wouldn't have saved me. The brutal training that forged me into the strongest Alpha required jumps that would've shattered bones if I'd failed.
And now, in this Omega body with its physical limits, I could barely manage twenty feet.
Too short. Way too short.
I was stronger than this. I knew I was. But this body... these limitations...
It pissed me off.