ONE
ELLA
I soar through the air, core tight and engaged, my body a blur against the backdrop of Oxford blues and whites. The crowd below me roars, their voices blending together in a loud echo of cheers. They’re faceless to me, just a sea of people in an all-too-familiar room.
For a fleeting moment, while I’m high above them all, it’s as though I’m truly flying. My heart pounds in my chest, the thrill of the performance pulsing through me.
I reach the peak of the basket toss, and hit my mark perfectly, my limbs extended, my form flawless. A flash of genuine excitement crosses my face as I survey the room. This is where I come alive, performing on the mat, thriving on the trust, the unity among me and my teammates.
With practiced precision, we disassemble, and I’m gently lowered down, not a single hair out of place. Sweat drips from my brow down the side of my jaw, the tight grips and mounds of hairspray tingling at the base of my neck. The sound of our success is earsplitting, drowning out any lingering thoughts or distractions.
All that matters is the knowledge that we’ve given this routine our all. We’ve conquered our final competition of the season, and this is the happiest moment of my life.
As we take our last bow, joy bubbles up inside of me. It spills out in the form of an uncontrollable smile, radiating from my lips to my fingertips. This is it—the pinnacle of my time with this team.
Soon, it will all come to an end.
In just a couple of short weeks, I’ll be leaving behind everything I’ve ever known—my team, Oxford, my legacy—and heading off to Whitland University in Nashville. There’s a full year of studying abroad laid out before me, summer term through the following spring, followed by months of travel with my boyfriend. It’s a dream come true, a chance to make my mark on an international stage. Yet at the same time, it’s daunting beyond measure.
“Pack it in, Davies. You’re gonna give us all a complex,” my friend Molly says, nudging me as we head backstage. Her smile is genuine, but there’s an edge of friendly sarcasm in her tone.
“Oh, come off it,” I say. “If we can’t celebrate now, when can we? We just smashed that.”
She chuckles, her slender arm finding its way around my shoulders as we make our way to the lockers. “That’s an understatement. Good last comp for you, huh?”
I grin over at her, even as the bittersweet reality of my departure looms. “Don’t remind me … I’m gonna miss this so much.”
She gives me a little squeeze, her voice lowering a bit. “It’s only a year. And it’s
Whitland. That’s a big deal.”
“I know, it’s just a lot. New country, new team…”
“New men to obsess over.”
“I still have Jamie, remember?”
“Right … Jamie,” she mutters. “You sure he needs to tag along?”
“He’s not
tagging along. Despite the fact that he also wants to travel, Whitland has an incredible finance department, and Jamie—”
“Right, right,” she cuts in with a snort. “Mr. Moneybags is gonna learn how to make even more money. How could I forget?”
“Seriously, what is your issue with him?”
“Just don’t think he’s good enough for you, babe.”
“We’ve been together for so long. Five years now. I know him like the back of my hand.” I yank a few grips out of my hair, tossing them in my jacket pocket. “Jamie’s it for me. Always has been, always will be.”
“If you say so.”
“Drop it, Moll. I don’t want our last couple weeks together to be spent rowing.”
“You’re right, as per. Sorry, Ella.” She pats me on the arm. “But don’t act like we’ll never talk again. FaceTime still works from the other side of the pond, yeah?”
I laugh, a genuine moment of relief in the midst of the chaos. The changing room is a mess, with gear scattered everywhere, teammates chatting loudly, and the smell of damp sweat hanging in the air. “Yeah, well, you’re six hours ahead. So, if I call at some ungodly time, you better pick up.”
“Will you send over some Lay’s Barbecue and a pack of LifeSavers?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then ring me any time.”
I laugh, shoving her gently on the shoulder. She turns, flashing me a grin, and quickly strips out of her uniform. I head toward my comp locker to do the same, floating a little lighter now. Molly Green’s always had a way of doing that—of cutting directly through the tension, no pretense about her.
I’m still lingering once the room has cleared, slowly zipping up my bag when our coach approaches. “Davies, got a second?”
I turn. “Of course. Everything all right?”
“More than.” She smiles, her expression softening. “First and foremost, I wanted to congratulate you.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
She claps a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You’ve been an extraordinary asset to this team over the past two seasons. Your spirit, your dedication, it’s unmatched. Whitland is lucky to have you.”
Her words hit me like a warm embrace, filling me with a sense of pride and gratitude. “Thank you, Bailey, that means a lot. I just hope I’m a good representation of Oxford while I’m there.”
“You will be. Wherever you go, you’ve got the heart of a Siren.”
I tap my palm against my chest, and with one last beaming smile, I say, “Once a Siren, always a Siren.”
“That’s the spirit.”
* * *
TWO SHORT WEEKS HAVE PASSED since our final championship. My room’s in tatters as boxes and bags cover the floor, each one a tiny capsule of memories from the past two years. I move with practiced efficiency, folding clothes while a storm swirls inside my mind.
It’s the first week of June, but for me, it marks the end of an era.
Molly lounges on my bed, her fingers absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. One of our other friends, Olivia, is kneeling on the floor, taping up one of the many boxes floating around.
“Can’t believe you’re actually leaving us,” Molly says, eyes still glued to her screen.
I let out a stilted laugh, failing to hide my nerves. “I know, right? Feels like I’ll wake up from this dream any moment now.”
Olivia pauses her makeshift assembly line to give me a knowing look. “You’re gonna do great things out there. And with Jamie by your side, you’ll have a little piece of home with you.”
Molly’s face twists into a disapproving scowl. “Yeah, exactly right,” she mutters under her breath.
I shoot her a warning glance. “Not now, okay?”
She tosses her hands up. “Fine, fine. Mum’s the word.”
Silence falls over the room as we continue packing, the only sounds being that of tape being torn and items shuffled around. The heaviness of change presses down on me, but I welcome the weight despite my apprehension.
I’m in the midst of folding my favorite jumper—a cozy knit Jamie got me from the Oxford gift shop—when my phone buzzes, breaking the silence. I glance down at my screen to see my boyfriend’s name flashing across it.
Propping the phone between my shoulder and one ear, I say, “Hey. You all set?”
There’s a pause on the other end, a moment of hesitation that stretches too long. “Babe, look, I … I’m not going to be on the flight with you later today.”
I freeze in place. “What do you mean? You’re not gonna make it there on time?”
“I’m not gonna make it at all.” He sighs, a heavy, burdened sound. “I’ve booked a later flight for myself. I need to … I need to do this alone.”
I frown, a crease forming between my brows. My fingers unconsciously twist the hem of my jumper, the frayed fabric tightening in my grip. “Alone? You know I’m not fond of flying, and especially not by myself. I can’t—”
“I’m not talking about just the flight, Ella. I mean this whole thing.”
My friends, sensing the shift in mood, pause their packing to look over at me questioningly.
“Whole thing?” The room spins a little, the words not quite registering. “I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific before I completely lose my mind.”
He awkwardly clears his throat. “This trip,” he says, and I feel as though he’s ripped my lungs from my body. “Studying at Whitland.”
“Like, the entire trip we’ve planned together?” I manage to choke out. “The whole year abroad, the road trips next summer…”
“I know, I know, it seems sudden. But I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. And this is what’s best.”
“What’s best for you?” My voice rises in disbelief, shaking as I croak out the question. “You have to be joking. Bailing on me just hours before our flight. That’s a real classy move, Jamie.”
“I thought you’d understand. I just … I’d like for us both to experience this as our own people, not as ‘Jamie and future Mrs. Baker’ for once. I think we could use this freedom.”
“Freedom?” I pace the length of my room, each step more forceful than the last. My voice rises, nearly echoing off the bare walls. “Is that what I am to you? A cage? Do not act like I forced this on you, Jamie. We’ve been planning this
together since the beginning.”
“No, it’s not you, it’s me. Lately I’ve been feeling like I don’t know who I am outside of ‘us.’ And I need space to figure that out. To be sure I’m not just going along with a plan because it’s what we’ve always talked about.”
The finality in his voice is unmistakable, and a wave of betrayal washes over me. I stop my pacing and clench my jaw so tightly that the muscles twitch. The phone is pressed hard against my ear, each word from him amplifying the pounding inside my head.
“So, all our plans, our entire fucking future, mean nothing now?”
“They do, but this is important to me,” he says. “Maybe when I figure things out, we can reconnect.”
Molly’s hand lands on my shoulder but I shrug it off, my focus solely on Jamie’s voice playing on a fun house loop inside my head.
“This is cowardly. You’re dropping this on me now when it’s too late to change anything. If you’ve been thinking about this for a while, then you’ve had months to say something. Anything. And as for reconnecting, there’s no shot of that. You made your bed with this decision. You’ll have to lie in it.”
There’s a pause, a heavy breath. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” I laugh bitterly. “You’ve done a pretty stellar job of that now.”
“It’s a year, baby. And after that, we can reassess.”
The words are there, on the tip of my tongue—pleas, arguments, bargaining. But, as I take in what he’s telling me, something inside of me shifts. Maybe this is a sign, a push toward a new beginning that’s wholly mine.
I take a deep breath and steady my voice. “Fine, Jame. If that’s what you want. Go find yourself. Fuck a few willing classmates. Because that’s what this is really all about, isn’t it? You want to be single. To live it up in America. Well, don’t expect me to be here waiting when you finally find out who you are.”
“Hey, that’s not—”
I cut him off, a sudden surge of strength coursing through me. “Goodbye, Jamie.”
Ending the call, I stand there, phone in hand, a cocktail of emotions whirling inside me—anger, betrayal, but also a strange sense of liberation. I blink rapidly, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over. My hand trembles as I set the phone down on the desk with more care than necessary.
Olivia and Molly rush to my side, their shocked faces filled with concern. “What a fucking bellend,” Molly spits out.
Olivia wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
“You don’t need him,” Molly adds. “You never did.”
Leaning into their support, I allow myself a moment to feel everything. There’s hurt, there’s shock, there’s a nascent flicker of dread for what lies ahead. I sink onto the edge of my bed, my legs too weak to carry me. My head’s in my hands, fingers threading through my hair as I work to process it all.
“Yeah, well, screw him,” I say, looking up. I swipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I’m still going to make this year count for something.”
“You don’t have to put on a brave face for us, you know?” Olivia says softly. “You can let it all out. Cry on our shoulders if you’d like.”
“No, everything’s going to be fine. With or without him.”
“That’s right,” Molly says. “Jamie Baker doesn’t deserve your tears.”
With a weak nod, I wipe the last lonely tear from my cheek, swallowing down the disappointment, the betrayal, the sheer pain of this loss. If I allow myself to feel it all, this entire experience will be ruined before it begins.
And I refuse to let that happen. This is
my future. Mine, and mine alone.
Copyright © 2025 by Ki Stephens
