Sport Tournaments : Part 2

Gizem’s eyes opened to the gray light of morning, the wind slipping through her window, making it rattle slightly. The excitement of Thursday’s football victory was still in her; Yiğit’s last-minute goal, that brief but burning glance he threw at the stands… She sat up in bed, pulling the blanket to her chest, her fingers twisting around its worn edges. She grabbed her journal and scribbled with her pen:

Day 24: Yesterday, Yiğit was on the field, that goal… That smile… Why is my heart beating like this? Today, we have a match against 10-B, but something inside me is stirring. I don’t understand. Is it Pınar? Yiğit? Or am I the one who’s confused?

As she set the pen down on her desk, a whisper rose from within her: This town is exhausting me.

She got up, put on a gray hoodie and jeans, tied her hair in a messy bun, and looked at her reflection in the mirror—faint shadows under her eyes, lips tight. I don’t know what’s going to happen today.

In the kitchen, Nuray had already set the breakfast table; a plate of toast, olives, and white cheese on the counter, steam from the kettle fogging up the windows. The usual worried lines on Nuray’s face had softened, her hair was neatly tied back, her movements unhurried. Hakan was at the table, glasses slipping down his nose, buried in his newspaper; his tall frame hunched over the chair, his coffee cup trembling slightly in his hand.

“Good morning,” Gizem said, her voice still thick with sleep as she sat down and took a bite of toast.

Nuray looked at her, a small smile on her lips. “Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well? There’s another match today, right?” There was curiosity in her voice, her eyes studying Gizem.

Mom always knows everything, Gizem thought to herself. “Yeah,” she said, her voice calm but her mind restless. “Against 10-B. They won yesterday, Yiğit scored three goals, and one of them was in the last minute—it won them the game.”

Hakan lifted his head from the newspaper, grinning over his glasses. “Yiğit? That kid from the stage? Both music and football, huh? Impressive,” he said with amusement.

Gizem flashed him a small smile. “Yeah, dad, he was really good,” she said, feeling warmth rush to her cheeks. I hope I’m not making it too obvious.

She swung her bag over her shoulder, grabbed her bike, and headed out the door. As she pedaled through the narrow streets of the town, the wind brushed against her face, the scent of the sea filling her lungs. Fishermen were gathering their nets, a stray cat lazily walked past a trash can. This town feels like a dream, but sometimes it suffocates me, she thought.

The schoolyard was buzzing with energy; students gathered in groups, sports bags slung over their shoulders, football chatter filling the air. She locked her bike, threw her bag over her shoulder, and stepped into 12-A, where the whole class was electrified with excitement.

Mert was at the board, sketching tactics. “10-B’s defense is solid as a rock, but with Yiğit, we can break through!” he shouted, his voice filled with determination, eyes gleaming.

Emre smirked, tossing a pen at Mert. “Yeah, Yiğit’s gonna put on another show, the stands will go crazy!”

Yiğit, calmly bouncing a football in the corner, smiled slightly. “It’s gonna be a tough game, but we’ll win,” he said, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Gizem. His lips curled slightly.

An announcement echoed from the speakers: “The festival football tournament continues! Today, the second match of Group B: 12-A versus 10-B, at 16:00 in the sports hall. Good luck!”

The class erupted, banging on desks, chanting, “12-A! 12-A!”

During the break, Pınar, Beste, and Zeynep huddled in a corner of the courtyard, whispering.

Pınar flipped her hair. “Did you guys see the match yesterday? After Yiğit scored, he looked straight at Gizem,” she said, her voice laced with jealous sweetness, eyes narrowed.

Beste giggled. “Yeah, they totally locked eyes. It was like a scene from a movie,” she said, crossing her arms, lips pursed.

Zeynep nodded. “I think there’s something between them. Yiğit acts really close to her,” she murmured, her gaze shifting around.

Pınar raised an eyebrow. “Everyone noticed, I mean. The new girl shows up, and suddenly Yiğit is orbiting around her,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Drums, football… What’s next?”

Beste smirked. “Maybe she’ll come to the game and cheer him on, like a girlfriend,” she said, unable to hold back her laughter.

Zeynep added, “I don’t even think Yiğit realizes it, but Gizem is totally glued to him,” she said with a shrug.

Pınar pursed her lips. “Let’s sit with them at lunch and see what’s really going on,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “Let’s see what she does.”

Beste and Zeynep giggled in agreement.

At lunchtime, Gizem and Beyza sat at a table in the cafeteria, unwrapping their sandwiches.

Beyza grinned. “Yiğit’s goal yesterday was insane, right? Last second…” she said, excitement in her voice, eyes flicking to Gizem.

Gizem smiled. “Yeah, I thought my heart was gonna stop,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement, but her eyes distant. That look… Was it really for me? she wondered.

Pınar, Beste, and Zeynep approached with their trays. Pınar flipped her hair. “Mind if we join you, girls?” she asked, her voice sweet but laced with something unreadable, a thin smile on her lips.

Beyza hesitated. “Sure,” she said, pulling out a chair. Gizem murmured, “Yeah, okay,” wondering, Are they trying to make peace?

They sat down, the conversation starting off light, but Pınar quickly steered it.

“Gizem, after Yiğit’s goal yesterday, was he looking at you?” she asked, her voice playful but sharp, her eyes locked onto Gizem.

Gizem froze. “I don’t know… I didn’t see,” she said, her voice shaky, eyes dropping to her sandwich.

Beste giggled. “Are you sure? Because I think everyone saw it. Same thing on stage, too—drums, guitar, the whole harmony thing,” she said, her voice teasing, throwing a glance at Zeynep.

Zeynep added, “You’ve really warmed up to Yiğit, huh? Interesting, for someone who just arrived,” she said, smiling as she glanced at the table.

Gizem’s throat went dry. “I didn’t do anything,” she said, her voice weak, but a wave of anger rose inside her. Why are they coming at me?

Pınar leaned forward. “There’s another match after school today. If you come, will you be cheering for Yiğit? Will you stand by his side, just like on stage?” she said, smiling, but her eyes were sharp.

Beste couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Yeah, honestly, Gizem is everywhere, like Yiğit’s right-hand man,” she said, lowering her voice.

Beyza frowned, realizing what was happening, but her shyness held her back from speaking. She only looked at Gizem.

Gizem stayed silent, her hands trembling. “There’s nothing like that,” she whispered, but her voice was fragile.

Pınar shrugged. “Whatever, it’s not our problem. Enjoy your meal, girls,” she said, standing up and walking away, whispering with Beste and Zeynep.

After lunch, Gizem and Beyza went outside. Gizem stood in a corner, her eyes welling up with tears. She turned to Beyza. “Why are they doing this?” she said, her voice shaking. “What does Yiğit have to do with me? Why are they targeting me?” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she crossed her arms.

Beyza placed a hand on her shoulder. “Pınar is jealous, don’t mind her,” she said, but her voice was helpless. “The fact that you’re close to Yiğit is driving her crazy.”

Gizem sobbed. “But I didn’t do anything!” she said, her voice rising. “I just got here, I haven’t hurt anyone!”

At that moment, Yiğit was sitting on a bench in the garden, lost in an old novel. As he flipped through the pages, his eyes accidentally landed on Gizem. When he saw her crying, his brows furrowed. He closed his book and slowly approached her, his long strides pressing against the ground. His black t-shirt swayed slightly in the wind, and his dark eyes gleamed with concern. “Gizem, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice calm yet deep, slipping his hand into his pocket as he looked at her.

Gizem lifted her head. Seeing Yiğit’s face made her heart race, but Pınar’s words echoed in her mind. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice trembling as she lied, wiping her eyes.

Yiğit sat on the bench, a little closer this time. “You’re not fine, that’s obvious,” he said, a softness in his voice, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Did something happen? You can tell me.”

Gizem thought, Just forget it, but she remained silent, her eyes dropping to the ground.

Yiğit continued, “Look, if you come to the match… If we win, I’ll dedicate the victory to you,” he said, a hint of enthusiasm in his voice, his eyes lingering on Gizem’s face. “Yesterday, when I scored, I saw you in the stands. It felt like I scored because of that energy. If you come, maybe it’ll happen again.”

A storm raged inside Gizem. Yiğit’s sincerity warmed her, but what had happened at lunch had hurt her deeply. She locked eyes with him. “I’m not coming to the match, Yiğit,” she said, her voice firm yet fragile. “And I don’t need your victory!” Her anger, which had built up from Pınar, suddenly exploded onto Yiğit. Her hands clenched into fists.

Yiğit was taken aback, his eyebrows rising. He paused for a moment, then, in a calm voice, said, “Alright, suit yourself,” and shrugged. He stood up, picked up his book, and added, “I won’t force you.” There was a small hint of disappointment in his eyes, but his expression remained indifferent as he turned and walked away. His tall frame disappeared into the garden, the wind tousling his hair.

As Gizem watched him leave, she thought, Why did I say that? He’s not the one at fault! Tears spilled down her face once again.

She didn’t go to the match. Instead, she rode her bike home and locked herself in her room. Later that evening, when she checked her phone, the group chat was buzzing: 12-A had beaten 10-B, 2-1. In the victory photo, Yiğit stood in the center, and Pınar had deliberately positioned herself close to him, smiling. Yiğit, unaware, was simply posing with the team.

Gizem’s chest tightened. She threw her phone onto the bed and thought, Pınar won, I lost. She thought of Yiğit—his voice on stage, his presence on the field—and her feelings became clear. I love him, but this is destroying me.

She opened her journal and wrote:

Day 24: Pınar and her group came after me, mocked me about Yiğit. I didn’t go to the match. In the photo, Pınar is close to him, and I’m here, feeling like a fool. I love Yiğit, I realized that, but this town is suffocating me.

In the kitchen, Nuray was brewing tea. When Gizem walked in, her mother looked up. “Sweetheart, why do you look so down?” she asked, concern in her voice as she set a teacup on the table.

Gizem slumped into a chair. “I didn’t go to the match,” she said, her voice tired yet trembling. “Pınar said things about Yiğit… I think I love him, Mom, but everything is a mess!”

Nuray raised an eyebrow, pulled out a chair, and sat across from her. “Wait a second, you love who now? What happened?” she asked, surprised but composed, placing her hands on the table.

Gizem hiccupped. “Pınar and her friends… They mocked me at lunch, said I was close to Yiğit, making all these little remarks,” she said, her voice rising and falling. “And in the photo, Pınar made sure to stand next to him—on purpose! And I’m here, doing nothing!”

Nuray was silent for a moment. “Pınar?” she repeated. “She’s jealous of you.” Her voice was understanding. “But what about Yiğit? Are you really in love with him?”

Gizem rested her head on the table. “I don’t know, Mom… His voice, his smile… But Pınar ruined everything,” she murmured, tears dripping onto the wooden surface. “I yelled at Yiğit, told him I wasn’t coming to the match, but he didn’t do anything wrong!”

Nuray placed a gentle hand on Gizem’s hair. “Sweetheart, calm down,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “Jealousy is everywhere. Pınar’s problem is in her own head. If you snapped at Yiğit, don’t worry. He probably didn’t even take it seriously.”

Gizem lifted her head. “But I just lashed out at him,” she said, regret filling her voice. “He was being nice to me, and I… Why am I like this?”

Nuray smiled. “That’s just how it is when you love someone. You get tangled up,” she said, handing Gizem a cup of tea. “Look, if you really like Yiğit, keep it to yourself for now. Time will sort things out. But remember, you are important, with or without him.”

Gizem held her mother’s hand. “I wish everything were simple,” she said, her voice fragile, tears soaking into Nuray’s sleeve.

Nuray stroked her hair. “It will be. Just be patient,” she said with quiet confidence.

Gizem retreated to her room, lying on her bed. She picked up her medal, the golden surface glinting dimly in the light. Yiğit’s expression on the bench flashed in her mind—his calm voice, his genuine smile—but then she remembered the way he walked away indifferently. I was angry, but I wish I hadn’t snapped at him, she thought.

She closed her eyes, regret settling in her chest like a heavy weight as sleep pulled her under.