022.03 MARTINA – Papírové stěny Sep 11 at 05:00 – 12:30

The buzzing of the fluorescent lights is like a strange melody. My marker is circling over the empty schedule grid, but my thoughts are completely elsewhere.

I watch Bromlil as he takes the folder from Tony. His tired movements, the routine stamping.

“Paperwork will catch up to you if you can't keep up,” he mutters with that typical coaching wisdom of his. This guy always has some profound bullshit ready.

It's strange how much time I suddenly spend with him. A few weeks ago I barely knew him, just like that Viktor who is now staring at the notice board as if looking for salvation on it.

I look at the empty grid and images flash through my head. My naked photos. The ones that flew across the internet. I feel my fingers stiffen around the marker. I shouldn't be thinking about this. Not here. Not now.

Bromlil notices me freezing up. I feel his gaze, but I don't look him in the eyes.

By the door stands that boy – Tom. Completely motionless, like a statue. He stares at Tony, as if waiting for some sign. He doesn't say a word, just stands there, his shoulder leaning against the doorframe. That quiet intensity of his is almost tangible.

Růženka arrives with a box of flyers.

"Summer Photo Contest," she announces and puts them on the table next to a pen with chewing gum stuck to the clip. Who put that here? So typical of this club.

I finally force myself to write down the time for tomorrow's practice. Tony leans closer, watching the numbers I'm writing. They look as if they're pulsing. Like the red lights of a braking tram.

“Work never ends,” sighs Bromlil and sinks deeper into his chair. The smell of toner and sweat drifts through the air. A combination of office routine and athletic dedication.

Tony picks up another stack of papers. It sounds as though every single sheet weighs a ton.

And then it happens. That sound. The notification of some app.

I see all three of them—Viktor, Tom and Tony—freeze for a fraction of a second. Each of them recognizes that sound. Tony's expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes… it's like electricity suddenly surging through the room.

Suddenly I am sure that Tony knows that sound too. He knows what it means. And the tension that suddenly hangs in the air between the three of them is almost palpable.

I lower my eyes back to the paper. This is not my fight. But I can't help wondering to myself how many other secrets are hidden beneath the surface of this strange trio.