The Perfect Game (GxG) (cliffhanger/completed)

One: Rumors Aweigh

Nani Cazetti

"Let's go," Jason, my older and most annoying brother yells from his car in the driveway, "You're gunna be late... Again!" He starts to honk.

I roll out of bed, wearing my football jersey over a black hoodie and my warm-up sweats, "I'm coming, I'm coming, shit, shut up!" I growl, knowing he can't hear me; I shove my black socked feet into some Nike slides. Tuck some headphones into my pocket, and glance into the mirror hanging next to my door; long wavy brunette hair is toppled over the hood and jersey, hazel eyes weary, a strong, yet girlish, quarterback built body stands in my way of the girl I'm trying to see. I shuffle to the bathroom and splash my face with some cold water. "Pap, I'm gunna be late again tonight, ayight?" I know he's passed out drunk on the couch, but I try anyway.

"Cazetti, get your white chic ass into my fuckin' car right the fuck now!" He's getting pissed now, but I don't really care at the moment. I saunter into the kitchen, grab two beers and a PB&J and leave, locking the door behind me and stuffing my moms lanyard into my other pocket. I kick the screen into the frame to make sure no one tries to rob the place while my Pap is practically dead to the world.

Jason reaches over and pops open the door as I near the car, sliding in I give a him a little love tap to let him know who's boss around here, "Don't call me white chic again, bitch." We share a look, and start an uncontrollable laughter. I hand him a beer and he smiles, pulling out of the driveway, spitting gravel everywhere. "Quit tryin' to show off. You ain't hot shit."

A few minutes go by and we pull up to North Thurston Prep a good fifteen minutes after the late bell, "See ya, loser," he says as he pulls out a joint.

My mood changes quickly, I hate when he does that, he keeps promising he'll quit. "Yep," I shout over my shoulder as I walk past the automotive class. I watch as some of my friends ameliorate their cars and stereo systems, rap music blasting from Ty's car. I hop down the stairs two at a time and take a deep breath before continuing on, back's killing me... I shove the big thick glass doors open, and some new teacher is already up my ass about being late, "Go to the office to get a slip, Cazetti." I don't look up; just shoot a 'thumbs up' as I scroll through my Twitter timeline looking for interesting things to retweet.

Brooklyn is such a hoe; we could fit a chemistry book in her ass.

Brooklyn is a virgin...on both sides. I laugh to myself, and double tap the retweet button, it's not true, but it's still funny. I cross the Commons, pass the 'Nest' and walk into the office, Coach Clark is talking, well, shouting, he always shouts, to the Office Assistant. I look her up and down, I've never seen her around here before, and so she must be new. And trust me, I know everyone at this school; from the lame freshman class of 2017 to the loners of 2014.

"Cazetti!" Coach Clark yells, "What the heck're you doin' in here?" He doesn't care, but he has to pretend in front of everyone.

"Couldn't get up, my back was too stiff." I say calmly, not really an excuse, it's true, my back hasn't stopped hurting since that bullshit sack by number thirteen from Western Heights.

He glances at me, looking concerned, "You need to skip the game today?"

I give him a 'you're fuckin' joking right?' look and he laughs. "Hell no, Coach, sorry for the language, but I am not hurt enough to let Frankie cover for me." My second-string, he's a damn idiot. "That would be like taking Brady out of a hall-of-fame game and putting Tebow in," I mumble bitterly.

Coach gives me a look, then laughs, "get to class, kid." He writes a pass, with a bogus excuse about game day training scribbled on it. Before I leave, he clasps his bear paw of a hand on my shoulder, "Hey, pep rally in sixth, be downstairs fifteen minutes before the bell."