63rd St.

Chapter 6

One day, I got myself dressed in my usual attire for his games (A number 4 shirt with his last name written across the back, and eyeshadow in the colors of his team.)

I took an Uber to the school field, and sat in my usual spot on the bleachers. I cheered him on like usual. He didn't wink at me, he barely even made eye-contact.

He made the winning play, and I watched him get tackled by all of his teammates. It made me smile for some reason.

After spending a bit of time celebrating with his team, he waltzed over to a line of girls that were waiting for him on the other side of the gate.

I watched them batt their eyelashes at him a distasteful amount of times. He talked with them for a while.

Then I watched him get whisked away by his coach, most likely leading him into his office, for him to be met with, yet, another scout.

And just like that, he's was gone.

He looked at me once, maybe, throughout the entire game, did he even realize me at all?

That night I decided not to go to his next game. If he doesn't realize when I'm there, then he shouldn't care when I'm not, right?

So I didn't. I stayed home, staring at the walls of my room and chewing on my fingers until they were bloody.  I had so much anxiety about how he would react, I could barely breathe.

That afternoon was the second time Andrew ever hit me. I haven't missed a single one of his game since. I barely even cheer anymore, I just show up like he wants. I go home afterwards, and sit in my room, until he calls me and says he wants me to come over. I hang out for a few hours, then I slip out once he falls asleep to go to the house on 63rd.

I found a way to disconnect from my surroundings and tune everything out, so his game went by fairly quick for me. He won, he celebrated, he left after. The usual.

Making my way down the bleachers, to the parking lot to find my Uber, my mind contemplated decision after decision.

Although I don't want to admit this to myself, my brain is telling me to go back to the roof tonight, and see that boy again. He who remains nameless I joke to myself.

No! I'm not supposed to be making jokes about him. I shouldn't even be thinking about him right now. I should be on my way home to sit in my room for hours. Not this.

He's the perfect example of why I shouldn't be going to that roof during the day in the first place. I have to forget about him, and pray I never run into him ever again.

When I made it to the parking lot, I noticed my ride had arrived, and I was home in about 10 minutes.

I stormed up to my room, slammed the door and threw myself onto my bed. Maybe I could just go to the roof, and see if he's there...

Craning my neck, I turn to check the clock on my nightstand. It's only 7:37, but the sun is down. He might not even be out there maybe I can just go check...

No!

"I don't know why i'm still considering this. I am not going back to the roof until the middle of the night like usual, when I know for certain that he's asleep" I scolded myself in finality.

Then I remembered. He told me he has insomnia.Meaning even if I wait until the middle of the night to avoid him, he may very well still be there.

Shit.

That's it. I can never go back to that house. Ever. I bury my head in my pillow, cursing myself.

I can't keep running away from my problems. I cant keep isolating myself, ruining my chances of ever making any friends whatsoever.