Jock [BoyxBoy] (EDITING!!!)

Chapter 1*

This story is for all the sports players, aka JOCKS, who can't be their true self for fear of losing the safety they have created. Remember: there's always someone who loves you.

Pic: Rick Malambri as Samuel Eli Trente

Chapter 1

~Samuel's POV~

The hallways of McArthur High are so crowded today.

The game is a better persuader for students to come to class than any parent or teacher. Its hard to even see my feet from how close I have to walk, all my classmates are like canned sardines. Better yet, live canned sardines out of water, trying desperately to move but finding themselves stuck in one place from lack of oxygen or, in our case, space.

I shuffle past people in the small spaces I find to walk. My head pounds and I know if coach knew how much I drank last night I would be benched instead of quarterbacking tonight. Groaning I keep pace with my best friend, Marcus. Ok, keep pace is a relative term, more like try not to trip as I follow him. A sea of red and black, our school colors, surround me from all sides as everyone tries to show their support of our football team. A small group of boys are in red football jerseys, myself included, setting us apart as the stars of the day.

All this I take in from the back of my mind as I try not to knock someone over or fall over myself. My name being called jolts me back to the present with the pounding it causes in my head, "Sam, Sam!"

"What?" I ask shaking my head to releive some of the fogginess my hangover is causing.

"You need to sleep. If you're like this at the game Coach will fry you alive." Marcus informs me. In his red joursey and loose black jeans Marcus stands out as one of hte important students in school today. His messy black hair falls slightly over his green eyes. He's as tall as me so those sea green orbs glare right into mine and I wince.

"Thanks for your motivation, Marcus." I reply petulantly, as if I don't know coach would throw a fit over his star player barely being able to keep a level head.

"How late were you out last night?"

I shrug, I lose track of the hours after midnight, "Three thirty? Maybe."

Marcus shakes his head, "Why do you keep doing this? You know its wrong, not to mention its killing you. Slowly but still killing you."

I shrug again. I don't like to talk about why I act the way I do. Nobody knows, except my dad, but he passed away two years ago. The burden of my actions is mine to bear, just as the guilt over my dad's death is mine to bear as well. Maybe Marcus is right and I need to take better care of myself but after all these years of honing a certain image it becomes habit to act a certain way.

When you're a teenager its common knowledge that you should do as your parents tell you to. I always did the exact opposite. Not because I was a bad kid but because I was tired of doing the right thing all the time. Tired of the responsibility my birth and name put on my shoulders.

Clean you're room, leave it as it is.

Get good grades, flunk my next test.

Come home by eleven, be home at two in the morning.

From the moment I was born, I was a sheltered child. My mother was told she couldn't have kids, so when miracle me came along, my mother was ecstatic. So much so that she named me after Hannah's miracle child, and the pastor he was given to, in the bible. Samuel Eli Trente.

Growing up I was always around one of my parents, never left alone and never allowed to do anything that could potentially cause me harm. I understood why my mother was overprotective. Given the cirumstances I couldn't fault her for wanting to keep me safe. But I hated it. Every single day was a repetition of the last and it was slowly driving me mad.