"Can I help you?" Please just go away.
"I think you would have a hard time helping anyone but yourself, Winchester." Gordon growls, stopping a few inches in front of me. Why do angry people like to get really up close and personal?
"Oh, ow, I'm wounded, really." I mockingly put a hand over my heart. "And you're using my last name? Well I guess you must be very upset about something." And because, why not, I've already dug myself a grave, I place a hand on his chest and push just enough to make him take a step back. "Could you maybe get out of my face? Sorry sweetheart, I don't bat for that team."
Yup. He's pissed. "I didn't walk over here to deal with your shit."
"I didn't wake up today to deal with yours." I reply flatly.
"Are you finished?" He says through clenched teeth.
"Depends, are you?" I shrug my backpack back up onto my shoulder, shutting my locker.
He shoves me up against the locker, and I push him back. "Chill out. What do you want?"
"What do you think?"
"I'm going to take a guess here and say it probably has something to do with the team, right? Right." I didn't bother to wait for a response because a) I know I'm right, and b) the less Gordon talks the better my day is.
"Ding, ding, ding." Gordon folds his arms.
"Okay that's great and all but if you have a point I'd like it if you got to it." I roll my eyes, because seriously, this is annoying.
"What were you thinking? Do you want the team to look ridiculous? We are going to have our asses handed to us on a silver platter."
"Well for one, I'm just benched for a while, and not to mention the whole 'this wasn't my choice' thing."
"To hell it wasn't your choice. You either show up or you don't, and you didn't. You only think of yourself."
"Yes, I can be selfish. I am one selfish son of a bitch, okay?"
He scoffs at me and I glare back at him before continuing. "But I never wanted this." Understatement of the year. I need football. "Don't you dare accuse me of that. Don't. Freaking. Dare."
"I'm quaking in my boots."
"So you've come to yell at me, then. To blame me for shit I didn't do or mean to do. Awesome." I push past him and walk toward my class.
Naturally, he grabs my arm and pulls me back. I yank it away.
"Dean, you do realize how bad this really is."
"I seem to have a pretty good idea." Who the hell is he to tell me shit about my life?
"No, you don't. Clearly. You aren't benched, Dean. You're off the team."
I can feel all the blood drain from my face. I can see my heart beating in my chest and hear it loud and clear in my ears.
Suddenly I don't really know what to do with my hands, so I just kind of stare at them as they shake slightly. It's enough that I can tell, but not it's not enough that you;d be able to see it if you weren't paying really close attention.
Strange though, I mean I know that the shaking isn't that noticeable, but I feel like a freaking earthquake decided to move from the planet and shake everything inside and out of me.
Standing is slowly starting to seem harder than relying on your own legs should be.
Come on, Dean, breathe. In, out. In, out. Repeat. You've been doing this your whole life.
