Angel Eyed (DISCONTINUED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE)

nineteen

| that's a cringy little gif but Idk |

The people from the other side of the bleachers shot up their feet screaming, their applause drowning out the disappointment written fall over Bill’s face as my eyes followed him. He walks back to his team with his shoulders down, grabbing a white hand towel from Mr. Tillman, whom I assumed was their coach. I would've never mistaken, he was just signing my failed math exams two weeks ago. Short balding guy with an eighties mustache who told me I would have to repeat another year if I didn't straighten out my tests. Bill loved him to death though, going on about how much he wanted to be just like him once he finished college. For all I know my mother's a better math teacher than him.

“Two time defending team Los Angeles Highschool’s Romans, finally loses after Skarsgård’s sudden slip!” The MC announced, burying the nail deep further into my chest.

“Yes, John, it is unfortunate for the team.” His partner says and I see two men in suits in the corner of the crowded bleachers in front of a camera, their mics near their mouths as they proceeded to talk about the unfortunate lose. “I don't understand either, he seemed to be desperately  aiming for the trophy earlier and that last shoot just suddenly threw him down the dumps!”

Their words made my ears ring as I further listened, my ass stuck on the bleachers. The couple next to me argued about it as well, the girl going on about how stupid the last player was, which was Bill, and I hold back from jamming the lipstick set held into her burning red mouth. I've never heard anyone talk poorly of my best friend. Perhaps that was even one of the main reasons why I envied him. Whenever people would compare us, they’d always call us The Math Duo, followed by sentences like; “Cassandra the merely stupid one, and Bill the next Newton.” It always used to hurt my feelings even though I’ve never told Bill because he’d be upset as well and I always feel guilty afterwards. And now that I was hearing otherwise, my heart squished inside my chest.

My head swims back to his face when his eyes met mine almost five minutes ago, when he had the chance to save his team but he didn't because. . Reasons. And I was fearing that reason was me. Why would it be me? I just waved at him and smiled like what I usually do. It couldn't have possibly made him incapable of shooting a goddamned ball. I didn't see it clearly, but I am a hundred percent certain there was something wrong about the way he looked at me. About the way he glared at me and snapped his head frantically away from the sight of my face.

The red team was on the side of the court now, patting each other on their backs and celebrating loudly with the audience as they received their trophy. The two MCs from the bleachers descended down with their cameras and interviewed the team enthusiastically and it had felt like forever since I've last seen Bill in the chaos of people. I bring my eyes back to where their team was previously, by the benches leaning against the separation of the bleachers and the court above. All team members were there, and Mr. Tillman and his annoying, balding, shiny, head, however, not a sight of Bill’s green eyes and messy hair.

I jolt up from my seat and pushed my way out of the top section of the bleachers, mumbling a few excuse me’s along the way. It took me a whole minute of trying to pass through immovable people before my ugly shoes finally touch the shiny gymnasium floors. I head for Mr. Tillman’s team, narrowing my eyes in case I have been mistaken. I wasn't. Bill genuinely wasn't there as they sat around the benches with sweaty faces and necks, white towels draped around their shoulders as they buzzed in a conversation, away from the camera flashes and praises on the other side of the gymnasium. Once I approached close enough their eyes immediately land to me, including Mr. Tillman, his brows arched in surprise, like he hadn't seen me in a year even though he was just scolding me three weeks ago.