A Life Less Average

fifteen

lewis

After practice on Tuesday, everybody lingered behind in the changing rooms. There had been discussions about the team's annual bonfire in the field by the woods, and the conversation had soon turned to invites. Who did we want there? And most importantly, who didn't we want there?

Most of the guys were bringing their girlfriends, obviously, but it couldn't just be a bunch of couples. There needed to be other people there, too. To balance out the atmosphere. Otherwise what we would have been planning would have been a glorified orgy.

"Rebecca Andrews and her friends, obviously," somebody said.

"Obviously," a couple other guys chimed in.

Rebecca Andrews would bring alcohol, and all of her friends were hot. There was no question about her invite.

"What about you Fletcher? Whaddaya think?" Harry, the goalie, was staring at me. He was practically a giant. Six foot six, broad shoulders, thick arms and tree trunk legs. But somehow he was as quick as a fox. "I hear you're on Rebecca's Radar."

I felt my face turn red, but I hoped that it would pass off as exhaustion from darting across the field for the last hour.

"Um, yeah. Sounds good."

Paul nudged me, but I ignored him.

Harry continued, "We'll have to make sure there's a tent pitched up far away from the bonfire. Nobody wants to listen to that all night." He chuckled, light heartedly, and the other guys joined in. I forced myself to laugh, imagining Rebecca Andrews drunk and locked inside a tent with me.

"What about Poppy?" Paul snapped quietly.

I shrugged. "I don't know. It's just some stupid team bonfire."

The truth was, I wanted Poppy to be there. But I knew that inviting her would only cause trouble. Rebecca would throw a fit and the entire night would be ruined. It was a tradition, and I wasn't about to ruin a tradition for the sake of getting my own way.

Paul was shaking his head.

I shoved him lightly, and pulled my team hoodie over my head. My number was on the back: 12. Not quite unlucky enough to be thirteen. But Paul was 34 and when we stood beside each other, our numbers rang: 1234. It was our lucky charm.

As we walked out of the school grounds, Paul text the girl from the party about the bonfire. She replied almost immediately, agreeing.

I felt guilty. I couldn't tell Poppy about the bonfire without her thinking it was an invite, but I also didn't want to lie to her.

I said goodbye to Paul at the end his street and headed home through the backstreets. It easily added another half an hour to my walk but I needed the time to think through the thoughts racing around my head.

Poppy and I had had a few kisses but we hadn't really been on a proper date yet. What did that make us? If we moved 'us' forward, and we put labels on it, Rebecca would have to stay away from me at the bonfire. Rebecca might have been a grade A slut, but she didn't go for another girl's boyfriend. That was just bang out of order. She had morals. And boundaries.

But would Poppy enjoy the bonfire? She didn't go to school events. Hell, she didn't even watch the football matches that took place during school time, she was hardly going to agree to go to a team bonfire on a weekend.

I didn't want her to agree because she thought she had to go, for me, and then end up hating it.

I just didn't know. She wasn't like the other girls, who would jump at the opportunity to be involved in such an event. It was invite only despite the fact that it took place in a public field. The only reason people obeyed by that rule was because they didn't want to look like an idiot showing up and being told to leave. That, and years ago a group had been publicly shamed for trying to crash and pour fuel on the bonfire.

I dug my hands deep into my hoodie pocket and powered forward. The winter chill was more obvious now, and the leaves on the trees had mostly fallen into soggy piles on the side of the roads.

The sky was grey as the sunset. Deep clouds covered any chance of a colourful sky, threatening rain instead.

I thought about texting Poppy and mentioning the bonfire. Then, based on her reaction I could form my response. Decide whether or not to ask her to come.

I pulled my phone out and was about to write my message, when Rebecca's name appeared on the screen. I hesitated, but reluctantly pressed 'answer'.

"I've decided to forgive you," she said immediately.

"Okaaaay."

"On one condition."

I rolled my eyes, and stepped quickly down the street. "And what's that?"

"That you go to the bonfire with me."

There it was. I stopped dead in my tracks. A couple of kids who were walking behind me swore at me as they moved around me.

"Wait, what exactly did I do that requires forgiveness?" I asked.

She sighed, as though I was asking the obvious. "You embarrassed me at my own party."

I could almost picture her pouting, but I couldn't see her plump lips and puppy dog eyes so it wasn't working.

"All I did was leave," I told her.

She huffed. "I know," she said. "But I'm forgiving you. If you go to the bonfire with me."

"How do you know you're invited?"

There was a small pause where I thought I'd got her. But then she said, "Harry already asked me. And he's made sure I bring booze. Enough for everyone."

It was like blackmail. If I went with her, she'd bring the alcohol. If I didn't, she wouldn't. And everybody would have a shitty time.

"I already have a date," I told her. "So come, don't come, bring the booze, don't. It's up to you."

I hung up before she could try and convince me otherwise.

Rain started to trickle from the clouds. I shoved my phone into my pocket and jogged the last stretch of the journey. My feet were killing from practice and thighs were on fire. By the time I crawled up my driveway, I was soaking wet from the rain and my sweat.

My parents weren't home yet. I made myself some toast and hurried upstairs to shower and change. I felt strangely confident about asking Poppy to the bonfire now. But deep down I knew that if she said no, and I went alone, I was fresh meat for Rebecca.

I spent longer than normal in the shower, letting the scorching water turn my skin red until I couldn't bare it any longer. I changed into a fresh pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and climbed into bed, though it was only six.

I drafted a message to Poppy and pressed send before I had a chance to overthink it.

I turned the TV at the end of my bed on and tried to focus on the episode of Friends I had seen a million times before. Downstairs, my parents came stumbling through the door, causing more noise than was necessary. They shouted up to me, and I shouted back, confirming my presence in the house, as though my muddy shoes by the front door wasn't enough.

An hour or so passed. We ate dinner and discussed our days. I helped clear the table and headed to bed early, which received concerned looks from both my mum and my dad. After assuring them I was fine, really, I raced up the stairs and grabbed my phone.

Poppy had replied.

I love bonfires. Count me in.