Crash and Burn

•9•

October
Parker

     My sneakers hit the ground in a rhythm against the track. My practice jersey was drenched in sweat despite the harsh October winds. We'd been doing running drills for almost an hour so, despite how tired I was, I had a breathing pattern down. Next to me was Jackson. He hadn't spoken in a while so I figured he was just tired.

     We turned another bend and I could see the finish line. We were almost done with our final lap. My chest was tight and filled with this burning sensation. I tried to keep my breathing steady for the final few yards but I was failing miserably. My mind was in other places at the moment.

     "Park!" I looked behind me and then came to a skidding halt when I say Jackson back at the finish line. I had passed it. I turn the rest of my body around a jog back to him. When I get there I notice how out of breath I am. Most of the team has gone back to the locker room with Coach. "What's up with you, man?" Jackson questions as we begin to stretch.

     I shake my head, not really knowing the answer my self. "I don't know, man. I've been distracted all day, but when I try and speak my mind it goes blank."

     Jackson held his foot behind his back to stretch his quad. "Yeah, I've been like that too. Not sure why."

     "It's 'cause you like Hope," I say a little accusingly. I feel like it's obvious. Hope seems like the type that can befriend anyone. But, she didn't seem to strike me as the type to be romantically interested in a guy like Jackson. On top of that, it wouldn't be legal.

     The real reason I thought Jackson liked Hope was the fact that this is the first time he's ever gotten close to a girl without a word of sex. He genuinely likes her and aside from his occasional crude remarks, seems to want a chance.

     What I didn't assume was his response. With a horrified, not disgusted, not furious, but horrified look, Jackson said, "Why would you think that? Hope are you fucking serious? I can't believe this!" He began walking to the locker room and I followed.

     "Are you serious or are you playing?" I question. "Is there something wrong with Hope? You know she's a go with the following in the moment type girl. If she said something I don't think she meant it."

     Jackson's back muscles were tense and his hands were in such tight fists that his knuckles were white. When he whirled around on me I thought he'd punch me, but all he did was flatly day, "'Cause, she's not my type."

~•~•~•~

We pulled up to Kennedy's apartment building forty-five minutes later, showered and famished. Jackson and I hadn't talked a lot since we went into the locker room. I was a little worried, but I didn't know what his damage was. What did he mean Hope wasn't his type?

For someone who wasn't interested in any female under thirty, Jackson was dressed to impress. He even had flowers. I assumed they were for Ms. K. because that was the polite thing to do. Why hadn't I brought anything?

There was blaring music coming from her apartment. All of a sudden I was sort of self-conscious. I knew nothing about Kennedy's mom. I would have to start all over with introductions. I couldn't act the way I did with just the girls and somehow I knew that Jackson knew that too. I only had to knock on the door once before the music was turned off and the door was being unlocked. The door swung open and there stood Kennedy in athletic shorts and an oversized school shirt that had been knotted on her hip. Her blonde hair was in a messy bun on her head. Her face portrayed pure terror.