fools x tony stonem [completed]

thirty seven

Is it possible to grieve for the loss of someone who is still alive? Because as the days passed, that's exactly what I felt like I was doing. Tony was there, sitting at the end of my lunch table, passing me in the halls, sitting across from me in class, yet, it felt like we were in whole separate worlds, like he wasn't even there. He wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't look at me, and it mentally killed me. Was it really that easy for him to cut me out, like I was nothing? But anyway, I was deeply distressed. I'd felt like I had lost him, and I grieved everyday for him to come back to me.

Michelle's words kept running through my mind like a song that was stuck in my head.

"How long are you willing to wait for him?"

And so I came to this decision: the answer to that question, in short, was not any longer. He'd made his decision and there seemed to be nothing I could do about it. And even if there was, hell, he wouldn't even let me close enough to talk about it. He had already made that pretty clear to me. So I decided that I wasn't gonna wait around for him any longer. I'm only young once, and I wasn't gonna waste my last year in college waiting around for a boy who wanted nothing to do with me. I was going to stop grieving.

Only, it's easier said then done.

I started by avoiding him like he'd been avoiding me. I'd asked some girl in psychology to switch me seats, and she reluctantly agreed after I promised to give her my notes for the next psychology exam. She sat by Maxxie and Anwar, which was also a plus for me. I noticed Tony glance over his shoulder at me when I sat down beside Maxxie and Anwar that day instead of across from him. That was the most I had gotten out of him in weeks.

I purposely crossed the hall when I'd see him walking in my direction, and if my behavior was childish and petty, then so be it. Avoiding him was a lot easier than having to pretend around him.

One day after psychology, as I collected my books and walked to the door, Tony called me, stopping me in my tracks.

"My mum wants to know where you've been," he tells me. "She says you never come around anymore."

That was true. I used to go by his house nearly everyday after school, and now I hadn't gone over in weeks.

"Tell her that's what you wanted," I tell him. "Not what I wanted."

***

"He's definitely looking at you, Freya."

"Oh please, he is not looking at me."

"Then whose he lookin at Freya, 'cos it sure as hell isn't me!"

Chris and I banter as we share a bag of crisps, sitting side by side on a rusty bench in a park down the road from Roundview. He'd invited me out to smoke a spliff after college, and while roaming around the park high out of our minds, we came across a football match. It wasn't an actual team or anything, just some guys who decided to get together and play. They were banging into each other, and the goalie even got a bloody nose when some guy kicked the ball right at his face. Chris quit liked that, so we decided to stay and watch a bit of it. I was almost ready to leave, until Chris had pointed out the footballer who apparently had his eyes on me. I would've left too, if he wasn't so damn hot. Which is why I found it so hard to believe he actually was looking at me.

"He's got some nerve, staring at you like that," Chris says, munching down on a crisp. "I could be your boyfriend for all he knows, and he's looking at you with them bedroom eyes."

"Yeah, but you're not my boyfriend," I remind him.

"I don't want to be you're boyfriend anyway," he tells me casually, licking salt off his fingers. "You're too hot."

I roll my eyes at his teasing. He takes the bag of crisps from me now, and empty's the remaining crumbs into his mouth. He shakes the bag over his mouth, trying to get every last bit. I snort at his barbaric behavior.

A whistle sounds from the football match, coming from some young guy who has a whistle between his lips. The match must be over, because all the guys laugh and shake hands, giving each other pats on the backs. The feeling of being watched causes me to avert my gaze to the bench that held all the footballers equipment. The footballer from before catches his eyes with mine, and he looks away before I have the chance to. I take a quick moment to look at him.

He was definitely attractive, even with sweat dripping down his sculpted face. Disheveled, damp brown hair swept to one side of his forehead as his veiny hands reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling the sweat ridden shirt off his lean and toned torso. My cheeks turn bright red at the sight and I quickly avert my gaze. Unluckily for me, Chris notices, and he lets out a cheeky laugh.

"Freya! Are you checking him out?" Chris inquires, nudging my shoulder and nearly knocking me off balance. "Should I call him over here?"

Just as Chris stands to his feet, I grab him by the wrist, yanking him back down beside me. My face most definitely resembled a cherry tomato at the moment.

"Don't, Chris," I plead to him. "I'm begging you."

Chris' gaze averts to something over my shoulder.

"No need to beg... he's coming over here anyway."

And sure enough, when I turn my head, Chris is correct. The shirtless Calvin-Klein like football player is making his way over to Chris and I. If there was a god, I pray that he strike me down now.

"This can't be happening..." I mutter to myself, just as Chris calls to the footballer, greeting him as he approaches. "Eyo! I'm Chris, this is Freya. I see you're good with balls."

Nice, Chris. Very nice.

The footballer laughs at Chris' lame joke, and thank god for that, because I don't think Chris could handle that bruise to his ego. He's standing in front of Chris and I now as we sit on the rusty bench.

"Hey, Chris," The footballer says back before his deep brown eyes look to me. "Hey, Freya. I'm Liam."

"Nice to meet you, Liam," I say, and I stick my hand out to shake his. I didn't realize how stupid it was until it was too late to take my hand back without looking like an idiot. Did people still shake hands this day and age? Probably not, so I was grateful when Liam took my hand with a firm but gentle grasp, giving it a soft shake.

"You too, Freya," he smiles a dimpled smile. I assumed he might've been a year or so older than Chris and I, but when he smiled that dimpled smile, his face resembled a child, soft and playful. It was very endearing.

"You go to Roundview?" He then asks me, nodding towards the direction of the college.

"Yeah, actually. Chris and I both-" I begin, turning towards where Chris was, or had been, because I find his spot beside me vacant. My eyes find him after it's too late and he's long gone, but he still manages to send me a cheeky wink over his shoulder as he scurries away. Damn you, Chris. Being left alone with a cute boy was definitely a big no-no for me. I was bound to do or say something stupid.

"He seems fun," Liam remarks, the corner of his mouth lifted in a grin as we both watch Chris run for the hills. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"God, no," I'm quick to say. "More like a brother... a really, really odd brother."

"Good," Liam smiles. "So does that mean I'm good to ask for your number?"

I'm caught off guard, nearly choking on my own saliva.

"You want my number?"

"Yeah," he says, but is quick to correct himself. "I mean, only if you want to give me your number."

It wasn't like me to give random boys my number, but maybe this is what I needed. If Tony had moved on from me, then I could move on from him too. And Liam, utterly handsome Liam, was definitely a good start.

"Yeah," I finally say, not even bothering to fight the blush that heated up my cheeks. "You can have my number."