I'm sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo so so soooo SORRY!!! I don't exactly have any excuse except that I've been pretty busy lately, and I shouldn't be giving excuses anyway!! I did spent a while on this chapter trying to retype some stuff cuz it wasn't coming out how it was supposed to (characters like to write themselvs, lemme tall ya) Anyhoo, thanks so much for being patient with me and reading!! Here it is!! Chapter 16!! Vote and comment and all that jazz, I love ya for it!!! <3
Chapter 16: Football Quizzz?
I pull into my drive, my van wheezing and chugging like its battling with Death and getting its ass kicked. “Piece of clunky shit…” I grumble as I hit the garage opener and pull the stupid piece of poop up beside my dad’s ’06 Chevrolet impala. My mom’s ’04 Pontiac is always parked outside, because she leaves earlier than both my Dad and I.
Sighing, I look at the polished gleam of Dad’s silver impala, wishing it was mine. Or mom’s Pontiac, easily. White’s more of a pain in the butt to wash, but hell, I’d trade this piece of crap van for anything. This thing is from 1995. It’s practically my age.
Parking the thing and jerking the keys from the ignition, I grumble incomprehensibly. I’ll probably have to drive this thing during college!! Uck! Everyone’s gonna think I’m a soccer mom at first, then just think I’m a poor creeper kid. It’s gonna be just fucking fantastic, I can see it now–
The door in the garage that opens to the house suddenly shoots open, a stretch of light spilling over all the crap in the front of the garage. I squint and realize my mom’s the door-opener. Marvelous.
I open my car door, grabbing my bags as I go. Mom’s hand is still on the door, and she’s leaning almost partially out of it, like she’s trying to see in the van. Why? She think I get in an accident or something? When I’m about four feet from the door she suddenly turns on me.
“And where have you been?!” She spits, her voice lashing out like a whip.
I stop dead in my tracks, almost dropping everything, including my jaw. Excuse me?
“Walmart?” I say incredulously, holding up the Walmart sack in my hand (I’d bought some more shampoos and stuff).
This seems to backtrack my mom, as she blinks spastically at the plastic bag like she’d never seen anything like it. Might as well start apologizing now, try and rack up some brownie points… “I’m sorry I was so late Mom. I stopped to get some gas, then went to Walmart to get more shampoo.”
Her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s eyeing me shrewdly. “How come it took so long?”
Oh fuck. How to explain it without explaining it? Hmm…
Using my explicitly existential plethora of vocabulary words and deep cunning and understanding of the English language, while also inferring the exact reaction in which my mother would counter, I fashioned an ideal and utterly remarkable excuse.
“I…got…sidetracked…?”
By the look that my mom gave me, you’d think I’d just told her I was pregnant with quintuplets with my Trigonometry teacher. Who’s a woman.
Her entire body went slack with shock, except her eyebrows, that were pushed down over her ridiculously wide eyes. Did she think I said something other than sidetracked? Sidetracked doesn’t sound anything like ‘raped’ or ‘mugged’ or ‘chased’ or ‘stoned’ or ‘pregnant’. Did sidetracked mean something else in her day? What in the hell?!
“Rodney!” My mother suddenly hissed, whipping around and back into the lightened hallway. She had to hiss Dad’s name again before he responded.
“What Lola?” Came Dad’s far away and casual response.
Mom gave me this really confusing look before she dashed back down the hallway. Her face was like a mixture of shock and anger and desperation. What. The. Hell. What is her problem?
Stomping up the little steps and through the open door, I slam it shut behind me. Then stomp through the hallways, through the kitchen, and then down the other hall and then pause, placing my bags very carefully under the little cupboard by the stairs. Then I purposefully step on the right side of the bottom step, and it lets out a squeal. I pressed it a couple more times, getting less each time until I made it fade out.
Then my parents started whispering in the living room, and I crept over to the doorway, standing with my back against the wall, listening to the hushed voices of my parents.
“…can’t believe she’d outright lie to me!” Mom was saying, her tone frustrated, and I could hear her pacing. She paces like a caged lion when she’s mad, and right now, I think she could go toe to toe with a Great White Shark and come home with a tooth necklace.
And what? I didn’t lie! I did get gas after school, I did go to Walmart, and I did get sidetracked while at Walmart! I didn’t explain what had caused me to get sidetracked, but she didn’t ask that. If she’d asked that, then I woulda have lied to her.
“Lola, just relax, ease up on her. She wasn’t lying to you.” Dad said in his soothing tone. I nodded to myself. That’s right, MOM, eat Dad’s words bee-yotch!
“Rodney! She didn’t even call me! She just stayed out late!”
Late? It’s five minutes after seven. This is bullshit.
Dad chuckled his quiet chuckle, and I could hear him set aside whatever papers he’d had in his hands. “Just calm down, Baby,” Ew. “Its all gonna be alright, let me hug you,” Ew-er. “That’s right. Now remember, she’s a big girl Lola. Just as pretty as you.” Ew-est. Quit being a butt-kisser Dad.
Mom sighed. “I just don’t know what to do, Rodney, she lied–”
Dad shushed her, and I’m glad that I wasn’t watching because it was probably with a kiss. I know they’re not that old, but…gahhh I just can’t stand it when my parents get all lovey-ness on each other. Its just ucky.
“Lola–”
“No, Rodney,” I could hear them pull apart. “I could hear…someone else on the phone! When I called her! She told them to ‘go away’ and to ‘shut up’ and I even heard somebody laughing in the background! Rodney, she’s–”
“Branching out? Getting some friends? Just the other night you said she was on the phone with a girl named Scarlett, and you said she was a perfectly polite girl. This is a good thing Lola. Clarisse is a very smart girl, we both know that, but her social skills…are lacking.”
Lacking? I suck back the angry snort I want to snort. Because, dammit…Dad’s probably right. Like he always is. Gah, its annoying as hell because he’s always right.
My Dad continues. “So this is a good thing, Lola, Clarisse is…” Dad suddenly gives out a chuckle, and I recognize it has his Sinister Chuckle, the one he chuckles when he’s secretly implying something. “…branching out.”
Before I can wonder at what my Dad could be implying, my Mom’s butting in, speaking angrily. “Rodney! This isn’t a time to be laughing! Clarisse is–”
“Lola.” I hear my Dad say, and I can guess that he’s trying to hug her again (blech). But I can hear Mom’s footsteps nearing the doorway which I’m standing right outside of. I turn and dash up the stairs quickly, hearing my Mom’s voice but not hearing the words. I slip into my bedroom, making sure the door doesn’t creak.
As I change into my pajamas, I fume silently.
What in the hell was all that about?! I think angrily, pulling up my favorite blue plaid pajama bottoms. What does Mom think, I’m out tee-peeing the Sheriff’s house and egging his front window? That I’m out with a bunch of druggies sniffing Sharpies? Or running around with a biker gang, wearing a leather vest and tattooing a motorcycle on my ass?
Fuck. And. No.
I did go to Walmart, my bag downstairs proves it!!
And what the hell is with Dad’s Sinister Chuckle. What did he say, ‘branching out’? I suppose you could call it that. Though…I’d rather my branches only reach Scarlett. Opposed to Stupid Sebastian, or Hoe-y Nyssa, or Gorgeously Confused Abel, and I’d especially appreciate it if my branches did get within leaping distance of The-Meaning-Of-Death PugFace Flora and her She-Ogres.
Grumbling to myself, I hustle down the stairs, stomping, so my parents can hear me. I didn’t want to listen to them talking about me any more tonight. I grabbed my bag and Walmart sack and then hauled ass back up. I don’t want to talk to them either.
Back in my room, I spread out my homework on the bed and began, grumblingly. Having drama at school was bad enough, drama at home is bullshit.
****
“Hey Clarisse,”
I turn from my locker to see Scarlett. She’s smiling and I smile back, but my greeting gets caught in my throat as I see what she’s wearing. I frown.
“And what is that?” I say, pointing at her red t-shirt with white lettering. The words on the top were bolded and said ‘PIRATE FOOTBALL’, and beneath it on the belly of the shirt was a picture of the head of a pirate with a knife clenched in his cartoon teeth.
Scarlett looks down at her shirt and then smiles back at me. “School t-shirt. Why?”
For some reason, I hadn’t been able to fathom seeing Scarlett wearing school merchandise. Why? Well, I dunno…I just couldn’t. Seeing it on her now looked weird. Why would she cheer for the football team anway? I never really liked the football team anyway (now I severely despised it, because of a certain little someone who’s not so little and should bungee jump with a piece of yarn cough cough SEBASTIAN), or frankly, any sports team. ‘Cause, well, I’m not athletic and just don’t care.
“Why are you wearing it?” I ask her, studying the shirt again. Ugh. Pirates? Stupid. We’re not even anywhere near any water anyhow. It’s so ridiculous that we’re the Pirates. ‘Rrrgg’? Oh yeah, I bet all the other teams that have claws and teeth are shaking in their boots when all our little mascot does is hobble around on a peg leg and drink rum. Why couldn’t we have been something cool?
Scarlett cocks an eyebrow and smiles at me, shaking her head. “Don’t you know what day it is?”
“Its Friday.” Thank God.
Scarlett seems to wait for me to make some kind of connection, but when I don’t, she sighs. She shakes her head again, looking up at the ceiling. “Oh, Clarisse. I suppose you wouldn’t know. Or care.”
I cross my arms and frown some more, waiting. She gonna tell me or not?
Scarlett points to the word ‘football’ on her shirt. “It’s Friday today, Clarisse…there’s a football game.”
“Oh.” I suppose football games happen on Fridays. I’m not sure why, but I guess that’s the way they are. Why can’t football happen in the freaking Summer, so I don’t have to worry about all this stupid poop? Or just not ever? Maybe there’d be less concucussions and then less stupid people. (Though I’m sure Sebastian is an exception to that, because he was probably born stupid. He’s gonna be perpetually stupid the rest of his life.)
“Well, you must have subconsciously known, you’re wearing red today,” Scarlett says, and points a finger at me. I look down. Well what the fuck! I am wearing red. More like a maroon…but its almost pinkesh…maybe pomegranate? Yeah, this is a pomegranate colored shirt.
“Clarisse?” I jerk and look up to Scarlett. She’s frowning at me. “I’ve been talking to you for like, twenty seconds. And you’re just staring at your shirt. You ok?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry, just having a moment.” Fuck. I’m not firing on all cylinders today, am I? C’mon, brain, let’s hit the switch and make some smart thoughts now.
“Anyway,” Scarlett continues, leaning against the locker beside mind. “There’s a football game, but not just any game. It’s against O’Bruman.” The tone in her voice is almost kind of reverent, like whoever they are is really really good.
“Who’s that?” Sounds like my cranky old neighbor, Mrs. O’Heimer. She bitches worse than Mrs. Dubose from To Kill a Mockingbird, and probably has a shotgun under her shawl rather than a pistol. Hell, maybe she’s got a bazooka or something. She’s pretty protective of her damned geraniums.
“You don’t even know who O’Bruman is?!” Scarlett nearly gasps, and she’s giving me this look like I’m a freak. Youchie.
I sigh. “No. Who is he? Some big tough player or something?”
Scarlett face-palms, her hand hitting her forehead with a sharp slap. I couldn’t contain my amusement and laughed. Bahaha, God it’s funny when people face-palm. Even if it’s at me, it’s still funny. Scarlett mumbles to herself, shaking her head. “…how you don’t even know that…”
I snorted. “Seriously, Scarlett. Look at me. Think about it. How would I know? The only reason I know so much about all the idiots on our team is because everybody talks about them, and I don’t even wanna know that much. How would I know anything about this guy?”
“O’Bruman is a school, smart ass!” Scarlett explains, exasperated.
Oh.
“Why the fuck didn’t you just say that?” I almost snap.
“I figured you’d have known! Dur! Good gosh,”
I go back to digging in my locker, muttering. “Coulda said O’Bruman High School. But noooo, gotta be all casual and grammatically incorrect and fucking confuse me…”
Scarlett sighs again, and then the bell rings, sending the kids in the halls into motion. She hikes the books in her arms up tighter to her chest and gives me a little smirk. “I’ll see you later Clarisse,”
“See ya,”
**
As I walk down the hallway towards my fucking evil Trigonometry class, I can’t help but notice now that almost everyone is wearing some kind of school shirt. Red, and black, and white tshirts are everywhere, brandishing either the word ‘Pirate’ or a picture, or both.
Ugh.
Mainly everyone is just wearing a t-shirt, but there are a few crazies who went all gung-ho with red shorts or pants or skirts or hats or bandanas and blah blah blah. Losers. I avoid a group of girls wearing teeny cotton shorts and cut-off ‘Pirate’ shirts. Skanks. Totally breaking the school dress codes, but of course no one complains. Bet we’ve got a bunch of pedophile teachers here too…
I suddenly pitch forward, something catching my foot and making me trip. I scream like a little girl and nearly drop my books. I catch myself quickly, but my hair ends up all in my face. The most annoyingly familiar laugh in the world greets my ears.
“Dammit!” I snarl, shaking the stuff from my face so I could glare at the stupid idiotic guy who should park his car in front of a freight train.
Sebastian kept chortling at me, along with the people around us in the hallway. I daggered them with my eyes and they shut up nice and quick. That’s right, little bitches, run along now. I glowered harder at Sebastian. “Asshole.”
He smirked evilly. “Psycho.”
God! “Just go away!” I snapped, and then started walking again.
He caught up easily, not even seeming to try hard to keep pace with me. “So you can get some peace and quiet and have a somewhat relaxing day? Nahh, I have too much fun bugging the shit out of you.”
“What do you want assface?” I growled, trying to out walk him. Which is obviously failing since his legs are so much damn longer than mine. Fuck, someone give me a damn scooter or something. Then I can run him over!
“Nothing.”
His voice was almost cheerful, and I scowled at him out of the corner of my eye. Why’s he in such a good mood? “Are you in a good mood or something?” I asked, voicing my thoughts. I spoke again before he could respond. “If you are, we can totally fix that by you letting me dunk your head in a used toilet or something. I’d thoroughly enjoy it, and it’d kick this annoying-as-hell good mood you’re in out the door. Which I’d also enjoy.”
Sebastian’s jolly expression wavered as he shot me a dirty look, but it didn’t last long. “No thanks. But thanks for telling me that it pisses you when I’m in a good mood. I’ll keep that it mind.”
Oh, that bastard. “Stupid.”
Sebastian ignored me. His eyes went down to my shirt and for no stupid reason a slight blush hit my cheeks. Dammit!! Fuck you hormones!!! “Well, well, well, I’m surprised. Supporting the cause eh? Never woulda thought it of ya.” He said.
I frowned, but remembered what Scarlett had said about my shirt earlier. Crap. Now he thinks I’m supporting the football team, which in turn means supporting him, by wearing a red shirt. And this shirt isn’t even red!! It’s like pomegranate colored!!! NOT RED!!
“Not even.” I said.
Now Sebastian frowned. “Aren’t you wearing red?” His eyebrows crinkled and he stared intently at my shirt, making my cheeks burn a little darker.
“No! It’s a deep pinkish color! Like a pomegranate!” I snapped. And then regretted. ‘Like a pomegranate’? Oh yeah Clarisse, those words are gonna slap him in the face and make him cry. Not.
His deeply confused expression relaxed and then he gave me this ‘you’ve-gotta-be-kidding’ look. “Oh. Jeez. Didn’t know you were a color freak too.”
I snort indignantly. Fuck. How the hell to save my own ass? Um… “Well it’s not red!! I didn’t even know there was a game today anyway,” I want to rip my tongue out after that one. Now I sound even more stupid!! Dammit!
Sebastian’s golden eyeballs about bug out of his skull and his eyebrows scrunch down like hell. “You didn’t know there was a game today?”
I shake my head firmly. Might as well stand my ground. He lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “How in the hell do you not know there’s a game today? It’s Friday! Jeezus Christ…And look!” Sebastian points at his shirt and I for once notice that he’s not just wearing a white shirt, but a white football jersey. “C’mon Psycho. Jeez.” He shakes his head.
“Well I don’t like football!!”
He rolls his eyes. “Nooo, I thought you were a fucking football diehard.” He says sarcastically, then snorts. “I bet you don’t even know what a touchdown is,”
“Do too!”
“Oh really? Then what is it?”
I can’t help but puff my chest out a little. Of course I know what a touchdown is. “It’s how you score points.” I say, giving him a slightly pompous look. I will admit that the only reason I know what a touchdown is is because we played touch football in PE. I stilly only remember little from that time because I purposely pushed those memories away, so it’s impressive that I remember this. Like I wanna remember how many times I got yelled at for being slow and not knowing what the hell I was doing? Yeah no.
Sebastian gave me a halfhearted clap. “Very good. Y’know how to score a touch down?”
Oh. Um. Sebastian’s eyes lit up and a smirk quirked his lips as he caught sight of my muddled expression. Ohhh crap…ah…I forced myself to remember back to PE and the occasional football commercial.
“You…run…with the ball…”
His victorious smile was heavy coming, and it grew as I struggled to word it right. It was such a simple question, but how the fuck to explain it? “…to the other side…?” I finished.
“The end zone.” Sebastian said, supplying the words.
“Yeah. The end zone. You run with the ball down to the end zone.” I said, pegging him with a hard look. Ha. I still got it!! All I’d forgotten was ‘end zone’. And seriously. ‘End zone’? Sounds like what some gamer geek would name the dragon’s lair in his loser fantasy video game. Like I’d remember that?
Sebastian nodded his head, but that victory glint was still in his eyes, like he was inches within grabbing a prize and none of the other competitors were even close. “Not bad, Psycho. Now how else can ya score points in a football game?”
Oh fuck.
How else can you score points in a football game? What the hell? All I’ve ever seen is some idiot with the ball tucked into his elbow running like hell across some line and then cheering and throwing the ball down on the grass and doing a freaking happy dance. There was another way? My eyebrows drew together and I scowled at Sebastian. That damned triumphant glimmer still shone in his golden-whiskey eyes, and dammit, it’s actually pretty sexy.
Fuck!! Don’t ever think that Clarisse!! Yucky!! Yucky! The inner voice screams at me, and I quickly look away from Sebastian’s stupid good-lookingness. Stupid idiot has to be hot with some sexy little winners’ glint in his gorgeous eyes…
Wait a minute. If he already thinks he’s gonna win…maybe there isn’t any other way to score points? Yeah! Bastard’s trying to trick me!
I stop and spin on my heel to face Sebastian, and he stops too, but continues to smirk at me. I jab a finger up at his face and his eyebrows pop up. “You must think you’re damn smart!”
He gives me this little frown but then smirks again. “Every once and awhile,”
Yeah, if by every once and a while you mean EVERY FRICKIN’ SECOND! At least that’s what he thinks. I jab my finger again and he glares at it. “Well you aren’t you dipshit!”
At this a glare takes over his features, his dark brows going down, his golden-whiskey eyes beginning to smolder with anger. His nostrils flare. “Don’t even go there Psycho.” He snarls.
I remembered that his smarts was a touchy subject, but couldn’t exactly get into it now, as I was about to kick his damn ass. I glare at him and then straighten my glasses. “Well you must think you’re damn smart asking me a question like that, StupidFace.” I say, beginning to smile smugly. His eyes narrow and his eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “But you aren’t. You can’t play tricks on me.”
Most of the anger drained away from his expression and he now just seemed really confused. “What the hell are you talking about?” Huh. He’s an almost convincing actor. Probably ‘cause he lies to his parents all the time to go ‘study’ while he’s out screwing chicks all the time. Oh ew!! Gotta get that thought outa my head…!
“You know what I’m talking about!” I snapped, jabbing my finger at him again. “You think you’re so smart by asking me how else to score in a football game! But you’re just trying to trick me, because there isn’t any other way to score!” With that I crossed my arms over my books and smiled smugly, waiting for him to start sputtering in disbelief.
Sebastian looked vaguely baffled.
Then he threw his head back and started laughing like a maniac.
My entire face started to turn red with embarrassment and anger. What the fuck is he laughing at?! Sebastian was laughing so hard that there were times that he wasn’t even laughing, just wheezing out air. Then he’d take in another lungful and start all over again. And his laughter wasn’t faked or forced; it seemed like he was genuinely laughing his ass off.
What in the hell?! I think, watching him as he wheezes some more and then breathes. Then starts laughing again. Suddenly the bell rings, but he keeps on laughing, just starts walking down the hall. The Trig room wasn’t far away, but I’ve seriously just about had it with him. He’s got to be laughing at me, and that seriously pisses me off, because I hate being laughed.
Face still red, I snarl, “What the fuck are you laughing at?”
He keeps laughing, shaking his head, his eyes squinted from smiling and laughing. “Dammit, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” Still doesn’t react to me, just continues guffawing away.
I swat him with my notebook. “Dammit, what the fuck’s wrong with you?! All those fucking concussions get to you?!” I swat him again, and this time he deflects it with his arm, but doesn’t even look at me or say anything. Not that he could, he’s too busy laughing like a psychiatric patient in an insane asylum. Except he probably needs the straight jacket more.
When we reach the door, his laughter’s toned down a helluva lot, but he still doesn’t answer me. Sebastian just keeps on chortling and chuckling and even wipes his eyes. I whack him hard just before we enter the door. Mrs. Morris turns from her desk to skewer us with her eyes.
Sebastian stops about four feet from her desk, and swallows down his laughter, closing his lips. But he couldn’t keep the smile from them, and he’d still quiver a little bit from some left over snickers. I stand beside him, face still burning red with anger, books gripped tight to my chest. Dammit, he’d made me late again! I’m always late to Trig now because of him! Last time she gave me more fucking hard problems!
Oh man, if this room wasn’t full of people I’d jump up and grab him by the ears and make him face plant on the floor. Break his nose again.
Mrs. Morris stands up and glowers at us some more. “And so why are you two late?”
Neither of us did anything for about four seconds, and then Sebastian looks down at me. His straight face broke and he started laughing again, shaking his head. He walked over to his seat, laughing.
Mrs. Morris watched him go, then turned her glare on me again. “Well?”
Like I’m gonna tell her that he started quizzing me on football and when I caught onto his trick he started laughing like a fucking psycho? Hell no. “Just are. Sorry.” I mumbled, and then went to my seat.
She glared at us both after I’d sat down, her eyes moving between me, who was sitting in my seat normally, and Sebastian, who was still chuckling. Then she sighed and sat down again. I let out an internal sigh. Oh oofta, maybe she’ll let it go.
-
Midway through the lesson, I scribbled a note down and then rolled it kittycorner down the aisle to Sebastian, like the first time I’d ever done it. A new wave of anger washes over me, drowning me in those hellish memories of what all started all this crap.
I’d written: What in the hell were you laughing at?
I heard a snicker and peeked over my shoulder to glower at Sebastian. He was pursing his lips to keep from laughing as he read the note. I had to turn to look back at Mrs. Morris when she turned around. About five seconds later it bumped against my leg. I reached down and snatched up.
He’d written back: You Psycho…you
I heard him try and muffle another laugh and I wanted to jump up and push him out of his chair. I scribbled and then tossed it quickly back. Why? I was right! There’s no other way to score in football!!
Sebastian gave out a big fat snarf as he laughed out loud and tried to stop it. Mrs. Morris turned around quickly, and I worried that she’d catch Sebastian with the note in his hands. Her eyes narrowed in on him, and I looked back at him like everyone else was so I could seem innocent. There was no note in his hands or on his desk. He was just sitting there with his lips pursed as he quivered a little bit with laughter.
“Is there a problem Mr. MacCrain?”
Yes. I thought sourly. He’s gone fucking insane and needs to go to an asylum. We should send him right now. If they need to give him a shot please let me pick the biggest one they have and let me stab it into his stupid ass. Then let me pick his straight jacket and I’ll pick and extra small. Then I’ll pour pudding on his head and dance around him laughing because he won’t be able to get me.
“Nope.” Sebastian said, still fighting his chuckle fit.
She glared at him but turned back to the board. I peeked back over my shoulder and Sebastian had his head down on his desk, buried in his arms. He was shaking with silent laughter and oh man, you have nooo idea how much I wanted to pick up my fatass Trig book and swat him over the head with it. Oh man, it’d be perfect…
Ten seconds later my note soared onto my desk and I nearly missed it. I uncrinkled it as silently as I could.
You just made my day today Psycho, and I’m gonna say that I never thought that you could do such a thing. But you did it. Because there is another way to score in football. Y’know those big pole things on either side of the field? They’re called goalposts. You can get points by kicking the ball into them. Hahaha I’m gonna say that this is one of those times when I feel damn smart Pyscho :)
When I finished reading the note, all I could do was stare at the stupid little smiley face. Oh my God. I knew that. Or I had at least. Oh fuck… Not caring if Mrs. Morris heard or saw, I crumpled up the paper as fast I could.
I could hear Sebastian muffle another laugh, and an irritated and angry blush burned into my face and ears. Stupid football playing bastard.
***
When the last bell rings, I spring out of my seat faster than a fucking cheetah in a damned sports car, because I want to get the crap out of here. Stupid Sebastian really pissed me off. I mean, REALLY.
And it was more at myself than anything.
I mean, how did I not remember that?! I knew that in football you can kick a goal and get extra points or something. I’d known that!! But dammit, I’d fucking forgot, and now Sebastian’s been laughing at me all day. No seriously.
In lunch he saw me and burst out laughing. He saw me in the hallway after that and did it again. He saw me just the hour before this last hour, and it was wayyy down the hall from him, and I could hear him laughing his ass off.
People were staring at me and whispering like crazies, worse than be-fucking-fore. I assume that maybe he hadn’t told everyone, and that’s the only thing I’m grateful for. Because, God, if everyone starts laughing at me, I’m gonna kill someone. And his name starts with Seb and ends with astian.
I’m at my locker now, gritting my teeth to keep from turning out and bitching out the bitch behind me who’s whispering. I swear, a couple more seconds and she’s gonna be spitting out all of her teeth–
“Clarisse!”
My head whips up and I see Scarlett come jogging down the hall. She either doesn’t see how the people around her stare and start whispering, or doesn’t care. It pisses me off all the same. I meet eyes with some ho a couple lockers down and give her a black look. She shuts up.
“Hey, Scarlett,” I snarl through my teeth. God, stupid Sebastian has just totally ruined my day.
She leans against the locker beside mine, hefting a bag over her shoulder. She gives me this weird smile and I narrow my eyes. I frown at her. “What’s that look for?”
Scarlett keeps grinning. “I’m gonna ask you something, and you’re probably gonna get pissed off.”
I snort. Like anything could make me any more pissed than I already am? It’d have to be something really mean, or nasty, or Sebastian-related to piss me off any more. “Oh really? What?”
She grins, pushing some of her light tan hair from her face. “I was wondering what you’re doing tonight,”
Wait, what? I narrowed my eyes at her. “I’m not doing anything…” What the fuck, is she asking me out on a date?? The fuck?
Her grin widens. “Good! Then you’re coming to the game with me tonight then!”
I literally dropped my Trigonometry book and it nearly smashed my toe. All I could do was stare at Scarlett like she’d just screamed at Sebastian again. “What?”
She clasped her hands together and made a begging motion. “Please! C’mon Clarisse, it’ll be fun! It’s against O’Bruman, and they’re like the toughest team in our area! It’ll be a good game! Really!”
I can only gape at Scarlett right now. Is she serious? She must be completely fucking bonkers. Like I’d want to go to a football game where Sebastian MacCrain is playing? Yea right, I’d rather–
“E-Excuse me.” A little voice says behind me.
I turn around and then up a teeny bit to meet eyes with Simon, the guy from my Economics class. He’s only about four inches taller than me, and he’s giving me this look like he thinks I’m gonna kill him. He’s holding a folded piece of paper out to me with a semi shaking hand.
I blink at the paper and then at him. “Uh, hi?”
He inches the paper closer to me, keeping it at arms length. “Here.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What is it?”
A flash of utter terror crosses his face and then he shakes it towards me. “You’ll see. Just…here.” Simon looks like he’s about to crap his pants. I slowly take the paper from him, watching him like you watch a terrified animal. The moment I have the paper he nods and then whirls around and speed walks away. Jeesh. Kid musta really had to use the bathroom.
I think Scarlett said something like ‘what is it’ but I was too curious to really hear. I unfold the paper quickly. It’s written in a disturbingly familiar handwriting.
Dear Psycho,
Just wanna thank you for making my day with your dumbness ;) It’s great to have a good laugh before the big game tonight, I’m sure it’ll help a lot. I’m probably gonna picture your face when I was laughing at you and start laughing my ass of on the field, but I don’t care.
- Sebastian MacCrain
Ps - where’s my football? I might spend your damn money if I don’t get it by Monday.
As I glare down at the note and am mentally picturing stringing up the writer with barbed wire and then beating him with his own cleats, Scarlett’s words manage to penetrate my wall of fury.
“…is it Clarisse? C’mon. And please come to game with me! It’ll be fun, I promise. O’Bruman is seriously good, and maybe you’ll get to watch Sebastian get his ass kicked out there. I hear O’Bruman’s halfback is a stud and might give Sebastian a beating tonight…”
I look up at Scarlett and smile. Oh hell yes I was going tonight.
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Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it!! :)