Gage Cilleti has just begun his junior year of high school, and is becoming more and more involved in his school's activities, considering he'd been playing baseball since he was just seven-years-old.
Elijah McCay has just dropped out of school, du...
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It's Saturday afternoon. I'm sulking heavily, shoulders slouched and leaning against the wall closest to Rick's once full, now empty closet. The only item of clothing that remains is the last bit of his unwanted sweatshirts, that I will surely be taking home with me.
Rick's kneeling in front of one of his heavily packed suitcases, stuffing in every last pair of his winter jackets and coats. When he notices the sultry sort of look on my face, he pauses and stands. I cross both arms across my chest, back connecting with the wall I was leaning against.
He comes to stand before me, tosses a gentle punch into my arm. "Don't look at me like that."
I raise both eyebrows, a deep sigh emitting from the pit of my chest, accompanied by a concerned look from my best friend. "Like what?"
"Like you're mad at me. Mad at me for leaving." Rick says this with a serious look, his usually bright blue eyes being dragged down by the apparent feeling of guilt. I don't want him to feel guilty for leaving—if anything, I'm happy for him. For him and his family, because hopefully, moving to another place would give he and his father's relationship another chance.
But I still can't help the overwhelming feeling of dread that fills my body whenever he packs something else into one of his suitcases, because he's just one step closer to leaving his home. Our home.
Shaking my head to confirm that I'm not upset with him, he gives me the look that tells me he doesn't believe me. "I promise I'm not mad," I pause, kicking the ground to occupy to still feet. "I'm just . . . I'm just sad. This is all happening super fast—just thought we'd have more time to hang out and stuff."
After I've finished speaking, Rick takes a step back, runs a steady hang through his light blond hair that just seems to whoosh at the touch. "Oh I see," my brows furrow, "you're gonna miss me."
I scoff, "oh, please—you know who's gonna miss you? Who's that freshman you almost went out with—"
"Oh my gosh," he groans, and returns to packing his clothing into his suitcase. "Melissa and I did not almost go out. One, she's way too young for me, and two . . . she's way too young for me. Yes, she did have a little crush, but I mean, can you blame her?"
"Yes I can," I argue back, zipping up the suitcase after he's tossed in the signed baseball I've let him keep into it. "You're an asshole."
Rick chuckles beneath his breath. "An asshole who suckered you into letting me take your signed baseball and cap—"
I interrupt with a gasp, fist reaching out and landing right in the center of his chest. "You asshole, you begged for those!"
