Misfits (#2)

5.

Everest Jones.

Weed is great.

Like great. I'm not sure how people can be against such a wonderful creation. If God exists, I would whole-heartedly get on my knees and thank the dude. You brought a whole lot of fucked up into this world but thanks for the marijuana.

Weed is not so great when it's fucking up my play.

I sit on the bleacher and spray water over my hair to cool me down from the heat. It's January but the weather's always unexpected around here. Right now, the sun's beating down on my back.

"Relax." Ollie sits besides me, all the other guys pulling on their shirts and walking back, "You're fucked up most times you play and you're still awesome. Just one slip up is sort of impressive."

I look to him and offer a smile, "I know you're a little boy but don't look at me like that. I'm no role model, sweetheart."

He laughs at my light-hearted comment, pulling his shirt over his head. Ollie's sweet. He's a sophomore and damn good at defending but he's also really fucking innocent. Untainted by high school yet with a giant heart.

He's probably the only dude in the world that looks at me like I'm some cool role model. It's weird. Kinda makes me worried for him and his taste.

"You did good today." I manage to pull my shirt on without straining my torso too much, "Keep it up and Taylor might fall in love with you."

Ollie beams at that and nods, "Thanks, Ev. Hey, don't stress about it. I'm sure he's fine."

"Yeah." I nod, "Your girl's waiting for you." I gesture towards the edge of the field. They're adorable and she always waits for him after practice.

He smiles and walks backwards, excited now, "See ya!"

I send him a kiss and he laughs, pocketing it as he jogs over.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. It feels like I shredded my leg. I'm keeping my bag in front of it so I don't have to see the blood so I don't pass out. I don't do blood. Ever.

I'd fucked up and dazed out for a second on the pitch, black spots clouding my vision. Me and another guy had collided. He had a pretty bad fall and on his way down, the metal studs of his boots ripped through my leg.

Weed never usually impacts my performance. I'm always smoking so the effects aren't so drastic anymore. It just relaxes me but I've been pushing it a little more than usual recently. I'd got drunk last night and was still hungover when I smoked the blunt this morning.

I know I need to get it together. Taylor's on my ass about it all the time. I need to be in shape for the scouts and the games coming up but I don't consider that shit when a blunt's right there or a bottle of liquor's on a countertop.

Soccer needs to be my top priority. I'd be lying if I said it was because then I'd think twice before messing about.

I'm fucking up more than usual recently.

A jolt of pain rips through my leg and I grit my teeth. Blood's disgusting. I know I'm made up of it but that shit should stay in my body, not ooze out of it. Ew. Ugh. I can feel blood running down my leg.

I open up my bag and pull out my t-shirt.

I take a deep breath, "Cool. Stay cool, Everest. Cucumber cool, I fucking hate cucumbers-"

I cut myself off and focus on not thinking about the abomination that is a cucumber. You might as well just eat water and a leaf, they taste the same-

Focus, Everest. Right. I pinch my eyes shut and move my bag away, quickly wrapping the t-shirt around my leg to compress it. The t-shirt's black so should do a good job of hiding the blood. Hopefully.