Anastasiya Greyson is back in her stuck up hometown for her senior year after the death of her mom. she already left once and she can't afford to get close to people just for her leave again. but would a friendship with her childhood love be worth t...
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Anastasiya Greyson Friday, December 17th
Tonight is the first basketball game of the season and I'm doing my duty as basketball girlfriend, jersey, and all. Even though his jersey is the length of a skyscraper I managed around it, with a white turtleneck underneath and a pair of baggy jeans with the #11 Jersey tucked into them.
My spot on the bleachers is in the front row and I'm sitting next to Mrs. Matthews who's wearing a Maven Hale Prep shirt and a pencil skirt along with Gracie who has a custom "#11 is my big brother shirt" and a blue and white sparkly headband that shines under the lights of the gym every time she squirms in her seat.
I can feel two sets of disapproving eyes on me from further back on the bleachers and considering my dad isn't here I have a pretty good idea of who's scowling at the jersey I'm wearing. Turning my head, sure enough, I see, a few rows back, Madison with a face as red as a tomato and steam practically coming out of her ears. All the way in the back row Trent is wearing another jersey, #5 but looks away as soon as our eyes meet, turning to the person sitting next to him.
I ignore their looks that burn holes in my back the second I turn around and wait for the game to start. The opposing team is already at their bench and most people are eyeing the locker room waiting for our team to come out so the game can start.
As if on cue from my thoughts the door bursts open and 12 giants pile into the gym, all of them heading over to their chairs to the left of where we're sitting. I try to avoid eye contact with August, make him wait for a little before notices but his eyes scan for me like lasers, meeting my eyes before dropping to my cheek and moving back up to my eyes, a slow smile spreading on his face.
I put his stupid number on my cheek, his excitement, when I brought it up, was too much to deny him.
"You wore the numbers?" He mouths, seeming shocked and happy at the blue paint on my cheek and I point to his mom, who also has a Maven Hale foam finger sitting in her lap as she claps for the entrance of the players.
