wasting time » lh ; mc

two

:: 02 ::

       Andrew Hemmings' son goes to Easton Valley.

Andrew fucking Hemmings' son goes to Easton Valley.

That's the only thing that's going through Michael's head all week, even if there were very few other encounters he and Luke had. At first, it was just Michael's glares and Luke's smirks. It had progressed to another smart comment by Luke, and a knock to Michael's pride (even if he had plenty of it to last the school year if this routine continued). Soon enough, all the sudden talk of Andrew Hemmings and his son had Michael forming a pretty devious plan within the depths of his mind, lengths he never really thought he would be willing to go to.

Hockey being Michael's favorite sport to play and to watch, means that the opportunity to be anywhere near something—or someone—related to the topic of one of the all-time-greats was all too tempting.

But, being the moral boy he is, Michael was trying his hardest not to allow himself to take advantage of the guy just for a chance to meet Andrew Hemmings no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how many opportunities that would open up for him to prove himself all over again.

Michael couldn't do it. So, instead, he stood against the entrance of the dugout of the school baseball field and tried insulting the team in his head, knowing that if he actually did go off on them that his dad would tell him to leave. This was the only thing Michael had to do afterschool, and the only thing that anyone expected him to do, so he really didn't want to leave.

"Dad, did you know Andrew Hemmings' son goes to school here?" the boy asked his father, shifting so the metal of the dugout wasn't digging into his arm.

"Yeah, came by to talk about being on the baseball team the other day," the man nodded, "which is weird, you'd think being the son of a hockey star he'd try out for yours."

"He's a cocky asshole," Michael scoffed, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Just because this Luke kid had been around hockey his whole life didn't mean he got to tell Michael he sucked; sure, Andrew Hemmings had been on four Stanley Cup-winning teams, but that just showed that Luke's father should be the judge of how good or bad Michael is, not the blonde boy himself.

"I think he's a nice kid," Michael's father replies, with a small smile that makes Michael cringe.

"He told me I wasn't good at hockey."

"Well, he's been around it his whole life, Mike." He's being ganged up on, and maybe it hurt a little that his own dad was practically agreeing with some blonde haired brat who wasn't even relevant until a week ago when he decided to being a smartass toward Michael.

He ignores the older man, though, and simply walks completely off the field with a muttered, "Whatever," to go sit against the school walls. Michael didn't mind waiting another hour for baseball practice to end, but he did mind that this pretty boy had managed to get on his dad's good side, too, and it seemed like nothing at the moment was going in Michael's favor.

Rugby being cancelled to rule out all chance he had at trying out eventually, being insulted by a nobody who thinks he's a know-it-all, and this nobody just so happened to be the son of a world famous hockey player. That just gave Luke more of an advantage in the task of irritating Michael, and Michael didn't like it. Michael didn't like Luke.

"Speak of the fucking Devil," Michael muttered, catching sight of the source of his annoyance coming out of the school's back door.

"Oh, hi, Michael," Luke says casually, as if this was a completely normal thing and Michael didn't want to punch the cockiness out of him.

Michael shrugged unnoticeably to himself and decided to play along, looking forward at the field where a guy had just gotten hit in the face. "Hi, asshole," he said, "heard you're trying to get on my dad's team."

"Maybe, maybe not. Think I might go for hockey, too, what do you think, Michael?" Luke knew he was getting closer and closer to being snapped at by Michael, but that didn't seem to stop him. After one conversation with the guy (okay, it really wasn't a conversation, more of a smack-talking, but still), Michael already felt a deep dislike for him.

"Don't you dare," Michael glared, earning a laugh from the boy standing beside him. Not that he was scared, but Michael couldn't risk being outshined by someone who actually had a family history of the sport while he was the only one in his family (besides his dad, of course) who had a complete understanding and interest in anything even relatively athletic.

"Aw, why not? Might make the team a little better." They weren't looking at each other; Michael was sitting against the brick wall of the school while Luke was perched up on one of the obnoxiously large window sills, but they had their attention on the same thing, and that was the shitty baseball team in front of them. That was the only thing they were laughing genuinely at—that's how much Easton Valley baseball sucked.

"We're already great, I'm on it," Michael scoffed quietly. He liked to think of himself as the very line between confident and cocky, but sometimes he had to overstep that line and become cocky in order to prove a point. In this case, that step was needed.

From the corner of his eye, Michael saw Luke's eyebrow raise a bit when he asked, "Didn't I already tell you that you're not the hotshot you think you are?" And Michael finds this sentence almost laughably hypocritical because the first time they'd ever had interaction with each other, Luke was practically gloating about being the son of an incredible sportsman.

As far as Michael knows, the blonde boy never backed it up. Michael is allowed to think he's good because he proves it and he loves it.

"I don't see why I should give a shit about what you think," Michael shrugged.

With a cocky grin—the one that Michael had come to absolutely despise over the past week—Luke replied, "I'm a Hemmings, I'm pretty sure I have room to tell you whether or not you live up to the glory you're given." Again, was that his only defense? His last name had nothing to do with anything other than saying, 'I might be just as cocky as my dad, but unlike him I don't have any real reason for it.'

"I—you know what, what are you even doing here so late, anyway?" Michael questioned, glancing at a slightly fidgety Luke.

"Dad hasn't come by to pick me up yet."

Chuckling humorously, Michael mocked a pout, "Aw, Luke's been forgotten." Maybe that was a low blow, but Michael couldn't help himself. If you got on his bad side as quickly as Luke had, you were bound to already get the most offensive things thrown at you.

"School hasn't been out for that long, no one's forgotten about anybody," Luke said, kicking his feet back and forth from his perch on the window sill.

This is awkward, Michael thinks. Both he and Luke have established some barrier, but also some form of unspoken competition. At the very beginning of the school year, Michael didn't know who Luke was, didn't even know Luke went to this school, and certainly didn't even think about knowing that Luke was the son of Andrew Hemmings. The second he had encountered the boy, Michael had a dislike for him and, usually, anyone he has a dislike for isn't treated as casually as Luke is at the moment.

But, that's what Michael was thinking earlier, wasn't it? Treat the boy casually, and he might give the opportunity to get exactly what Michael wanted.

+ + +

i suck rlly bad but this'll get good soon i have it written ouT ????

some tuneskies in the thing yo