deep blue eyes // Antoine Griezmann

Chapter 22 - Not A Killjoy

On the third of February, during lunch, like most of the time, Neymar starts the conversation. Unlike usual, though, he is speaking in very hushed tones, so I have to lean in closer to hear him, along with all the guys.

"I don't know if you guys know, but Sunday is my birthday, and my parents are going to be gone from the house this weekend. Meaning I can have a party- a real party."

Mbappe raises an eyebrow, saying, "What is your definition of a 'real party'?"

"Well, you know. Drinking games. Watching horror and sex movies that are R. Having all my favorite bros over. Staying up all night. Just doing stupid stuff, you know? I mean, I think it'll be fitting, since I'm turning eighteen, after all."

"You're turning eighteen?" I ask. "You seem much younger than that."

He rolls his eyes.

"I mean, you're going to be a legal adult. Think about that, Ney."

"I have, and it's awesome. Either way, guys, what do you say? You in?"

"Sure, but how are we going to convince our parents?" Messi says. "We'll never get away with it."

"Sure you will," Neymar says, leaning back and crossing his arms. "It's not that hard to not offer information. Say it's my birthday, and that I'm having some friends sleep over. And if your parents don't let you come then, then they're insane, because you're sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen, for God's sake."

I feel a little knot in my stomach about this. I don't know if I want to do this...

"Will it take place on Saturday and Sunday? And we'll sleep over that night?" Giroud asks.

"Yeah," Neymar nods. "So, who's coming?"

Messi, Giroud, Mbappe, Foden, and Henderson all say yes right away. Out of the people currently sitting at this table right now, that leaves me, Lloris, and Griezmann who haven't responded yet.

"So, Grizou, don't tell me you're going to be a chicken and-"

Griezmann looks up at Neymar, grinning. "Who ever said I wasn't coming? I'm in."

Neymar nods, looking pleased, then turns to me and Lloris, who are currently sitting next to each other. "So, are you two going to be the killjoys?" he asks.

Lloris thinks for a few seconds, then finally says, not sounding as enthusiastic as some of the others, "Sure, I guess I'll come. What time on Saturday should we get there?"

"Around 12:00 would be good. I'll have lunch ready for everyone. But there is one more here that hasn't answered yet. Sage?" Neymar's hazel eyes, and many other pairs of eyes fall on me.

I clear my throat. I originally wasn't going to go, simply because I'm uncomfortable doing such things, but now it's not like I can stand here and say I'm not going to because I don't want to break the law. Everyone else is going. Even Lloris, and he's kind of known as a buzzkill. "Well, my parents wouldn't let me sleep over at a guy's house, so I don't know if I can..." I say lamely.

"Oh, come on, Sage," Mbappe says. "You know we all want you to be there. And what's one more lie? I mean, you're the best liar I know, and I mean that as I compliment." I don't know where that is coming from. I've always thought I was a terrible liar. He continues, "Just say you're at, like, Elizabeth's house or something. Your parents'll have no idea you're not at hers, and that you're at Neymar's. No idea."

I sigh, shaking my head. "That won't work. I've almost got it, I'm testing for it this coming up week, but I don't have my driver's license yet, as you all know, because you never stop teasing me about it. But one of you guys would have to pick me up, and my mom would realize it's not one of my friend's cars, and that there's a guy in the front, wouldn't she? You guys don't think of anything. I'd have no way to get there."

"Take the city bus," Henderson offers.

"I don't know where Neymar lives," I say a little too quickly, realizing that I'm running out of excuses not to go to this party.

"Easy solution there," Neymar snorts. "I can text my address to you."

"Prefect, you sound almost as if you're trying to get out of this. If you don't wanna go, then just say," Giroud says casually.

But that's the thing. I can't say. I don't want to skip my friend's birthday celebration, for one. For two, I'd be made fun of with no mercy for being too much of a coward to go. And for three, Antoine is going, and I don't want him to think less of me for not. I know these guys are always so honest with each other, and they hardly ever engage in drama, but still, I can't do this. Because even if on the outward they don't do anything, what if they think of me differently? I can't have them thinking less of me, because they're my friends, my only friends, my good friends. I like them too much, and I don't want them to dislike me or look down on me, for any reason.

I mean, it's probably foolish for me to be nervous about this, right? It's just a party with just a bunch of friends, right? Who cares if there's a little alcohol consumption. Nobody is going to know about it, and it's not like I'm going to get mad drunk out of my mind. And I'm sure nobody else here would do that, either. So it's fine, right? It'll be good.

Right?

I nod, glancing away from all their eyes. "I want to go. I'll go, Neymar." I look back up, meeting Neymar's eyes. "I'd hate to miss your birthday party. Especially you're eighteenth." I put a grin on my face. "Just send me the address tonight, and I'll be there tomorrow, for sure."

Before I look back down at my food, I glance at Griezmann. His eyes look bright, and his face looks excited.

He looks pleased.