⌁ 𝕚 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 ⌁

⌁⁘ 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖 ⁘⌁

~ 𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓲 𝓼𝓮𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭

⟫ y/n pov ⟪

~ ⁘ ~ ⁘ ~ ⁘ ~

About a week and a half after the big blowup between my parents and I, the incident had pretty much been forced to the backs of everyone's minds.

The Parentals tried calling me and texting me, pleading at first, but I ignored all their attempts to reach out. From there, the pleading turned to anger, then the anger to threats. I blocked them both.

Walker still checked on me every day, coming to get me from whatever my last class of the day was and taking me to a different restaurant for a snack. We'd done cherry limeades at Sonic, strawberry acai lemonades at Starbucks, McFlurries at McDonalds, waffle fries at Chick-Fil-A....

He was the absolute sweetest.

It was like we had some kind of unspoken deal stuck: I helped him study for his exams, and he was my emotional support boy. It was a win-win, definitely.

Two weeks after the blowup, my parents stopped trying to reach me. Which was good, because it was Crosstown week. I didn't need any distractions.

The Crosstown Classic was the series of games we played against our biggest competition in the state, who just happened to be residing in the same town as us, the Hillcrest Academy Hawks. The whole school got decked out in their Northlake Crows gear, got painted up, made signs, and had no voice by the end of the week from screaming so much. There was one game each day: baseball kicked it off on Monday. Volleyball, my team, played Tuesday. Softball was Wednesday. Soccer went Thursday. And, finally, football closed the week out on Friday, with the highest attended game of the whole season - the Crosstown football game always set records in terms of numbers.

I was absolutely hyped out of my mind for Crosstown week. Walker and his guys were playing Monday, and I'd promised him I'd be there. Obviously I would be at the game Tuesday, I'd take a day off Wednesday, and Thursday was the day our whole friend group would go to the soccer game to cheer on Mason, Brady, Connor, and Charlie.

Come Sunday, our friend group was having a designated Sundae Sunday, where we all hung out in Campushouse 13's living room and ate ice cream and hyped up whoever's game was closest. Sundae Sundays were only before big competition weeks. The people we were currently hyping up were Walker and Connor, who played tomorrow.

13 was a flurry of movement and voices and laughter as everyone bustled around and mingled. Currently the Noon Sandwich was arguing with Mason, who was seated in Nico's lap, about who was hotter: 90's Leonardo DiCaprio or 90's Hugh Jackman.

"IT'S OBVIOUSLY LEONARDO DICAPRIO," Connor cried, waving his hands wildly.

"THAT'S WHAT I JUST SAID," Mason shouted back. "WE'RE ARGUING FOR THE SAME SIDE-"

"NO, IT'S HUGH," Dior wailed, clawing her hands through her hair. "IT'S HUGH!"

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE ON OUR SIDE?!" Connor exclaimed, scandalized.

"NO, YOU'VE BEEN ARGUING WITH ME, AGAINST MASON, EVEN THOUGH I'M LITERALLY DISAGREEING WITH YOU," Dior yelled.

"I JUST WANT TO ARGUE WITH SOMEONE," Brady roared, sprinkles stuck to his lips and his cheeks, chocolate ice cream melting and dripping down his hand.

Walker, chuckling, came up beside me, snaked an arm around my waist, and rested a casual hand on my hip. "Do you know what's going on over there?" he whispered to me conspiratorially.