The Guy Who Gave Up His Jersey (New Version)

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Gabriela and I stared at Alejandro. He had a brunette girl pinned down in the corner of the room. The girl twirled her hair around her index finger, getting lost in his light brown eyes. My stomach twisted in disgust. He had finally dropped low this time. He was hitting on a dorky girl, and the poor thing probably didn't even know what was going on.

"That jerk," I growled, forcing myself not to go up and slap him.

Gabriela rolled her eyes at me. "Really? You would think you would've gotten used to the whole hitting-on-girls thing," she simply said, taking a sip from her drink.

I turned my head towards her, a little annoyed. She had a point though. Why did it bother me? He'd been doing the same thing since the moment I set foot in Roosevelt High. Hell, half of the guy population in this school was doing the same thing.

Xavier appeared at my side and handed me his jacket.

"Who was the lucky girl?" I asked him, sarcasm dripping with every word.

"Limia? No, that doesn't sound right. Lidia? No, no. Shit. I forgot her name," my sweet older brother said.

I looked at him in disbelief.

"You mean Linda?" Gabriela asked.

He smiled happily. "There you go; Linda!"

"You got into Linda Whistles' pants?" I asked him, nearly screaming it out loud.

Linda Whistles was the student body president. She was in all AP classes and never missed school. She wasn't the type of girl to open her legs for anyone. It was actually hard to believe that she didn't know the reason why my brother was speaking to her.

Xavier flicked my nose. "Better believe it, sister. I fucked her. And let me tell you, that took work to do," he said, slightly annoyed.

"When did this happen?" I asked, still perplexed by what he had done.

"Fifteen-minutes ago."

"And where is she now?" He shrugged, looking around the room full of people, he pretended to look for the girl he had been with.

"Around." He whispered, scratching the back of his neck.

I threw the jacket back at him. "Get out of my face."

"Don't be like that," Xavier told me, slipping on his jacket.

"Then in what way should I be? You can have any girl in Roosevelt High and you chose her. She didn't need to have Xavier Richerman ruining her senior year." I snapped at him.

If I look around the party a certain percentage of the guys here are wearing a letterman jacket. The Letterman jacket some of these guys were wearing didn't represent membership in the football team, nor in any other type of sport. It represented the rank they were in. The numbered patch informed you how many girls they slept with.

Xavier started the game as a freshman. He thought it would be fun to see how easily girls would fall for him. As time went by, more and more guys got into it. When I entered high school, Xavier handed me The Playbook; a legendary guide filled with passes and moves guys could use to make a girl fall for them.

Eventually, I knew the book as if it was the back of my hand. Every time a guy messed up with a girl, I gave them pointers. I became their coach and eventually became the coach of all the players in school. Revolting, huh? Although all the girls knew what these guys were doing, they didn't care. They kept falling for the players and slept with them, hoping they had found a guy different than the rest, only to get their fragile hearts broken.
"I just want you to see how girls are stupidly fooled by us. I don't want you falling for a guy like me," Xavier told me sincerely.