*currently editing*
Two boys. Two different schools. One game. One goal.
Life was easy when you were considered high school royalty but when you get rivalry on the field, things get a little interesting.
Connor Taylor went to Northshore. Dakota Ande...
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"everybody wants to know if we f*cked on the bathroom sink, how your hands felt in my hair, if we were high on amphetamines"
strange love • halsey
***
My alarm woke me up just past noon the next day. Sunlight filtered in through my bedroom window from where I'd left the blinds cracked open the night before.
Rolling out of bed, I headed downstairs to find my mum in the kitchen, humming along to a Fleetwood Mac song that was playing from the small radio on top of the microwave. Bronze strands of hair fell in her face she moved to place a freshly baked loaf of pecan bread atop the wooden counter. She turned around at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
"Oh, honey. You're awake." Mum said when she spotted me leaning in the doorway. She wiped her hands down her apron before untying it and tossing it onto the counter. "Do you want breakfast? There are bagels warming in the oven if you're hungry."
"Thanks, Mum." I crossed the kitchen to the oven. The toasted smell of bagels wafted into the air as soon as I opened the door. I transferred them onto a plate sat down at the counter. Mum slid a small tub of organic cream cheese, fresh from the farmers market, across the benchtop toward me. Lathering the bagels eagerly with a butter knife, I tore into them hungrily.
"Where's Dad?" I asked through mouthfuls.
"Playing golf with Mr Burnstein. Head of the English department at Holland University?" Mum replied. She laughed lightly. "He's been challenging your father to a rematch for months."
"Isn't the man sixty?"
"Sixty-three," Mum corrected, "but he still thinks he can beat your father."
"Yeah, good luck with that. No one's beat Dad since the eighties."
I went back to eating. My throat was burning once I'd finished. The radio changed and the jaunty tune of a Billy Idol song came on. Mum hummed along with it as she removed a pitcher of homemade orange juice from the fridge and placed it in front of me. She reached into the overhead cupboard and took out a glass, placing it next to the jug.
I reached for the pitcher gratefully and poured the juice into the glass. It was gone in three gulps. I was halfway through pouring my second glass when I looked up and noticed Mum watching me in amusement.
"What?" I asked, mid pour.
Mum cocked a knowing brow. "Didn't replenish ourselves enough last night at the party, did we?"
"I wasn't drinking."
"Boy, you better have not been. You were driving."
