Bad Boy, Good Boy (boyxboy)

14 - bad sports, good outcome

Soo, I just watched Suicide Squad. (let's leave it at that)

Here you go, you're welcome and please do (at least consider) leaving a comment and hitting that cute 'vote' button, because it means a lot to me. Really. Honestly. It makes the hours of writing and figuring things out so worth it. 

Chapter 14 

Dear Devon, if you are reading this it means I've kept you far away from the bad guys. If you're not reading this, then it means someone else is, so why the fuck are you reading this? That's an invasion of privacy. Let's not forget that curiosity killed the cat. Yeah, you know what cat I'm talking about – Schrödinger's. But that cat was fictional. So imagine now that you've killed an imaginary cat. Some little kid might have loved that cat very much.

"Luke, I'm open!" Nolan yells and waves his hands in the air. My lips curl into a smile and I send the ball flying to where he is. Even in the middle of the game I'm able to think about things that don't make sense. If I were a good athlete I'd concentrate not on Devon who also plays soccer and my god how good he looks when he's playing –

I shake my head and keep running.

You stupid son of a freak, why are you thinking of some boy who is driving your already crazy mind even crazier. Don't you know when to say 'stop' or 'no'. Or both? Stop, no. No, stop.

Jason's screaming yanks me out of my thoughts. He pumps his fist in the air and then screams some more. "This is how we do it," he says slowly and winks at the other team's member. He mimics shooting and then runs in a circle. It's 5:3 and we're winning.

Nolan runs his fingers through his slightly sweaty hair. "The kid's crazy."

After a little friendly interrogation we found out that Caleb thirteen and Jason is fifteen. Whatever they did to get here certainly wasn't pleasant. I just hope their scores are lower than mine (and I don't mean grades, I mean how many people they've punched, or things).

Nolan has taken over the role of an older brother. "Jason, that's enough. We still have twenty minutes to play," he raises his voice a little. Jason stops mid-dance and glances over at Nolan. He drops his arms and walks away. "And also you need to keep practising those moves," Nolan adds and laughs.

Maybe Heather was right and I do need this.

What? Heather's never right, pff. At least I can't let myself think that way.

The next twenty minutes is not that easy, though. We manage to score one more goal, but so does the other team and then we're sprayed out on the field, out of breath but still whining. Mickey is sitting at the goal and pulling grass out. I feel him staring, but don't look. My head's resting on my arms. Nolan's next to propped on his elbows, squinting in the sun.

"Great job, guys!" Greg claps and gestures for us to gather, but no one moves.

"Sorry, Greg," Nolan says apologetically.

"Playing sports is a perfect way to express your anger," he continues, to which Nolan rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, but what if you're angry because of sports," says a guy with a green cap. Caleb throws his head back and laughs. We all love messing with Greg.

Mary watches us from near the house where she's watering some flowers, not far from the soccer field.

"It's not the only way," says Greg and presses a smile. If you're hoping for one person to be real with you, then don't count on Greg. Everything he does is calculated and just so wrong that it ticks me off. He should look out or change his ways. "Next game we have is Capture the Flag. Today we're tackling mostly sports. Rearrange teams if you want. We'll start in about half an hour."