Route 28

5

"You should-"

"No."

"You didn't even-"

"No."

"Tomorrow. My game. Be there."

"No."

"I'm the QB!"

"No."

"Neil is first string."

"No."

"It means he plays first."

"No."

"It means if you want this to work, you'll have to watch his game, and we will win, and you will congratulate him, dummy."

"No."

"But, homecoming?"

"Fine."

I sighed in defeat and continued to drive 10 miles over the speed limit on Route 28, trying to get home as fast as possible. Colt had his feet on the headboard, even though I repeatedly told him to keep them down. Instead, he took of his shoes, and insisted they're squeaky clean, yet they smell like rotten eggs because of Coach Simmons's drills.

My phone was tucked in the cup holder getting charged, as usual. Colt, without my permission I might add, grabbed my phone and scrolled through Spotify trying to find songs to play. I didn't have the energy to argue with him today. This morning's events were still replaying in my head, and if I lost focus, Colt and I would be dead.

"No fucking way!" Colt screamed at my phone.

"What!" I screamed as loud as him, not because I was annoyed, but because I hate my mom's best friends.

"Your music history!" he was gasping, "You listened to Drake's new album!"

"Shit," I muttered and sped through the exit. The rest of the ride home, Colt was giving me fun facts on the album, but mostly shocked I listened to the album in the first place. It wasn't the greatest album I ever listened to, but I can't lie it was pretty good. I couldn't sleep last night, and I was in the mood for new music, so I clicked on the album and gave it a shot. I wasn't in love, but I didn't hate it as much as I hated other rap music.

I pulled into his neighborhood, and Colt was still happy. He kept smiling, and pinched my cheeks. I slapped his hands away, but didn't have the heart to scold him. He seemed so happy just because I listened to an album.

"Why are you so pressed* on me listening to this album?" I groaned and pulled into his driveway.

"I don't know, actually," he shrugged, "I guess, cause, you're the first girl I met that's actually giving my music taste a try."

I nodded my head and unlocked his door, cuing him to leave. He simply sat still with his arms around his head, resting and relaxing.

"Dude," I shook my head.

"Hello," he exaggerated, "Be a gentleman and open my door and walk me to the porch."

"Pussy," I grumbled and shifted the car to brake. I did as the king asked and opened his door, slamming it as hard as I can behind him. The two of us linked arms and we sarcastically skidded to the door like a happy couple.

"Where's my good night kiss," he winked, but he got a slap on the back of his head, instead.

He opened his door to leave, and as soon as he did, two voices shouting at each other bursted. His parents were going at it with a screaming match. Colt gave an apologetic look and rolled his eyes at the hollers. Their voices were so loud, I couldn't even understand what they were saying. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.