The Messy Months [EDITING]

September - 1

Marcy didn't like football games. She couldn't sit through them, even when she was at home in her PJ's, watching her dad scream at the television. She'd always end up taking a bowl of popcorn up stairs with her so she could watch one of her favorite shows on Netflix.

It didn't take her long to realize that she didn't like watching other sports either. Maybe if the sport were made into a classic film, she could suffer through (especially if the star player was someone like Channing Tatum).

So Marcy couldn't make sense of how she'd gotten herself into this mess. There was a ketchup stain on her shirt from someone flinging their apparently unsatisfying hot dogs around. She was too warm because the weather had decided to have it out for her too, so maneuvering herself around in the mess of people was harder than it should have been. With her hair plastered to her forehead and her purse clutched in her hand, she'd made it to the stands only to find that they were packed out, and she'd have to awkwardly stand on the sidelines.

Instead of sitting down to watch the game she paid twenty bucks for, she wandered around, continuing to check her shirt and debate whether or not the stain was permanent.

She didn't know what she was looking for until she found it.

She'd heard rumors, yeah. Tried her best not to believe them. But something so outrageous as this... you couldn't help but wonder and think it's so crazy it's actually true.

And there he was right there, proving it to her.

Trym stood just twenty feet away, his strong arms poised above his head, his feet planted in a firm stance. She watched his ribcage expand and contract before he pushed his arms up and lowered them, catching a thin blonde in his arms. Marcy had to a quadruple take. Was that really Trym dressed up in their team colors? Was that really him using the muscles Marcy never noticed before to keep a girl balanced on the palm of his hand?

Was he really a cheerleader?

Trym set the girl in his arms on her feet, turning to pick up a water bottle. For some reason the sea of people surrounding them decided to part just as he looked up, and his eyes connected with Marcy's.

"Dang it," she breathed, diving into the nearby spectators. As she ran and wove herself between the hot bodies set under the night sky, Marcy hoped two things. That one, he wasn't chasing her. And two, that no one would drop their hot dog her. Because if they did she'd probably scream.

Marcy could hear her name being called over the crowd, so she dove behind a food vendor, her face ramming into some prickly legs.

"Lemme guess." Marcy lifted her head to see a chick holding a hot dog at the tip with her fingertips. "Your ex is after you?"

Marcy shook her head, panting as she sat down on the grease covered ground.

"Oooh, you got with your sister's ex?"

"Nah."

"Your best friend's ex?"

"No."

"Then honey, what did you do?"

"I'm avoiding someone." Marcy leaned around to search the crowd. She squeaked and hid herself as Trym jogged up, looking this way and that. The girl grunted and Marcy looked up at her.

"I can see why you'd avoid that hot mess." Marcy could tell the girl's eyes were looking over Trym's outside details. "Is he really wearing a cheerleading uniform?"

Marcy nodded, placing her head in her hands. "Tell me when he's gone."

"Shh, he's coming this way." The girl placed her elbows on the edge of the greasy stand, sticking her butt out. Marcy turned her head away, wondering what the heck the chick was doing.