Lacrosse

11- Flirty and Dirty

Kendall

Partway through my fifth period A.P. U.S. History class, the principal's voice projects out of the intercom system. Static electricity buzzes through the air, hurting everyone's ears, before the words are said.

"Josh Thompson and Kendall Freed to the principal's office immediately. Bring all of your stuff with you when you come and teachers do not expect them to return," Mr. Tracey instructs. Before the speaker even has time to go dead, everyone in my class is staring at me. A lump forms in my throat, as it is the first time I have ever gotten in to trouble at school. I can't risk any blemishes being out on my permanent record. I need to be absolutely perfect in order to be able to go to college with a scholarship, or else I'll end up not going to college at all or being I'm debt from student loans for the rest of my life.

"You may go Kendall," my sweet teacher, Mrs. Carter, says from the front of the classroom, where she is projecting notes on to the board. I nod my head and silently shove my folder in to my faux brown leather over the shoulder bag, dropping my pen in with it.

As I begin the journey to Mr. Tracey's office in the front of the school, my mind reels trying to think of what it can be about. The only thing it can be about is the hole in the field, but usually the coaches would handle that, not the principal.

When I arrive in the front office, Mr. Tracey's secretary shoos me inside the open door to his office. Once inside, I see that Josh is already in a cushioned chair in front of the large, wooden desk and that Coach Amanda and Coach Scott are standing on either side of Mr. Tracey.

"Please, take a seat Ms. Freed," the principal says. I walk to the other open chair and plop down, my body sinking in to the overly soft fabric.

"As you both already know, there is a hole in the middle of the lacrosse field," the principal begins. "None of us think that either of you dug it, but we are holding you responsible for it. Coach Scott has informed me that he entrusted the two of you with the key to the gate so you could get extra practice last night. Based on the fact that someone who should not have been able to gain access to the field did once you left, we are willing to assume that you did not lock the gate. Is this correct?"

"I- we - thought that someone was watching us so we were trying to leave as fast as we could and it slipped my mind that I was responsible for locking the gate once we left," Josh explains.

Mr. Tracey nods his head before continuing. "We have enough soil and turf to replace the amount that was removed last night so we are putting the two of you in charge of fixing the field before your practice starts. It may take some time so go ahead and get started. Everything you need is on the field. You may put your school supplies in your car and lacrosse equipment in the locker room before you begin."

Josh and I stand up simultaneously and walk out of the office. We split up to go to our lockers, each marked with a fat red X, and then meet back up at Josh's car. I toss my school bag in to the passenger seat and remove my lacrosse bag from the trunk, hiking it up on my shoulder as I make my way to the girl's locker room.

Once we finish putting our equipment away, we find our way to the center circle of the field. The hole is even larger than I had originally thought. It appears to be roughly eleven feet in diameter and three feet deep in the middle.

"This must have taken them a long time to dig," Josh states, whistling at the sight of the hole.

I sigh loudly. "Might as well get started so it's finished before practice," I suggest.
Josh starts the process of ripping open the bags of dirt. Once opened, I lift them up and carry them to the hole, dumping the contents inside. Each bag only makes a slight dent in filling up the hole.

Over and over again, Josh rips open a bag and I pour it out. We hear the bell ring, indicating the end of fifth hour and the fact that we have been at this for nearly an hour and have yet to make much progress.

"Josh," I say, an idea suddenly forming in my mind as to how to make this boring duty a little more interesting.

"Yeah?"

I walk over to my boyfriend, sitting in the ground, tearing the seal off of yet another five pound bag of soil. I bend down and whisper in to his ear, "I like it when you talk dirty to me."

"What?" Josh asks, confused about my statement. That is when I take a handful of dirt out of the open bag of soil in my arms and dump it on to his hair.

"That!" I squeal, laughing as Josh tries to shake the brown powder out of his blond hair.

"It's on Kendall," he challenges.

"Bring it!"

Josh picks up one of the bags of dirt by his feet that he has already opened and stands up, making his way towards me with it. I run in the opposite direction of him, in the direction of the hole. I stop near the edge of the crater and Josh skids to a stop next to me, nearly falling in. I toss the remaining soil in my bag on him, what doesn't hit him dropping in to the hole, now almost full. Josh takes his bag, still full, and dumps it all out on my head, a pile of brown forming on the top of my hair. I scoop it up in my hands and rub it on to his chest, leaving dark streaks on the soft blue fabric of his shirt. He takes his hands and rubs the dirt in to my scalp, filling my thick hair with it.

I run over to the open bags and grab another one. I pull the front of Josh's cargo shorts outward and dump the soil inside, most of it falling out of the bottom end and then in to the hole.

"Oh no you didn't," Josh jokes.

Before I even know what's happening, my feet are no longer on the ground. I am being cradled in his arms, swinging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"Josh," I warn. "Don't."

He doesn't listen to me and I feel my body flying through the air, floating for just a few seconds, and then I feel the dirt inside the hole cover me. It sneaks into my shirt, my bra, my pants, my hair, my socks. Everywhere.

"Dirty enough for you?" Josh asks, his voice full of sexy sarcasm.

I stand up, dirt falling off me as I do, and walk to the edge of the hole, where Josh is kneeling.

"Fine," I say in pretend surrender. "You win."

"What do I win?"

"A kiss," I suggest slyly, a plan already formed in my mind. I stand up on my tip toes and Josh bends down even more, just far enough for it to work. Right before my lips are going to connect with his, I grab his wrist and yank him forwards. Being caught off guard and off balance by the force of the pull, Josh stumbles forward, landing in the hole beside me.

"I should have seen that coming." Josh laughs, his peach skin stained with brown and his hair dyed a darker color than usual.

"Let's finish this thing up," I say. "We still need to finish filling it and then stitch up the turf."

"Do I at least get my kiss?" Josh asks sadly, puckering his bottom lip so it sticks out and makes him look like a sad puppy dog. I grab the neck of his shirt and pull myself toward him, smiling as my lips make contact with his.