The Stare Games (editing)

The Stare Games || 1

Flecks of silver, stripes of blue.

His eyes reminded me of a blue sea. The bright deep pigments of fishes below and the reflection of the sun on its waters. Just like the vast ocean, there was something mysterious about it. Something that piqued at my curiosity and made me want to go closer, deeper. Something that lured me into discovering the him, the real him.

Seth Micah Jones.

SMJ, his initials that girls would paint on their faces every time the Fletchings had a game.

Like today.

The first game of the new year.

Fletchings vs. Eagles. The most legendary game of the season. It was the only time the bleachers were fully crowded with family and friends, all supporting our boys.

All around me, frantic girls held up posters of scrawny-looking birds and failed paintings of actual good-looking guys that would make you think he catfished you in the best possible way when meeting him. My eyes flew to a girl with a lot of red SMJ marks. In fact, with my lack of mathematical skills, I could already say she had more than twelve tats just on her face.

Jealousy roared within me. Not only was she a true apparent fan of his, but she was naturally gorgeous. A look I could never be able to apprehend.

The supporters cheered. The ball must've been intercepted into our possession.

However, the weather didn't do any justice.

It was almost the end of summer, which meant the wind blew harder and harder as the days went by. Pulling my scarf to my face, I wondered how anyone could play sports in the cold.

"How do they do it?" I asked Nyler, my best friend, nudging his arm as he snuggled deeper into his trench coat in the seat next to mine.

He shrugged. "Must be one of the mysteries of the world. Maybe you should ask Seth about it? You know, using words?"

That's right, my friends. I, the biggest loser ever having roamed the planet, have never talked to the dream-god I came to watch today. Pathetic, right?

I rolled my eyes at him. Some people have such high hopes for others. "And you know, that would never happen." I replied, thinking back to the past year I spent drooling at him, wordlessly.

"Why not, A? You know he stares at you, too. Plus, it could be like new year, new you finally talking to the guy of your dreams!"

I coughed my coke back up at his lame excuse for a 'New year, new me' reference. "You know those things only work for when an actual year passes, right? And, maybe I just don't want to leave a fellow single Pringle behind."

It wasn't because I couldn't speak to people normally, nope.

"Not single for long." He said, sticking out his tongue and continuing to watch the 'love of his life' Kyra shake her ass.

That was right. Nyler Hoffman, with the ash grey hair and lopsided smile, was getting more action done than the 17 years of my life. Maybe he'd be the one leaving me. 

My attention travelled back to the lucky number 8 on the field. His light blonde hair, almost fading into white, which was usually gelled up to perfection, hung low over his turquoise eyes from sweating so much. Even from this far away, I could see his chest heave up and down and a frown upon his face as the scores were still nil nil.

I watched him jog up to numbers 13 and 19, aka Clive and Nate, who already had their hands on their hips and mouths rambling on, clearly pissed off at the scoreboard. Seth, on the other hand, remained quiet, studying the ground as if trying to find a solution.

That's what I liked about him the most: how he thought before he spoke or did anything.

As I was eyeing his every moment, his head suddenly snapped towards well, me, or at least I thought he was looking at me. In just that small fraction of time, I managed to travel into an abyss where it was just the two of us, eyes-locked with each other's, causing my heart to beat faster and faster as the seconds ticked by.

Closing my locker with a bang, I shuffled through the school of fishes that would soon become fried if they didn't walk any faster. I never understood why people didn't speed up as if it wasn't a necessity after the bell had rung; it was like they wanted to be late.

G22.

G23.

G24. Biology.

Once I found my class, it only took me a second to locate a seat in the back as everyone else were chatting away on their feet. My teacher walked in after, breaking all conversations in half. My eyes drifted from the paper in front of me to the whiteboard that was currently being scribbled on before landing on a pair of curious ones, watching me.

You know that feeling you get when you think —when you know — that someone's watching you, whether he/she is far away or just in front of you?

Well, it was the feeling I had as I held my gaze across meters and meters of ground with the familiar blue eyes I've come to find comfort in.

And it was the feeling I had as I locked eyes with the clearest pair of deep blue ocean jewels that stared back into my soul for the first time ever, marking the start of a year of constant staring.

Welcome to The Stare Games.

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