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america//alfred

WARNING! this includes sensitive topics that could be uncomfortable to some readers. please proceed with caution.

•the address and school name are things I made up on the spot, fyi

"let's go patriots, let's go!"
"let's go patriots, let's go!"
"let's go patriots, let's go!"

the cheering, the shouting, the clapping, the bells and whistles around me made my head pound. who could even pretend to enjoy this? it was just a mix of competitive parents and sticky-fingered kids screaming at the top of their lungs, god knows what the hell they were even saying.

"(Y/N)!"

the shouting of my name snapped me away from my thoughts.

"huh? what? what were you saying liz?"
"I've been trying to get your attention for like five minutes. seriously, you need to get that zoning-out thing checked out."

Liz Castro, not my favorite person in the world but she's one I can stand. She can be kind of snotty and judge-mental, but overall she's pretty nice, and it's not like she would intentionally hurt me.

"hey, my dad doesn't own a hospital like yours." I joke. "at least I-"

"and Jones, number 46, makes another home run! as expected from our star player!"

Alfred F. Jones. a star varsity athlete at washington high, but where he really shone was in baseball. they called him "one-hit-jones." he could hit any ball thrown at him, first try. and his throwing arm was even better, I don't think this field has ever seen an opponent hit one of his pitches. his athletic abilities weren't the only thing to one-hit-Jones. arrogance on top of ignorance, stacked sky high like waffles in a breakfast diner, and an ego more supersized than his fast-food meals, that was what Jones was made out of. he thinks he's the best of the best, "a top of the line hero" as he would call himself.

and guess who fell for him? Liz. how could she not? they would be perfect together, both somewhat stuck-up and wealthy. they would be the picturesque vision of the american love story dream. with bouncing blonde hair, and glittering blue eyes, how could they be anything but?

but, I couldn't help but be jealous. I can't exactly pinpoint why. it definitely wasn't alfred, he's not my type whatsoever. there's nothing special to him except his lack of awareness for others around him, and his athletics. so why?

"and patriots win the game! 10 to 3!"
the crowd roars louder than before, both with selfish joy and unnecessary anger.

Liz jumped to her feet and ran to the dugout, leaving me alone.

"well, she's gone. guess I'll just start walking home then." I murmur to myself, lifting from the cold bleacher.
why do I even come to these anymore? it's not like I enjoy them, and whenever I do come all Liz does is fawn over Alfred.

it had been about forty minutes, and the sun was damn near set. the array of peachy-golden ribbons of light had faded, and the sea of evening was flooding in fast. I have about a mile to go, and if I walk fast and take the shortcut I'll make it in ten minutes.

as soon as I quicken my pace, I hear soft footsteps behind me. I live in a generally safe area, so I don't think much of it.

not long after, the steps get louder and faster.

I'm sure they just have somewhere to be.

I turn into an alleyway, I go through it on my every-day route from school as a shortcut. it was between two restaurants that I went to often, so I felt safe going through it.