The Badboy's Tomboy || WATTYS 2015

12- Fuckers and Bitches

12- Fuckers and Bitches

~The night of the dance (not because I was too lazy to do fillers or anything)~

"Run, run, run, RUN!" I screamed, pumping my fist in the chilly autumn air as Matt bolted down the field. The football was tucked under his arm. "GO MATT!" I yelled along with the rest of the people around me. If Matt made this touchdown, we won. Although I knew it would only inflate his already big head, I really wanted our school football team to win. Being division one gave us an advantage- we had more players to choose from. Unfortunately, the away team was division one too.

He was past the 50-yard line. "KEEP GOING! KEEP GOING!" I screamed, already imagining all the tea and honey I would have to drink later. It was worth it, though. I swatted away a mosquito. I was surprised the pesky bugs were still alive this late in the year. The chill air nipped my body slightly uncomfortably, and I was glad this was the last play. But then, we needed this touchdown to win.

Past the 20-yard line, now, but players from the other team were gaining on him. "RUN, MATT!" I screamed, causing the girl in front of me to wince at my outburst. I didn't care, though. If you're going to come to a football game, expect it to be loud. "Go, go, go," I muttered under my breath as I watched him run. A football player lunged at him- no, no, no! We were going to lose! But, Matt tumbled right over the end zone. "YES!" I screamed as the crowd erupted in cheers, while the other team's crowd started to boo. I rolled my eyes. Immature.

I stepped out of the stands and ran down the steps as fast as I could without breaking my ankles in my high heels. Lucy had made me wear them. I never knew my best friend secretly had it in for me.

I stepped onto the field. My heels sunk down slightly in the turf, and it slowed my down. I waved my arms towards Matt. "Yo, Dixon!" I called, taking a few steps forward. His gaze met mine and I saw his lips spread into a smile before he ripped his helmet off and jogged to me. We hugged akwardly, his football gear digging into my body uncomfortably. Ah, well.

"You did great!" I said, letting go of him. His jersey reeked of sweat and dirt.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" he replied with a smirk. I punched his arm. "Your cockiness is getting out of control, Mr. Dixon," I said, pulling him off the field. "Let's go! You have to take your gear off so we can go to the dance!" Although Matt was not exactly my favorite person, I was happy to go to the dance with someone. It made me feel good, like someone actually cared for me.

Wait...what?

Did Matt care for me?

Hmm. Matt walked ahead of me, and I jogged slightly to keep up with his large strides. "Are you really going to the dance with me?" He asked as I followed him towards the locker room.

"Well, everyone expects me to," I reasoned. He nodded. "I know," he said, "but you don't seem one to exactly follow the crowd."

"That was before everyone knew who I was because I got strangled," I muttered. He chuckled.

"Oh- you getting strangled isn't funny," he said quickly. "Well, it is now. Not at the time."

"Yeah, yeah."

We got to the locker room, and I plopped down on a bench outside. I didn't want to be labeled a creep or a pervert for going into there. "Be back in ten," he said before disappearing into the locker room.

I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and checked Instagram- I'd made an account recently, and with the help of Lucy and Matt, I'd gained nearly 200 followers in a few weeks. Everyone I followed was posting pictures of them with their friends at the game. The captions were mostly "gametime" and "bestfriends" hashtags. I didn't get the deal with hashtags. What was the point? Why did likes even matter?