❝HONEY❞
❚chapter seven; more to life than Green Day❚
THE GRAVEL CRUNCHED at a steady pace under Michaels big, black combat boots. It was Friday, and he was currently walking up to the field in which Ashton would be playing lacrosse on in a few minutes. Michael didn't want to be here, but he did anyways. For Ashton.
Michael had spent at least 20 minutes pleading with his mom, desperately trying to get his keys, phone, and hair privileges back. He managed to get his phone and keys back, after multiple empty promises about cleaning his room and the house. Michael was surprised he had time to change, throwing on a random shirt and pair of pants from his floor, so he wouldn't have to endure an away game in his uniform.
The sun was setting, and the air became cooler. Michael smirked to himself as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his favorite leather jacket. It was his prized possession, passed down from his dad. Not to mention Michael looked more than good in it; and he knew it.
Lacrosse was the big sport in Michaels state. Sure, Americans lost it over football, but it was the lacrosse games that were exciting. Partly because their football team sucked, and partly because their lacrosse team was amazing.
Michael set $5 down on the desk right outside the fence that led to the field. The woman quickly ripped off a ticket, handing it and a few cents to him, a big smile plastered on her face.
Michael didn't return the smile, just took his ticket and change and walked off. Michael wasn't the polite type.
Since it was an away game for Michaels school, the bleachers on his side were much smaller, and scarcely filled with parents here and there. Michael sat on the first row, smack dab in the middle. The perfect view.
He watched Ashton as they warmed up on the field. They did a few drills, and then all huddled in a circle. Michael guessed they were having a pep-talk or praying or whatever teams do a few minutes before a game. Seconds later, they all dispersed, going off to get one last gulp of water before the game. Ashton took off his helmet, spotting Michael and grinning. Michael took a hand put of his pocket and have him a curt wave. Ashton, of course, threw his hand high in the air, waving more than necessary. Michael thought he probably hurt his elbow doing it.
If Michael wouldn't have been distracted by Ashton, he probably would've seen his teammates. He probably would've noticed the tall boy with blond streaks in his hair, and he probably would've noticed the girl in the stands.
But, of course, he was, and he didn't. In fact, he only noticed them towards the end of the game. Ashton had passed it, the small ball soaring across the field and into the net of a teammate. Immediately, the boy started running down the field, not much further until the goal, but a blockade of blue was in the way.
By now, Michael was pretty into it. His fists were clenched, nails digging into his palms and his brows furrowed. The boy, number 55 with the words 'BARAKAT' printed on the back was fast and agile, quickly turning and avoiding the many guys blocking the way.
Michaels leg started to bounce, and he was chewing on his bottom lip. 55 was sprinting his ass off, but someone of the opposing team was hot on his trail.
"C'mon, dammit!" Michael lowly said to himself.
Someone was running at 55 from the side, and Michael tugged at the ends of his hair. He was less than 10 feet from the goal. If he could score this, they would win. Currently they were tied, and Michael dreaded overtime and more of this stress.
55 flung the ball, and in the blink of an eye, it had hit the top right corner of the net.
Everyone on Michaels side, including Michael, jumped up. Michael screamed and clapped, his cheers being lost in the noise of yelling and cowbells.
