Quarterback Love

Chapter 2

“Hey, runt. Have a good summer?” He says with a smirk carved across his face. Beckett Fraizer. Fuck, this is going to be a long year.

I stare up at the tall boy with dark brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. Any girl could wander into his light blue orbs and get stuck there for ages, if they didn’t know the real Beckett. Beckett moved to Melrose when we were in ninth grade, the same year my brother got held back and became the best of friends with him. Beckett, the new kid of the school, fit in perfectly the first day he got here. He got all of the girls, charmed all of the teachers, and acted like there weren’t any dilemmas in the world.

Football tryouts came, he was sure he would get starting quarterback, but he didn’t. He got stuck with wide receiver and wasn’t happy about it. Unfortunately for me, I got starting quarterback and Beckett was pretty pissed that a girl got his position. We would tryout for football and every year I got quarterback and every year he was enraged.

“It was good.” I squeak out. That was entirely false. The whole summer I was practicing football and soccer. If I got mud or grass in the house, my dad would swing a punch at me or grind a knife against my skin. Having an abusive father always meant having scars and emptiness you could never get rid of.

I see Beckett look down at my arm, knowing that I have an abusive father since he’s friends with my brother and comes to my house often.

“You sure?” He says. He picks up my wrist with great force while I try to release myself from his grip. “Then what’s this?”

“Um-I-It,” I stutter, looking up at his olive toned face with questioning eyes. He lets go of my arm, rather harshly, “Be right back.” He growls at Porter. He wrenches his hand around my ponytail and drags me towards a bench. He lets go of my ponytail, nods toward the bench, and I sit down.

“Your dad?” He questions me. I nod. He lets out a light laugh and shakes his head.

“Can’t you just tell him to stop?” Beckett asks like that could fix everything. Oh yeah Beckett like I haven’t already asked. Like I haven’t pleaded for him to stop while he grasps my neck against a wall. Some jocks really are dumb.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried, Beckett? It’s like asking you to stop, you’re not going to.” I say quietly.

“What did you just say to me,” He roars, “I can do whatever the fuck I want to and a puny, disfigured little girl isn’t going to stop me.” Ouch. I feel like curling into a ball and sitting in a pool of my tears, anything to be away from this torturous scene. He looks at me with annoyance and squinted eyes, as if he was looking for an answer to my small outburst.

“Whatever bitch, sorry for trying to give a fuck.” He mutters and walks away.

***

After practice, I get into my car with my brother and drive to my two-story house I share with him and my father.

“Football practice went well,” he says, “did you see my throw to Beckett? That kid is awesome, I like him.” Well if you like him so much, why don’t you marry him, go on a honeymoon across the world, and leave him there.

“Yeah.” I say, not wanting to cause a riot in the car explaining why Beckett is the most rude and selfish little shit in the world.

“I think he likes you.” He says in a sing-song voice. Oh, on the contrary big brother. Of course Sean would think he likes me because whenever he’s around Beckett isn’t shoving me into walls and calling me a ‘bitch’. And he’s just delusional.

“You’re hysterical, Sean.” I say sarcastically, chuckling at his fucked-up mind. He just shrugs and starts going on about how it shouldn’t be mandatory that do the brain project that Mr. Ranford assigned us since it’s ‘totally a pain in the rear end’.

Once we’re home, I drag my football gear behind me and walk up the porch to my house. Luckily, my dad has a bartending job today and wont be back until midnight.

I take out my key and unlock the squeaky door, set my stuff down, and grab my phone. I hear Sean enter the house and I text Porter, telling him to come over to start our project together.

To Porter:

Hey Port, come over – we need to work on the brain project.

While I wait for him to reply, I grab an apple from the refrigerator and plop down on the brown suede chair I was in a minute ago.

From Porter:

Ok Jules, be there soon (;

Porter only lived down the street and would take him a few minutes to get here. In the meantime, I go into my room and change out of my sweaty clothes and put on gym shorts and an England soccer shirt. I jog into my bathroom and wash my face and realign my ponytail. A muffled knock comes from the door and I get up from my comfy chair to open it.

“Hey Jules,” Port says with a wide grin, “ready to get this project over with?”

“Totally, I got Mac and cheese in the pantry to make the brain.” I say laughing at the originality. He laughs with me and walks into my house.

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A/N:

Hey guys! Im so sorry that it took forever for me to update the story. I have school and soccer everyday to six in the afternoon and by then I need to shower and do homework and eat. I promise that when my soccer season ends I will be more fluent with the updates. Thanks for being patient!