SEVENS

FLIP FOR ME MY LOVE

A|N: sorry about the wait, I moved this week and it was rough and I was tired and so that's my excuse, hope you enjoy though! And I promise I'll publish more soon now that I have time again!

I wasn't allowed to play. Just watch. Watch and: "—not move or I'll break your other limbs to keep you in place". I could barely hold myself back from taking Coach up on the threat. She hadn't even allowed me to wear my uniform because she was worried that it would give me "ideas" whatever the fuck that ment.

    It was the Thursday before thanksgiving break and the game had been underway for almost five minutes, nearing halftime. Without the movement of running on the field I was shaking with each pass of the wind, My jacket doing jack shit to keep me warm. I dug the heel of my boot into the turf and twisted, dragging up grass and dirt as I watched my team murder the visiting "Tornados". The floodlights drowned the field, players and fans in orange light. My eyes drifted to Raf, who had the ball and was tearing down the field. His jersey was short sleeved and showed off tattoos that wern't visible when he wore his sweatshirt. He looked stained and bold. I stuck my hand under my own shirt and spread my palm over my stomach, feeling the saran wrap that bandaged the healing tattoo.  

I was trying to think of the best way to convince Coach I could play when Mr. Michales walked past my spot on the bench and went to pull Coach and Jack to the side of the field. Coach crossed her arms and lowered her head as if listening carefully to what Mr. Michales was saying, Jack looked worriedly from the counselor to the field.

Raf and Jean were barreling through other players like they were nothing but gusts of wind. The ravens team wasn't untalented by any means, for a highschool team they were probably some of the best there were. But how Raf and Jean played made everyone else look like lead weights with legs. It had been noticeable when I played next to them that they were leagues ahead but watching from the sidelines was a completely different experience. Everyone was lining up back at the centermark after Jean had scored his second try of the night. We were up nineteen to zero. There was no time wasted as all the players hurried to get the ball back in play. The Ravens wanted to inflate our lead with another try and the opposing Bulls wanted to close the growing gap. Bleu tossed the ball into the scrum and I lost sight of it behind the shuffling feet. The following seconds saw the ball kicked beneath Phoebe's wide spread feet and scooped up by Amir. It was carried down the field, slowly by Sevens standards, but steadily until it was passed to Henry. His admiration for Jean grew more obvious while playing, passed the ball to Jean giving him the chance to score in place of himself.

But no amount of miraculous playing could keep my attention while the look in Jack's eyes and the braced stance of Coach spoke of storms stewing. I wanted to hear what they were saying, but with the stands full behind me, the band playing the school anthem and the cheer team rallying the crowd it was already hard enough to hear myself think.
Jean scored with two minutes left on the clock, the crowd roared. I looked over to see Pierre with Sophia and Elias cheering at the front of the crowd. I looked away, and thought they were out of my sight the sound of their cheers didn't leave my ears.

Two minutes was just enough time for them to score at least once more if they pushed themselves, but I could see the energy draining out of everyone like fuel out of a busted tank. Jean's heavy breathing was visible from across the field. Bleu held his hands on top of his head, likely to relieve a cramp in his side. Raf leaned down, his elbows digging into the tops of his thighs. Despite their wear they jumped eager, into action once Amir secured another two points with a conversion.

As the game started up again my eyes fought a battle of watching the ball and watching Raf. I wanted to be focused on the playing of the game, of the strategy and power of it, and I was— for the most part. But I found myself tracking Raf more often than not. He was a fantastic player. From the sidelines I could see him thinking and planning every movement and step, every pass and breath. I itched to be out there by him, though I couldn't decipher if it was because I wanted to be playing or just because I wanted to be with Raf.