Gage Cilleti has just begun his junior year of high school, and is becoming more and more involved in his school's activities, considering he'd been playing baseball since he was just seven-years-old.
Elijah McCay has just dropped out of school, du...
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My stomach is upset, considering my mood is also a bit sour. My cleats are filthy, and since waking up this morning, I'd had the most awful bed-head. I meant to shower, and wash my cleats the night before. But I had been so preoccupied with Elijah McCay and my mother, that it had completely slipped my mind.
All I could hope for, was that I didn't skip, and bust my ass in front of everyone during warm ups.
As I arrived at early morning practice, Rick shot me a look, both arms crossed over his chest. "You know, I called you like a million times last night. Where did you go?"
"Just didn't wanna be there anymore," I vaguely answer, tossing my duffel bag into my locker, "so I hitched a ride."
"Hitched a ride, what the hell is the matter with you? You can't just do that, dude. One second I was dancing with Melissa, next thing I knew, you were just gone. I asked around, nobody had seen you." Rick's usually sparkly blue eyes show nothing but pure irritation.
"I'm sorry, Rick, I just really didn't feel like waiting around for you to be done partying. So, I just got a ride. And plus, everything was fine, I was fine—"
"You're unbelievable," he shakes his head, "we have a system, Gage. We party, then I take you home. Since when do you hitch rides from creeps, who just offer to take you home?" His words are logical, but considering who'd taken me home, I can't help but dismiss them.
"Look, Rick, I'm so, so sorry, last night was just really shitty, until he offered to drive me home—"
"What the hell are you even going on about? Who offered to drive you home?—"
I want to digest Rick's words, I want to so badly take them in carefully, but when my eyes find Elijah's just a few feet away, he instantly becomes background music.
My fingers lose grip against my locker, as I can practically feel my eyes begin to droop. Rick continues to argue against last night's decisions, never noticing that I've completely checked out. A swallow works it's way up my throat as Elijah stares back.
I want to think that it's intensity, that he feels exactly the way I do. But I'm smart, and I know better. I know that I shouldn't entertain the idea, I know that I shouldn't feel this way around him.
My feelings, or rather—crush on Elijah has always been the most intense—more prominent. More than with Terrance, or anyone else I might've found attractive in the past.
"—I can't believe you'd be so trusting, man. You know that some people in Illinois are assholes about you being into dudes. What if it would've been some jackass from Maryvale?" Rick once again, argues a valid point, but I can't bring myself to agree, considering who did swipe me off the sidewalk.
A sigh leaves my lips, as I shut my locker rather loudly, eyes never leaving Elijah's light green ones. He's standing beside Coach Witherspoon, a duffel bag in hand, as he nods obediently. But still, every few seconds, he looks my way.
"But it wasn't, Rick. It was Elijah—"
"McCay? What the hell was Elijah doing at a high-school party?" His blonde eyebrows raise on his forehead, his back leaning against the locker beside mine.
"He wasn't at the party, just driving nearby as I was trying to get as far away from Terrance, as I could." My mood automatically sours as I mention Terrance, who's only a few feet away from me, making his way into the locker rooms restroom.
I sit my bottom on a bench, leaning down to tie and place my cleats on my feet for our early morning practice. Rick follows, "the hell did he do now?"
My dimples begin to pulse through my cheeks as I realize just how easy it was to avoid an argument with Rick, and how he most likely didn't want to argue either. And yet again, I'm reminded why he's my best friend.
"Nothing too bad, just being an asshole about last year. I never realized how bad his personality actually was until I was on the receiving end of it." Rick nods understandingly, a hand clapping me on the back.
"Don't think about him—don't think about any of just. Just focus on you, baseball, and school. This is the most important year for us, I'd hate to see some douche stand in your way." Rick's lips curl at the menacing word, leaning down to tie his own cleats.
I laugh at his words, once again, reminding myself that I'm both indestructible and too smart to be hurt nor used. "Trust me—I won't."
Practice isn't too hefty, just consists of leg stretches and ball-tossing. As I stand on the bleachers, tossing a ball back and forth with Austin Geller, I bask in the sun's warmth, lips curling at the sun peaking through a cloud.
After I'd left the house before 4:00am, it's easy to appreciate the suns light, even if it had slept in after you. As we toss the ball back and forth, I notice that Austin's acne has began to clear.
I don't mention, not wanting to upset him, or make him uncomfortable. I only silently cheer him on.
"You know, I'm real fucking glad I didn't get captain." His words confuse me, as I sew both eyebrows in, keeping the ball to myself for a few moments.
"What do you mean? You fought me for it for months." I chuckle, trying to conceal my utmost confusion.
He shrugs, hand help out for a toss back, "after you got it, yeah I was pissed. But then, I realized how I can focus on actually having fun my senior year. I mean sure, this years gonna be hell, but think about it. Next year, everyone will be celebrating, saying their goodbyes. But you'll be stuck at home—planning away games with Coach and McCay."
Spending more time with Elijah sounded cool and all, but I still wanted my freedom. And I couldn't deny it, Austin's words were starting to derail me.
I tossed the ball one last time, before leaning down for my backpack. Austin frowned, eyes watching my every move, "where are you going? We still have another twenty-five minutes before school starts."
"Gonna head to the cafeteria for some breakfast, tell Rick I'll see him in third period."
The halls are quiet, considering I'm most likely the only person roaming them. My fingers reach out to touch the glass doors, that guard my schools biggest trophies. Then the posters that hang on the brick walls, Student Council splurging all over them.
As I push the cafeterias doors open, my eyes meet Jenna, the lunch lady's. She's a redheaded woman in her mid-thirties, who's been working here longer than I've been attending.
She smiles, her one dimple pulsing through, green eyes sparkling. "Hey, Jen, hows your morning?"
She smiles once more, "so far, so good. Just waiting for lunch and a line full of angry teens. How's yours?"
"Good, had an early morning practice with Witherspoon. Have you got any hot pockets left?" My eyebrows peak interest at my own question, waiting patiently for an answer.
She frowns suggestively, "should a student athlete really be eating hot pockets as a breakfast? Especially after practice?"
"Oh please," I laugh, "I haven't followed Coach's stupid diet since freshman year. And I'm fine, aren't I?" She laughs, slipping a warm one onto a plastic plate and handing it to me.
"Not a word of this to Hank," she refers to Coach Witherspoon. "Promise?"
