Figuring You Out

Chapter Forty-Seven

The loud ringing of Coach's wrestle, simulates a strong push from all of us. Me at the front, my arms gripping Liam and Bram's shirts, twisting them manically in a balled fist. My head slotting against Matthew's tense shoulder. Scrum. Scrum. Scrum.

"I know you're being paid," I whisper, to Matthew opposite me, digging my boot heel into the mud.

"You don't understand," he grits back, his shoulder becoming tense under my own.

"I understand that nine years of friendship is going down the drain for a few quid," I hiss back, my back heel entirely sunk into the grass. He sighs over the sound of Coach's whistle, and we push, feet scrambling as brute force faces giant's muscle.

"Come on boys," Coach shouts, the ball still not coming into play. We grunt as our legs drive and strain into the ground. Finally, the ball comes under our feet and I scrunch my eyes shut, as the whole group's force intensifies. I feel the weight in front of me become limp and fall backwards. We stagger upwards, air coming out in harsh puffs. "Alright, Chapman's side,"

I notice Allison scoff and turn away, as Bram takes the ball in his hands and we all form a line, the ball is tossed in the air and everything slows.

It begins.

And it ends within twenty minutes.

We'd won but barely. It was only because there was an open left end that we managed to jump over the line but had it not been for their slip up, we wouldn't have scraped through.

"Let's pray they mess up like that every time," Liam says to me, as we gulp water from the blue team water bottles.

"Yeah, but they won't will they," I say.

"No, we won't, Chaps," Matthew replies from behind us. Me and Liam's spines both stiffen and our eyes rest on a now dishevelled Matthew whose chestnut hair is stuck to his freckled forehead. He smiles in that irritably cocky way and slips away to his temporary team.

"Don't worry about him," Liam says, dismissively, as if he were trying to convince himself as well as me that the other team were nothing to be concerned about.

"Oliver!" Coach shouts over to me from the other side of the pitch, I push the water bottle into Liam's chest and jog over to him, "There's someone here to see you at the changing rooms," he says, "You have five minutes,"

"Okay, thank you, Coach," I say and begin jogging over to the block of decaying buildings to the left of me. I arrive and make my way to the front of the building where a slender boy with the same dirty blonde hair and wrapped in a long woollen coat.

"Hey," Red says, his tone soft and cheek pinched pink in the harsh spotlights of the pitch.

"Hi," I say, stepping closer to him, my breath a cloudy huff in the air.

"Gosh, you look a state," he comments, his hand reaching out to caress my face, I flinch away from it, not quite knowing what to do. He pauses for a moment, "I may have overreacted earlier," he says quietly, his hand now by side, I breathe in deeply, my feet digging into the concrete ground, "I didn't want you being distracted, if it really is such a big game," he says, his tone looking for reassurance that I don't give.

I don't react to him once, just let my eyes meet his and my hand rub my elbow. "I can go.... I'll just go-" he says, turning around on his leather patent shoes. My heart tugs and its almost instinct that my arm reaches out and stops him getting any further. He turns back to me and his cerulean eyes look puppy-like innocent. "I'm sorry," I say finally.

"Me too," he replies, we step closer and soon as the rain spills down drenching us our lips meet and his hand tugs out of his pocket to feel through my hair as mine rubs his face lovingly.