Grayson Snaps

Chapter 2: Dead Dog

Chapter 2: Dead Dog 

"You really shouldn't smoke."

"Shut up, E."

"It'll trigger your asthma."

"You trigger my asthma."

"Very funny."

Grayson and I are on the outskirts of the soccer field. I cross my arms, wrapped up in my black jacket. Grayson is puffing away on a cigarette he has stolen from Mom; she thinks we don't know that she smokes at work. Well, it's kind of obvious after all the perfume she's been buying. You can still smell it, even after she sprays herself down. I think its stress smoking or maybe from boredom. Grayson picked it up about four months ago. He only smokes a few times a day, but I can tell it's influencing his breathing. Especially on his breathing. I'll hear him in the middle of the night... the way he inhales. It's like when someone has a cold. I hope Grayson really isn't trying to kill himself.

He places it between his lips again, inhales, then exhales. Heavy white smoke blows out from his nose and mouth.

I can hear the competitive cries from our peers on the field, can even feel the motion of the ball as it's kicked back and forth. Grayson glances their way, then back to the ground. It's cold out here.

He hands the cigarette to me.

Hey, I didn't say I hadn't gotten into the habit too.

I inhale; it's bitter like extra strong coffee with an edge of cool mint. Yup, tastes like an early death to me. As I inhale, I can feel it calming my nerves almost instantly. I take another slow drag, savoring the flavor, until I feel Grayson's hand under mine again. Slipping it into his fingers, he places it between his lips again.

"Yes!" Comes a voice from the sidelines. They aren't referencing to us. In fact, we are on the other side of the field. But I know that feminine voice anywhere. She was the same girl from class: Cheyenne. There, on the bleachers, she sits between two of her friends.

"Run for Mama!" She calls out, her blond hair waving in the wind as she watches the fit soccer players running back and forth. In reality, Grayson and I are supposed to be among them, but gym can kiss my ass.

-

From the bleachers Cheyenne sits between her two friends. All blond, they almost look like photocopies of one another. Blond, popular, and on the wealthier side of life. A living proof that clichés can live in factual reality. Wrapped up in a dark, thick winter coat, Cheyenne's face is a light pink from the cold. But her eyes are bright, scanning the field with a wild endeavor.

They land on Ethan and Grayson.

"I bet he's good to go." She says with a grin. Emma, the petite one of the group, looks at the twins and then to her friend beside her.

"What?! You want to do...Ethan?"

"You're kidding," Meredith mumbles from her other side, scrolling lazily through her Instagram feed.

Cheyenne pulls a face, "Not Ethan. He doesn't even fucking talk. I mean Grayson, the one with the earring. I could hit that."

Emma just blinks and then nods, "Oh, yah, totally."

Looking up, Meredith agrees, "I could see that."

-

I notice something is up with Grayson when he turns his eyes towards me, "I think..."

He has this funny look on his face; it's a mix of frustration and annoyance. Believe me, those are two very different things with him.

"What?"