Gabriel: Prequel

one

"Okay, okay, okay. You wanted the tryout results, and I'll give 'em, just don't be upset if you didn't make it. Charles, you definitely didn't make it - lose some pounds!"

A collective chuckle rings around the room as Charles - one of the best quarterbacks - receives one too many slaps on the back.
All the boys rush excitedly to the board with the results up, everyone's heart racing - maybe my heart races the most, though. Blood races through my veins so much I think I'll pass out. Although it's only tryouts, the actuality of making the team means everything to me: I could prove myself finally, and have ambition.

I tear myself away from the crowd, opting to get changed into my normal gear in attempts to calm my soaring heart.
"Gabe! You're not gonna check it?"

I shake my head calmly, contradicting my emotions, desperately bidding my heart beat to calm down in case anyone can hear it. "I'm not impatient like those guys."

A guffaw rises from the throat of the voice, belonging to none other than my longest time friend, Chris. He places his hand on my heart and smiles knowingly. "Gabriel Thorne, biggest heart."

"Yeah, well, you know why I want it so much," I grin, shoving off his hand.
Chris, is in fact, the only one who knows what this means for me, and knows the ambition driving in my body. It's partly why we're best friends - that and also because--oh, I guess there isn't really another reason to describe his unique personality.

His face softens to a light frown, his gaze darting to my arm, the home of a newly rising bruise.

"Don't," I warn him, shrugging on a shirt quickly, ignoring the colour of concern on his face.

"Gabe, you know what I'm gonna sa-"
"Unless you want a matching bruise to me on your cheek, shut it."
"Touchy."

As I said, there's nothing to describe his unique, slightly irritating, personality. He's one of a kind.

"Broooooooo, I'm totally stoked man, you made the team!" Charles claps me on the back proudly, circling his arm around my shoulder.

The team I've waited desperately and patiently for is something I've achieved and got. My heart becomes a mini circus: it flips and skips, pounding in joy.
"You hear that, Chris? I'm on the team," I laugh, the happiness genuinely reaching my eyes.

"Guys! Our boy Gabe is finally one of us, let's pound him!" Chris cheers, inviting all the players to envelope me in a celebratory hug. And it feels like I'm part of something that's worth all this excitement.
The others, including Chris, made the team already - only a few newcomers attended tryouts and that was me.
"Get off me, freaks," I laugh, causing an eruption of laughter. Hell yeah, I'm back in the game. And it feels good.

~~~~

"We need to celebrate your success, Gabe, and go all out," Chris says gleefully, him and the boys walking in a similar unison.

"You know I'd love to knock some drinks and whatever, but I can't. My mom needs me," I mutter sheepishly, rubbing the nape of my back.

One of the other boys comes to a slight halt, laughing. "I don't remember the last time you came out with us, Thorne."

Laughing nervously, I nod in agreement. Truthfully, I don't remember the last time I went out either, nor do I remember the last time not feeling so on edge. Inwardly heaving a sigh of relief, I think back to the last time I went out with my friends: it was a solid time where everyone had no worries or fears, it was just genuinely enjoyable. Chris found himself a few girls, and maybe I did, too, but that's more of a story for another time.

"Well, that's true. But I'm still a better player than you, and that's without the practises," I tease, quickly slapping him on the back, making a swift run.