The Book Thief 》Hemmings A.U

20.00

     AS EXPECTED, CALUM IS at the game. So are Luke's parents: who have positioned themselves right in the middle of the crowd. Liz is grinning ear to ear, burrowing her body deep within her winter coat. There was only a light chill, but I suppose when you relocate from Australia, the cold is something difficult to adjust to.

     His dad is there too, but he doesn't look nearly as happy as she does. His eyes --a dull blue in comparison to Luke's-- are trained on the scoreboard and when they aren't, they're shooting daggers towards his son's backside. He keeps shaking his head, like he's unsatisfied. It seemed that he was always unsatisfied.

     I redirect my line of vision towards the field, where Luke is shaking his arms out and hopping side from side, presumably to keep himself warm. The team is in a huddle, and Luke looks nervous even though our team --the Panthers-- are up by a pretty good amount. The huddle dissolves and in seconds they are taking their positions just as Luke wraps his fingers tightly around the ball.

     "Green 19!" He shouts, sending the players in a frenzy around the field. He swings his arm back and throws the ball in a spiral, running as soon as it begins it's course through the air. The throw is intercepted by the other team and Luke curses quietly, shaking his head. Through his helmet I can see his jaw clenching; the anger towards himself almost palpable. I also notice how he avoids looking at his father. Whether or not that has something to do with what he told me earlier, I don't know.

     "I'm going to get Lucy a water, do you want something?" It takes a few seconds for me to realize that the question is directed towards me, because I was too caught up in my observations. I part my lips to speak, but end up shaking my head. My "thanks though, Calum" comes off as a hoarse whisper, and I doubt that he hears me when he turns and heads towards the concession stand. I clear my throat and slide my hands into the pockets of the jean jacket Luke leant me, relishing in the warmth.

     "You're pretty fond of Luke's clothes, aren't you?" Lucy says quietly, arching a blonde brow. I swallow, shaking my head and plastering on a smile to help convince her. I hated when she said things like that, or asked questions she knew the answer to. Being so abrupt yet seemingly nonchalant made it seem like she knew something. Like she thought something was going on between Luke and I.

     "I just grab whatever's closest. I'm not very fond of anything that has to do with your brother," I shrug, looking away from her and staring at my boot clad feet instead. When I look back up at the field and see Luke taking deep breaths before running the ball himself this time, I realize just how big of a lie that really is.

      An hour later and our team loses. Luke is absolutely devastated. It seemed like we were going to win right up until the other team --the Cyclones-- had secured thirteen touchdowns. In a row. I wasn't an expert in this sport --or any sport, really-- but I was pretty sure that was impossible. Apparently, I was wrong.

      Luke's anger is apparent in the way he tugs his helmet from his head and throws it at the ground, head falling into his hands as he plops down on the bench. He looks like he's muttering to himself, but his volume is too low for me to hear what he says over by the fence.

     I try to read his lips, and catch only a fucking idiot, before the rest is lost to me. He grits his teeth and stomps his foot into the ground, clutching at his blonde hair. It's matted against his forehead because of the helmet, and becomes an even bigger mess once he starts messing with it.

       I hear Luke's dad crushing leaves underneath his feet before I see him -- tongue rolling around his mouth angrily as he stomps towards his son. Lucy's breath hitches beside me and she purses her lips, stepping towards him.