In the Long Run

"Good game," I told the West Point Grey volleyball team captain. Her hand wrapped around mine, squeezing it with a smug look on her face. You win a game, as close as one point and you think you're so much better.

"If that's what you call it," She dropped my hand, letting it fall to my side. "Regional's are next month."

I grabbed my empty water bottle and sports bag, and exited the gymnasium. My mouth was dry and I was craving some water before I headed home. So far, I couldn't find a damn water fountain. I turned into a long, ongoing hallway. I spotted a water fountain a few classes down.

I quickened my pace, almost at the fountain. Of course, some idiot had to come out of a classroom, knocking both of us over.

"What the fuck?" A high pitched voice asked, smacking her gum onto the top of her mouth, in which I heard "Jesus Christ," soon after, with a much lower, more huskier voice.

"Oh shut up, that was totally not my fault," I argue, sitting up. Under me was a dashingly handsome guy and a tall, model-like girl standing next to us.

I watched the female's eyes dart down to my volleyball jersey, then back at my face. I watched as a snarl rumbled in her throat and her hand reached for my collar, raising me onto my feet. She was about two or three inches taller than me. Most likely three because of her heels.

"Stratford Hall, hm?" She said, reading off my shirt, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but our Wolves crushed your Sabres in the last football game."

"We don't all win." I told her. "That's why we create and achieve goals," I said, patting her on the shoulder.

She was about to speak when she was interrupted an unfamiliar tune. The guy helped himself up and took his phone out. After a quick conversation, he motioned for them to leave, and the girl dropped everything and followed him down the hall.

I glanced, back, sighing. This is why I don't like this school. We don't have the best relationship, and our basketball, football, hockey, soccer, and basically every other sport team fight or argue at every game. Here's one for example, ha.

I dusted myself off, noticing a small plastic cut-out sitting by my foot. I reached down and wrapped my fingers around the edges and corners of the card.

Driver's License
British Columbia, Canada
Nathaniel L. Bausta

On the left, an smug looking photo to the boy–who had just been here minutes ago was–printed. I took my time, studying the information displayed.

After what felt like a few minutes (but I knew was at least fifteen minutes) I could honestly tell you, this guy was tall, sexy, handsome, and for sure had dark, deep, entrancing brown eyes. He appeared slightly familiar, as if I've seen him before. Unfortunately, all that could come up was an unexplainable blur. Pushing the thought aside, I noticed his birthday.

April 1–

"Alice!" I snapped my head up, to see Gracie. "What's taking you so long? Everyone else left!" She yelled from the other end of the hallway.

"Oh, sorry." I said, forgetting about the water and stuffing it into my bag.



"Hey, Jor', do you know someone named Nathaniel L. Bausta?" I asked, plopping on the couch next to my brother. He took a bite of his burger and grimaced at my question. "What's wrong? Who's Nathaniel?"

"He is a guy you don't want to get involved with." He stated seriously, poking me in the chest.

"Geh, not this lecture again. I get it, no sex, no alcohol, no drugs." I rambled.

"On the exception of one glass of beer with a designated driver," He and I said simultaneously, but I continued while he went silent, "I get it, I get it all. I just want to know if you've heard of this guy. I'm not gonna get high and wasted with him. You won't find me pregnant the next day, I'm just asking!" I slammed my head on the back cushion of the couch and let out a frustrated sigh.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and leaned my head onto his shoulder, "He's the Point Grey quarterback of the football team. I've had a few inappropriate chats with him. I also recently found out he's Brandon's younger brother."

"Brandon? Really? Wouldn't of guessed," I murmured.

Brandon came to our school for a presentation, representing one of the local universities. Him and my brother clicked, and the fact that Jordan wanted to attend the same school made their friendship even easier to build upon.

"Yeah," Jordon muttered, getting back to watching TV.

I reached my hand into the pocket of my sweats and came up with Nathaniel's license. Most license photos look like crap, since they say you can't smile and all, but it was as if he had this smug smile on his face that the photographer overlooked. His photo felt so real, like it was actually him staring up at me. Like he was taunting me through a still of himself. It felt nothing like a bundle of mega-pixels.

If he was anything like Brandon, he'd be sweet and caring. He'd have the most charming smile and a glisten in his eye. But with the way Jordan was talking about him, I'm thinking not. And also the way he was acting before I found his license. I'm not getting my hopes up.