Status: eh
Firefight
This is where our diligence has lead.
God, I wish I could talk to you. You're sitting across the lunch room with all of your team mates. It would be so easy to stand up and sit next to you and smile at you for the first time in months, but I play for the soccer team, and everyone knows that we don't get along with you and your basketball friends. It's stupid, really. We attend different parties, and a fight always starts when our two teams and alcohol mix.
You smile, showing your brilliant teeth to the cheerleader next to you and my stomach flips. I can tell you're not interested, but you let her think you are. The cheerleaders are the only thing our teams have in common. I wish that could change. I wish I was at least allowed to be civil with you, but I'm not. Corey, my team captain, would have me off the team in no time if I was caught doing anything nice for you. The only acceptable interaction between us is insults, pranks, or fights. I've never fought you. I don't intend to ever have to fight you because I know I'm not capable of injuring you.
We used to be friends. I remember sleeping over at your house every saturday. Your mom always made us the best chocolate chunk cookies. She still sends some over on holidays because our mothers have always been close. I remember the day we stopped talking. It was the day I made the soccer team. Basketball season had already started, and I went to every one of your games, but that had to stop. We both agreed that night that our sports were more important than our friendship. I was okay with it for a few months until I realised how much I missed you.
Sometimes I think you might miss me too. You glance at me from across the room right then. I know you were looking at me, and not simply looking around the room because you've done it quite a few times in the past 30 minutes. I'm still watching you. It's all I've been able to do lately. All I can dream about is your green eyes that always seem to find mine the moment you get uncomfortable or worried. You push your chair away from the table to answer your phone, which sets off a red flag in my mind. You leave the dining hall and I look back at your table. No one seems to notice, which saddens me. It's not a big secret that you don't answer your phone. I wonder if you get along with your teams as much as I think you do. I start to doubt it. The only calls you answer are ones from your parents, and your parents don't call you unless it's urgent, especially not during school hours, so I go back to worrying. I toss the rest of my lunch into the trash, sitting at the edge of my seat as I wait for you to return.
You've been gone for too long. I'm about to stand up and follow you, but you come back. You're rushing, and I know something bad has happened. Again, no one at your table takes notice. You wave a quick goodbye, grabbing your bag and heading back towards the exit. You stop at the door, looking at me, and bite your lip. I know you're contemplating telling me what's happened, but you don't. I watch your back as you rush out to your truck, and I can't help but to feel a bit hurt.
My phone rings in my hand, and my heart soars, thinking it's you. It's actually my mother. I stand and answer the phone once I'm outside the door. She's telling me that I need to go to your house, but she won't tell me why. I tell her I don't want to go to your house, she interrupts me before I can explain. Her voice is hard and she says I have to go, I have no choice. I sigh and hang up the phone, knowing that I need to go to your house.
As I'm driving to your house, my mind wanders. Something could have happened to one of your brothers, or your parents, but I know my mom would have been more distressed on the phone had that been the case.
I'm at your house. I park on the road and stay in my car for a moment. You've stopped your truck crookedly in the driveway, and the engine is still running. I lock my car, then get in your truck, backing out and parking it properly in your driveway. I'm stalling. I don't know what to expect, or how to approach the situation. I pull your keys from the ignition and put them in my pocket with mine, then hesitantly walk up to your front door. I knock and take a deep breath.
Your mother opens the door in tears, your father right behind her. I lamely lift my hand to a pathetic wave, and your mother pulls me inside and hugs me. I hug her back, still unaware of what is going on. When she releases me from her arms, I notice your brothers sitting on the couch. I'm relieved that nothing has happened to your immediate family, but from all the tears, I know it's still something big.
I stand awkwardly in your front hall, my hands shoved in my coat pockets, until your father speaks up. "You can go to his room, you know." He says. I nod and climb the stairs leaving your family downstairs.
Your door is shut tight. I know you don't like being seen when you're crying but I hope you'll be able to look at me because I'm me and you're- well, you're you.
You smile, showing your brilliant teeth to the cheerleader next to you and my stomach flips. I can tell you're not interested, but you let her think you are. The cheerleaders are the only thing our teams have in common. I wish that could change. I wish I was at least allowed to be civil with you, but I'm not. Corey, my team captain, would have me off the team in no time if I was caught doing anything nice for you. The only acceptable interaction between us is insults, pranks, or fights. I've never fought you. I don't intend to ever have to fight you because I know I'm not capable of injuring you.
We used to be friends. I remember sleeping over at your house every saturday. Your mom always made us the best chocolate chunk cookies. She still sends some over on holidays because our mothers have always been close. I remember the day we stopped talking. It was the day I made the soccer team. Basketball season had already started, and I went to every one of your games, but that had to stop. We both agreed that night that our sports were more important than our friendship. I was okay with it for a few months until I realised how much I missed you.
Sometimes I think you might miss me too. You glance at me from across the room right then. I know you were looking at me, and not simply looking around the room because you've done it quite a few times in the past 30 minutes. I'm still watching you. It's all I've been able to do lately. All I can dream about is your green eyes that always seem to find mine the moment you get uncomfortable or worried. You push your chair away from the table to answer your phone, which sets off a red flag in my mind. You leave the dining hall and I look back at your table. No one seems to notice, which saddens me. It's not a big secret that you don't answer your phone. I wonder if you get along with your teams as much as I think you do. I start to doubt it. The only calls you answer are ones from your parents, and your parents don't call you unless it's urgent, especially not during school hours, so I go back to worrying. I toss the rest of my lunch into the trash, sitting at the edge of my seat as I wait for you to return.
You've been gone for too long. I'm about to stand up and follow you, but you come back. You're rushing, and I know something bad has happened. Again, no one at your table takes notice. You wave a quick goodbye, grabbing your bag and heading back towards the exit. You stop at the door, looking at me, and bite your lip. I know you're contemplating telling me what's happened, but you don't. I watch your back as you rush out to your truck, and I can't help but to feel a bit hurt.
My phone rings in my hand, and my heart soars, thinking it's you. It's actually my mother. I stand and answer the phone once I'm outside the door. She's telling me that I need to go to your house, but she won't tell me why. I tell her I don't want to go to your house, she interrupts me before I can explain. Her voice is hard and she says I have to go, I have no choice. I sigh and hang up the phone, knowing that I need to go to your house.
As I'm driving to your house, my mind wanders. Something could have happened to one of your brothers, or your parents, but I know my mom would have been more distressed on the phone had that been the case.
I'm at your house. I park on the road and stay in my car for a moment. You've stopped your truck crookedly in the driveway, and the engine is still running. I lock my car, then get in your truck, backing out and parking it properly in your driveway. I'm stalling. I don't know what to expect, or how to approach the situation. I pull your keys from the ignition and put them in my pocket with mine, then hesitantly walk up to your front door. I knock and take a deep breath.
Your mother opens the door in tears, your father right behind her. I lamely lift my hand to a pathetic wave, and your mother pulls me inside and hugs me. I hug her back, still unaware of what is going on. When she releases me from her arms, I notice your brothers sitting on the couch. I'm relieved that nothing has happened to your immediate family, but from all the tears, I know it's still something big.
I stand awkwardly in your front hall, my hands shoved in my coat pockets, until your father speaks up. "You can go to his room, you know." He says. I nod and climb the stairs leaving your family downstairs.
Your door is shut tight. I know you don't like being seen when you're crying but I hope you'll be able to look at me because I'm me and you're- well, you're you.
♠ ♠ ♠
hi