Chapter Thirty-One

      “He goes in for the goal! And! TOUCHDOWN!” Trevor screamed, almost breaking my mini basketball hoop in the process as he attempted to dunk a foam ball painted orange into it.

      “You’re such an idiot,” I muttered, “goals and touchdowns tend to appear in sports such as soccer, hockey, and football; not basketball.”

      “I wasn’t playing basketball,” he defended, as I heard my phone buzz, twice. Before I even had a chance to get up, let alone retrieve it, it was already in Trevor’s possession.

      “Then what were you playing?” I questioned, watching carefully as his fingers tapped across the smooth screen of my beloved cellular device.

      “Who’s ‘The hottest guy Liz knows’?” he read off of the small piece of technology, diverting the conversation, and not answering my inquiry, but rather posing one of his own.

      I thought for a moment, thinking back to who had programmed the name into my phone. Dylan. It wasn’t even a question. A smile formed on my lips as I decided to finally respond to Trevor. “A friend.”

      “Okay, well, whoever he is, he wants to know if you’re ‘going to the douche’s game?’ Based on the other message you received, ‘Liz, are you coming to my game?’ I’m assuming that ‘Eric Wilson’ is the ‘douche’ in that sentence,” he said, continuing to pat away with his fingers, lacking my consent.

      “Well, you’re kinda here, so I don’t exactly think that me going is going to happen in the near future,” I said, as I could practically hear the cogs in his mind spin about.

      “Too bad,” he proclaimed, placing my phone down, as I sent him an inquisitive glance. “I just told Eric that we’d love to come, and are headed there now!”

      “We?” I gulped.

      “Yup. You and I. Me and you. Us. Liz and Trevor,” he neglected to elaborate how I would’ve liked. I sent him a serious stare, and, after about twelve seconds too long of silence, he got the message loud and clear. “I told him that you were bringing a friend; wouldn’t want to miss this monumental game, would we?”

      “Monumental. Big word for a kid who goes to Westchester U.,” I smirked.

      “I know,” the confident expression he wore mirrored my own, “it was a vocab word last week. I totally aced the test.”

      “Well aren’t you a smarty pants,” my eyes automatically did a three-sixty in their sockets.

      “Yeah,” he paused, “I heard it impresses chicks.”

      “Of course,” sarcasm aided in my delivery of the response.

      He walked over to where he had carelessly dropped his designer boots, and began to put them on. They were the type of shoes that male models wore in European perfume ads. The second he walked into my house, I commented on them, making sure he knew how ridiculous wearing them out in public truly made him appear. Sure, they were probably “high fashion”, and, considering his mother was a fashion icon and all, he was connected, but that wasn’t the point. In addition to his fashionable footwear, he wore a white T-shirt that hung loosely on his torso, and a pair of gray sweats; the ensemble looked idiotic, even to someone like me.

      As he continued to pull the expensive articles onto his feet, all I could do was stare. I couldn’t quite tell if he was bluffing, or being completely serious. “Are we actually going?” I asked for clarification.

      “Yes, Elizabeth, get your shoes on, and let’s go,” he threw me the first pair of footwear that his hand grazed upon. They were Jordans. Go figure.

      “I understand the allure for me going to this football game, but why the hell would you want to go?” I began shoving my feet into the openings of the apparel that my mom worked with every single day, eyeing Trevor.

      “Well, you see, Ms. Turner, if this boy means something in your life, I think it’s only fair that I play the overprotective older brother in this scenario and go with you to make sure the kid’s not sitting on the bench the entire game like a loser.” I blinked, shaking my head at the absurdity that had exited his mouth. Trevor truly was a, uh, special one.

      “Firstly, we’re not related, and, secondly, you’ve met the kid before; you know he’s not a loser, like yourself,” I reasoned, neglecting to put in the effort of physically tying my shoes to add a layer of safety to my walking.

      “Well, we’re going, so, end of discussion,” he proclaimed with finality.

      “Whatever,” I sighed, throwing a hoodie on. I didn’t exactly feel like getting frozen alive as I stood outside, the sun beating down on me as frigid temperatures enveloped my body. After getting stranded outside the school as I waited for Eric following the homecoming game, it didn’t seem too appealing. Besides, I highly doubted that Eric was actually going to see me. There were going to be a million people there; I could totally get away with being incognito in a sweatshirt and Jordans.

      “So, what’s the plan?” Trevor queried.

      “What plan?”

      “How are we escaping?” he expanded slightly.

      “Most likely through the front door,” I shrugged, “quickly. Like, really quickly. I vote we just run out and make a fast getaway. Sound like a viable strategy?”

      “Yeah,” he nodded slowly, inching his way over to my door, “you can go first.”

      “Me? Why me?!” I demanded, walking over to the edge of the room where he had gone. “You’re the one who should go first, so you can start the car up, and then I can just jump in an we can go.”

      “Fine,” he didn’t even dispute it for a second, the point I had made valid and rational.

      “Okay, on the count of three you’re going to go,” I prompted. “One… two… th—”

      “What if they catch one of us?” he interrupted.

      “Then I guess we’re not going,” I pushed open my door marginally, peeking through to see nothing more than a vast hallway, all traces of life eluding it. The “coast”, or hall, was most definitely clear. “Shall we try this again?” Trevor nodded, moving past me so his frame was aligned with the door’s, ready to sprint out of the house and make a speedy disappearance. It wasn’t that we were sneaking out, per say, but let’s just say it was beneficial if our parents weren’t exactly aware of our leaving.

      “Bye, Elizabeth,” Trevor said, making me cringe as he ran out of my room into the unknown.

      I inhaled deeply, as I prepared myself to do just as the boy before me had. My calves flexed, and I went. A surge of adrenalin shot through my spine as I rushed down the corridor, and took a swift turn at the stairs. Then, I heard it.

      “Elizabeth Turner what in the—” my mom’s voice began, but I kept running. She could chastise me later. Though I didn’t really want to go to the game in the first place, Trevor had forged a commitment in my name, and I never went back on a promise. I may have lied more than a misguided Yankees when they claimed to have the best team in the MBL, but I never went back on my words.

      As I came to the large door that separated the outside world to all that was warm and filled of delectable-smelling, edible nutrients, I continued to sprint. I was in the last leg of a marathon, and wanted to finish strong. My feet thumped against the steps that led to the driveway, and I kept on going when they met the dark tar with two giant cars that, when multiplied, had an effect of worldwide heating.

      Trevor frantically waved a hand from yet another vehicle, though, it was smaller than the other two. It was a sports car. There was no other way to describe it. It was the type of automobile that men often bought when in a midlife crisis, or because they had an obscene amount of money, and had no idea how to spend it. Evidently, Trevor had one of those cars.

      It was bright red and practically sparkled in the sunlight. His personality was definitely displayed justly through it. Trevor, much like his car, was flashy, exciting, and wanted people to know that he was there.

      I slipped into the only other seat the car had (it being the passenger’s seat), and slid a seatbelt over my chest. Though Trevor and I lacked years of friendship that we could’ve had if our mothers had permitted us to, I had a hunch this boy wasn’t one to drive slowly. In fact, I was almost positive that the legal limit would not only be tested when on the road, but also exceeded.

      Trevor fidgeted with some cords until his phone was somehow connected to the speakers of the car, and pressed the detrimental button in the shape of a triangle that symbolized the action of “play”. Deafening pumps of noise and energy surged through the car as a familiar song began to play. After a few seconds, the chorus sounded, and I smiled, turning to Trevor.

      “You like Sammy Adams?” I questioned, tapping a finger against my thigh to the rhythm of the upbeat song.

      “No,” he said, deflating any hopes I had that this boy retained a respectable music sensibility. He smirked, as if crushing my hopes had brought joy to him. “But you do.”

      “Yes, yes I do. How’d you know and why are you playing him if you don’t like him?” I questioned harshly as he placed two hands on the steering wheel, and pressed on the pedal. I was forced against the back of my leather seat as the car accelerated.

      “My mom told me,” he shrugged easily.

      “That still doesn’t explain why you’re playing his music if you don’t actually like him,” I rolled my eyes, as he continued to speed through the side streets, threatening the life of a civilian.

      “It’s too early to explain things!” he complained.

      “It’s eleven,” I pointed out, attaching my hands to my seat in fear that I would fly up, despite the vinyl strap I had fastened across my chest.

      “Exactly,” he said the word as if he was in a debate and his argument had been proved to perfection, “too early.”

      “You are such a loser,” I muttered, as the vehicle came to an abrupt stop. “Why’d you stop?”

      “We’re here,” he smirked, unbuckling his mode of protection, as all noise ceased from the car.

      “That was insanely fast,” I commented, getting out of the car, and smiling slight to myself at how Trevor didn’t even bother to come around and offer to open my door. What a gentleman he was not… It was refreshing, really.

      It wasn’t that Trevor was a complete jerk, because he wasn’t, but he was no Prince Charming material, either. Something told me that he was neither the type to sweep girls off their feet nor open their doors— something I had no issue at all with. He was Trevor, and, whether he was conscientiously playing the character or not, the “jerk with the attractive face and rich parents” role fit him well.

      “I’m glad you learned how to gage time correctly along the road of your education,” he commented smugly. “Now, do you want to see your boyfriend or not?”

      A breath escaped from my lips as I sent a scowl his way. “Eric Wilson is not my boyfriend and if you bring up that question again within the next two hours, your body can be sure to take a visit to the cemetery. Not alive.” I was going to choose to denote my rancorous thoughts to a lack of sleep. Maybe Trevor was right— it was too early.

      “So, I’m taking it that this whole ‘boyfriend’ situation is a little on the touchy side, no?” he smirked, as we exited the mode of transportation, walking over to the field that was slowly becoming familiar to me. “It’s a no-go zone when in light conversation?” A laugh erupted from inside of him, as he continued the concise list.

      “Shut up,” I said, as we came to the congested stands of the football field. The bleachers were only half as filled as I had remembered them on homecoming, and there were more middle-aged people— parents, I presumed. Despite the goose-bump-covered cheerleaders adorned in their mini skirts, it seemed like a very preoccupied with family game.

      “Damn, I don’t miss high school,” Trevor remarked as his eyes too scanned the scene. Scarves seemed to be the most popular choice of insulation for the day, and cheers were being shouted from both sides. I wasn’t quite too sure who the other school was, but it didn’t really matter.

      Trevor scooted his way to the second row, dragging me behind so we had a clear view of the field. I glanced at the scoreboard quickly: thirty-five to four. We were losing. By the look of the weary expressions the people on our side wore, I had a hunch we had come pretty close to halftime. My vision averted to the field and we had come in the middle of a play.

      “Ha. Public school sports. What a joke,” Trevor scoffed as his eyes followed along with the movements of the players.

      “You went to private?” my voice raised an octave in surprise, though it wasn’t truly all that astonishing. He was Trevor Lawson, why wouldn’t he have gone to private school?

      “Do I look like I would be able to tolerate these losers?” he said, insulting just about everyone who at the game, myself included.

      “You are such a brat,” I rolled my eyes.

      “Thanks,” he smirked. “Thirteen years of private school tuition does that to a guy.”

      “So, I’m guessing you went to one of those elitist schools where everyone wore blazers and ties?” I questioned, not looking over to him, as my sight was fixated on the blur of jerseys on the stretch of green not far below.

      “Several, actually,” he said proudly.

      “How many?”

      “Twelve,” he stated calmly as if it hadn’t insinuated the amount of times he had changed schools.

      “What a rebel,” I humored.

      “The first five were all when I was younger, before high school, and then the source of my education began to change quite frequently,” he paused, realizing he was veering into story-telling territory. “Let’s just say that some people didn’t understand my humor or charm.” He kept it short and sweet, not elaborating in the slightest.

      “Turner!” someone called cheerfully, ramming me into a tight hug before I had a chance to peer at their face, though, judging by their actions and voice, I already knew who it was.

      “Campbell. Being the loyal cheerleader as always?” I asked lightly as he pulled back.

      “You know I could never miss a game my baby was playing in,” he laughed, “he’s too precious.”

      “I’m glad you two have come to an agreement with your sexualities,” I returned the blithe echo that consumed my entire body.

      “Hi, I’m Alex Campbell,” Alex said, only then noticing Trevor, who was busy sizing up the boy who had embraced me moments before.

      “Trevor Lawson,” Trevor said, an edge of coldness to his voice.

      “Well, I know you’re not dating Turner, because, well, ya know,” Alex smirked as he quickly glimpsed at the field, “and, judging by your last name, I’d say that you don’t quite fit the older brother slot in her life, so what other choices does that leave?” Alex was now the one dissecting Trevor for any visible flaws or weaknesses.

      “Her parole officer,” Trevor said in a staid tone.

      “I guess that makes me her inmate,” the sides of Alex’s mouth twitched up, and a hand came down on Trevor’s shoulder. “I like you!” he stated, shooting Trevor a smile as some sort of an unspoken peace offering.

      “Just to clarify: our moms work together, and, I suppose, we’re relatively okay friends,” I said in regards to Trevor. “And as for the one high on life, he happens to be the best friend of Eric Wilson, the quarterback and reason why we’re here.”

      Trevor stared at me, a false sense of hurt spreading throughout his features. “‘Okay’?” he questioned my word choice.

      “‘High on life?’ How do you know I didn’t smoke a bag pot before the game?” Alex also exclaimed, referring to how I too had described his relationship to me.

      “I like you,” Trevor reiterated the phrase to the boy who had originally said it to him. The wall of hostility had been knocked down, and replaced by the Trevor I was used to.

      Alex grinned, the seedlings for a friendship in the making forming. “So, where do you go to school?” the casual query slid off his tongue.

      “Westchester University,” Trevor didn’t miss a beat in answering.

      Understanding and excitement passed through Alex’s already lively enough eyes as more words flew out. “Let me guess— you’re a rich kid from the city, got thrown of what, ten, eleven schools back in the day? Partied a little too hard, and now you’re being punished.” It shocked me on how accurate the guess was. I was most certainly not aware of the presence the infamous Westchester University truly possessed.

      “Actually, it was twelve schools,” Trevor corrected the one part of the marginally incorrect deduction.

      “Turner, I know Wilson and I are in love and all, but I would seriously consider about cheating on him if I had known I would meet such a respectable individual,” Alex said, moving past me so he stood with both Trevor and me on either side of him.

      I stared at the two; my eyes wide as a buzzer went off and a haze of colors ran off the field. It was halftime, and I had a hunch that I had just introduced two “problem children” to each other. Whatever the outcome of the two’s future association with each other, I feared that it wouldn’t be overly favorable.

      “You came!” a pair of arms engulfed me from behind, bringing me into them. My breath hitched for half a second as I realized a very important thing imperative to my further existence: I didn’t like surprises.

      The person spun me around before I could object and slammed their lips into mine. Just like that. It wasn’t preplanned or anything. Their hands slid to my waist as mine found their to way to the person’s shoulders, slightly confused about the situation. It wasn’t a bad thing; everything was just happening so fast— too fast. Their mouth hungrily attacked, moving in synch with mine. It was a nice feeling, to be wanted— needed, almost, but I couldn’t process all that was being thrown at me with a clear head.

      After a couple, elongated minutes that felt like a pleasant eternity, we both pulled away, normal breathing patterns eluding our lungs. My mind was a frenzy of thoughts, unable to organize them all properly. It was so sudden.

      “Well, wasn’t that just adorable!” Alex mocked, looking between the two of us.

      “I take it that you’re Liz’s boyfriend?” Trevor joined in, pushing one button I had specifically requested him not to.

      “You remember Trevor, right, Eric?” I moved away an inch from the boy who had sprung his mouth on my own.

      “Of course. He was at the awkward dinner at the beginning of the year,” Eric’s arm latched around my waist in a possessive manner. He stared at Trevor, abhorrence apparent in his demeanor, and frowned. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?”

      “Our parents are sharing this special time together, and, since she wasn’t going to leave me alone like a depressed dog, took me along. I also drove,” the edges of Trevor’s mouth jerked upwards into a quick smirk.

      “You did awesome in the first half!” Alex exclaimed, stifling a small dispute before it even began.

      “Is he high?” Eric questioned me seriously.

      “What is with you people and all your drug abuse implications?” Alex groaned.

      “Dude, we’re losing by thirty-one points,” Eric rolled his eyes.

      “Yeah, but you still did a wonderful job,” his best friend shrugged.

      “Did I look hot on the field?” Eric questioned me, looking down so our eyes connected.

      “Yes,” Alex instantly answered, trying to keep a restrained face.

      “I don’t recognize temperatures as a means to rate how attractive someone is or isn’t,” I proclaimed, as a finger of his jabbed into my side playfully.

      “C’mon, you know I looked hot on the field,” he pressed, placing his chin on my shoulder.

      “To be perfectly honest, I just got here and was conversing with those two, uh, young men,” I pointed to Trevor and Alex who were viewing Eric and my exchange with opened eyes, “so I didn’t exactly have a chance to look at you.”

      “Oh,” he stepped back from me, completely detached. “Well, then look.” He gestured to himself with a light smirk materializing on his face. I glanced at him skeptically, but his eyes insisted that I take him in.

      I stared straight at the boy whom I had locked lips with minutes prior, and wasn’t quite sure what I was searching for. My eyes began at the bottom, the logic of down-to-up making a great deal of sense in my mind.

      His feet wore white cleats with a red swoosh on them: Nike. White socks with a matching brand design peeped out of the shoes, and then there was a gap of slightly less than tanned skin. Above the uncovered patch of his body, where his built-up calves began to form, were white pants, clinging tightly to his conditioned legs. Though I could only see his front from where I was, I knew for a fact that his butt too was as toned as the rest of his bottom half.

      A red jersey clad in the number “12” covered his torso, shielding my eyes from the abs I was more than sure he retained. With a schedule as physically intensive as his own, there was no way in hell that that boy’s stomach didn’t look like one of a male underwear model. Pads were placed on his already large shoulders, and strong forearms stuck out from the sleeves. His sturdy neck stuck out from the inclined shirt of mesh, the body part attached to it the most interesting and attractive to me.

      He had a squared face, not round or really oval shaped at all, his strong jaw defined. The lips I knew so well were a light, natural shade of pink, and were pressed into a cocky grin (teeth straight and white, but not too white to look as if work had been done) as I continued to look him over. He had cheekbones. I wasn’t too sure if they were too high or not. I didn’t really care. His hair was a mess, every strand of the wheat-colored mop going in the opposite of one direction, most likely due to the helmet he had been previously wearing. Then, there were his eyes.

      I had spent a great deal of time gazing into them, the hazel-flecked emeralds being an intriguing and captivating part for me. They contained purity, and looked glazed over, as if he was hiding something from the world— from me. I looked as deep as I could into them, though he only allowed me to go so far.

      They locked with my own blue ones, not allowing me to blink. It was as if— as if he was trying to figure something out about me, but couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Though I enjoyed linking into his eyes, the look they now obtained wasn’t a safe one. I blinked away.

      “If I were one to use temperatures to aid in descriptions, then I’d say you were warm,” I smiled after I fully scrutinized the good-looking individual.

      “Not hot?” he pouted.

      “Nope,” I shook my head, “wouldn’t want your ego to get that big.”

      “Well, just for the record, if I wasn’t one to use temperatures, I’d say that you were beautiful; gorgeous, really,” he pulled me back into his arms. I hid my face, not saying anything in reply. I didn’t like compliments.

      “I think it’s time to get the puke bucket,” Trevor proclaimed.

      “I think that sounds like a fine idea!” Alex agreed, making a gagging noise.

      Eric opened his mouth to say something more, but was cut off by the blaring alarm that came from my phone. It was my mom. She had set her text tone to the loudest, most obnoxious sound she could find long ago, just so I’d “know it was her”. Thanks, mom.

      I slid my phone out of the pocket of my hoodie and peered at the message that had been sent: “Get your ass back home. NOW.” I flashed the screen to Trevor briefly and his face fell momentarily as he read it, but then picked up again into a mask of optimism.

      “It says ‘your’, which implies you. Not me,” he said confidently. My phone buzzed again, the alarm sounding once more. I instantly shoved it in his smug face after reading the short: “That includes you too, Trevor Lawson.” He sighed, accepting our destined fate.

      “Unfortunately, we’re going to have to go early,” I uttered regrettably.

      “Why?” Alex questioned. I couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or not.

      “Well, apparently, this is a ‘family’ oriented holiday, and our family wants us to be there with them. Crazy, I know,” I shared, studying the blonde boy’s face as he nodded.

      “As long as I get food, I’m good,” Trevor said, not objecting to the departure.

      “You like food too? Geez, Turner, I love your friend!” Alex exclaimed, hitting Trevor’s back lightly.

      “I’m so glad,” my voice was flat, stripped of all positive and negative emotions.

      “At least I got to see you,” Eric sighed, hugging me close to him as a fleeting gesture. His lips brushed across my cheek, leaving a tingling feeling, and then he backed up.

      “Bye guys,” I said, beginning to walk away from the stands, Trevor following behind.

      “Bye, Turner!” Alex called.

      “Happy Thanksgiving, Liz!” Eric winked at me.

      “Happy Thanksgiving,” I returned, thinking of a rather obscure thing to be grateful for this year: Eric Wilson.

      Our relationship wasn’t set in stone by any means, I had only met him three or so months prior, and he wasn’t really the type of person one would typically bring up in the time of gratitude, but I was glad I had met him. Maybe it was for the good, or the bad, but all I knew at the moment was that I was indeed thankful for his undefined presence in my life. Eric Wilson. Who would have ever thought?