I sit in the bleachers on the hot, sunny day. Not expecting the tourney players to have practice at the same time I’m trying to focus on a project.
They all come out and are laughing and being dumb, typical, block head teenage boys. The have no substance. Thats it.
Then I see jay. The captain. He looks at the cheerleaders and flashes them his winning smile.
All the girls in school get weak in the knees at the mention of the tourney players name.
‘Did you see jay today?’
'I think he smiled at me!’
'He passed me a note’
I don’t know what the see in him. I mean sure, he’s got amazing hair and a winning smile and he looks so so good in his jersey.
But thats beside the point. He’s an obvious fuck boy.
I sat down in the bleachers at the tourney game tonight, purely due to the fact that journalism club said I needed to do a report on the new recruits of the tourney team.
All night I watched the new players, saw the cheerleaders flaunting, and the players pass the ball back and forth, the game was finally over.
I walked back through the school and hummed a familiar tune as I flipped through the pages in my journal before I was pinned up against the locker, my journal falling to the floor.
I looked up and saw two tanned, muscular arms holding me to the cold metal. “I-what are yo-”
“Shh. Carlos. I think you know why I’m here. You’re quiet and mysterious. But you are the only person in this school who doesn’t like me? Why is that?” His warm breathe fanning against my ear.
“I-” god. The way my name rolls of his tongue kills me as I try to continue my hatred for him.
“I saw you at practice. I saw you at the game. I see you in the hallways and I think you’re pretty cute” he smirks.
“But you- I” I stammer out before he roughly plants his lips on top of mine.
The air in my lungs is taken away from me as he bends down to pick up my notebook, my gaze not leaving the sight where he stood.
“All the girls” I whisper, hoping he didn’t hear me.
He leans in again, but instead of him kissing me, he gives my notebook back and walks down the hall, not turning around.
I flip to a new indent in my book and see a gum wrapper with a note on it.
'I like boys.
you do too
Im bad at poems