Chapter 2
Football Games this fucking sucks.
Kicking a rock as I wipe my tears, I finally make it out of the neighborhood and continue to walk through the busy town.
It’s small but always hectic this time of the morning.
A horn honking makes me jump, and I look to see who it is as a drink comes flying towards me, and I quickly move out of the way.
Giggles fly by, and I grit my teeth. Those bitches are going to get it.
I’m usually not a violent person, but the bullies at this fucking school bring out my crazy and cause the intrusive thoughts to flood my mind.
Pulling my bag higher on my shoulder, I reach into my pocket, taking out my earbuds and pressing play on my phone.
The need to drown out the silence weighs heavily on my mind.
It’s been way too quiet lately for my liking, and all it does is send me deeper into my head, and that’s not somewhere I want to be.
Arriving at Wisteria High School, I climb the steps and enter the building, going straight for my locker.
Turning the dial, I enter the combination, open the door, put away my backpack, and grab the books I need for first period.
The warning bell rings, and I shut the locker then walk down the busy hallway, weaving in and out of people rushing to class.
Suddenly, someone grabs my arm and pulls me into the small dark hallway, the one with the broken vending machines lined up against the wall.
I yelp and stumble, but strong arms steady me, pulling me deeper into the darkness and pressing me against the cold tile wall.
“Hey, beautiful,” Vaughn says, and a blush creeps up my cheeks.
“Oh, hi Vaughn,” I squeak, and he smirks. Why does he make me nervous?
“I thought you were going to call me last night?” He asks, and I sigh as his finger plays with one of my curls and his other hand lies gently against my hip.
“I was, but I was told to stay away from you,” I tell him and his eyes widen, then narrow.
“Who told you that, Pumpkin?” He asks, and I cringe at the nickname. What girl would want to be called something fat and orange? Boys are so fucking stupid. I roll my eyes as he licks his lips.
“Clara and her pack of cunts.” I say, and he laughs.
“Pack of cunts? I like that. Don’t listen to them. They ain’t shit. No one owns me, unless you want to,” he asks, raising a brow, and I laugh.
“Yeah, okay. Anyway, they tried jumping me last night. So I really wasn’t in the mood to talk. Sorry.” I say, dismissing him, but his thumb finds my chin, pulling it up to look at him.
“I have a game tonight. I want you to come cheer me on,” he breathes, inching closer to me as his eyes flick to my lips, then back up to mine.
“I don’t know Vaughn. I–” but he cuts me off, pressing his lips lightly against mine, and I freeze. This is the first time a boy other than Jeremy has kissed me. He pulls away, licking his lips.
“I love your lip gloss, Pumpkin. Come to my game, please, baby. Don’t make me beg,” he chuckles, and I giggle.
“Fine, what time is it?” I ask, and he smiles.
“Seven tonight,” he says, reaching into his bag and handing me a shirt.
His jersey, holy shit. “Wear it, and I’ll see you later,” He says, pressing his lips against mine again, and this time, I don’t freeze.
I inch my tongue out to taste him, and he sucks it into his mouth, gripping my hips, pulling me against his ripped body.
He groans as my hands roam up his chest and then down to his stomach.
He pulls away with a smirk. “See you later, Beautiful.” He whispers, then turns and leaves me panting against the wall of the dark hallway. Holy shit!
The bell rings, and I head to class with tingling lips and soaked panties. Shit!
The school day flew by, and I’m nothing but a ball of excitement.
Getting home, I run up the stairs, wanting to get ready even though I have a few hours to spare.
I change my clothes and slip on Vaughn's jersey. It’s a little tight over my breasts, but I’ll be fine.
I sit in front of my mirror and figure if I’m doing this, then I’m going all the way in.
Taking out my Halloween makeup, I draw his number on my cheek and put my hair in a high ponytail and find a black and red ribbon to put in my hair.
Checking myself over, I’m pleased with how I look for my first ever football game.
“Don’t go, Charlee, it’s not safe.”
“Do you not pay attention? Remember the dream?”
What the fuck, not again. Looking around my room, I’m alone, so where the fuck are these voices coming from?
“In your head, Charlee, duh!”
“She really doesn’t get it yet.”
“Well, get out of my fucking head. I’m going to the game,” I say out loud to no one, like a fucking psycho.
“I won’t repeat myself.”
“It’s no use. You were right; she doesn’t listen.”
“Shut up. Just shut up!” I yell, slamming my fists against the vanity, and all I hear is sinister giggling, which forces me to leave my room.
I’m going crazy. Am I schizo? I don’t understand what is going on with me.
But the vision of the dream I had sits at the forefront of my brain, and I wish I had gotten the entire scene. I wish I understood what it means.
“Charlee, dinner, honey.” My mom yells up the stairs as I’m already halfway down the hallway.
“Coming,” I yell back, flying down the steps. The smell of chicken cutlets hits my senses, and my stomach growls making me realize I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Walking into the dining room, I see the table is already set and everyone is waiting for me.
“Hey sweetie, wow, you look very nice this evening.” My father says, bringing a smile to my face.
“And who is Bakeman?” My mom asks, and my brother's brows hit his forehead.
“Vaughn Bakeman is our star quarterback. He’s really good. Wow sis, how did you manage that?” he asks, and I roll my eyes.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say as I sit in my seat and plate up my food.
“Soo…” My mom trails off as I take the first bite of chicken.
“Vaughn is just a friend, and he asked me to come to his game tonight,” I say, continuing to eat my dinner.
“Friends don’t ask friends to wear their jersey, honey. He must like you if he handed over his shirt.” My father adds, and I shrug.
“I plead the fifth and how would you know the rules to all of this anyway?” I ask, taking a scoop of mashed potatoes and shoving it in my mouth.
“I played ball back in my day. Isn’t that right, sweetie?” He replies and smirks at my mom, who blushes from across the table.
“Eww,” Burt says, and I kick him in the shin under the table. “Ouch, you wench. That hurt.” He whines, and I smirk.
“Yes, yes. Your father played, and I was lucky enough to wear his jersey.” She smiles at him, and he juts his chest out with so much pride.
My parents are high-school sweethearts. It’s very rare, but not in this town.
Many of the kids in my year, whose parents attended Wisteria, married their high school sweethearts.
Gag. I can’t wait to get out of this town.
My phone buzzes, and I look around the table, seeing that they are in a deep conversation about the grade Burt received on his history paper.
Glancing down at my phone in my lap, I see I have a text from Jeremy.
Jer:
I’d like to see you tonight.