Chapter Three – Game Night

The week goes on, and to your surprise, Brock actually attends some of his lectures. The assignments are harder to get him to do though. It’s like he thinks that attendance is enough. When Friday arrives, you feel that your hair is about to turn grey, from nagging at him about his assignments.

When you enter the house after a couple of after school hours in the library, you find Brock on the couch. Air pods in his ears, and his hand drumming to the music on his thigh. You walk up behind him, and remove one of his air pods. He jumps up.

– What the fuck?

He yells.

You throw his assignment at him. The only thing he’s written on it is his name.

– You have work to do!

You say. Not bothered by his hard look.

– I’m in pre-game mode!

You fold your arms over your chest.

– And I’m in tutor mode! I’ll be kicked out, if you don’t do this!

He picks up the papers from the floor, looks at them. Shrugs.

– It’s not due until Monday!

He looks at your arms, folded over your chest.

– Besides, you’re not my mom!

He says, as he sits back down on the couch. About to put his air pod back. You stop him.

– It’s an essay, Brock! About football. A toddler could do it!

He yanks his arm back, put his air pod back, throws the papers on the table, and looks at you.

– A toddler can’t write..

He says, before turning his music back on, and continues to drum his hand on his thigh. You sigh, before turning around and leave the living room.

——————————————————–

You take another look in the mirror. Your hair in a messy bun. Your t-shirt, with the school logo on, and your jeans resting on your hips. Is this OK for a football game? Probably. At least you have the logo for your school on.

There’s a knock on your door. You glance in the mirror one last time, before you go to open.

Brock is standing there in his football gear, helmet in his hand. He looks you up and down a couple of times, before he shakes his head.

– You’re going like that?

You look down on your clothes.

– What’s wrong with this?

– Well, if you want to be a laughing stock, be my guest..

He says, looking at your outfit again.

– Then, what do you suggest, Brock?

He rolls his eyes, before he walks back to his room. You stand and look after him.

– Are you coming or not?

He asks, without turning around. You take a deep breath, before you follow him.

His room is in disarray. Clothes and stuff EVERYWHERE. You look around, but you’re not saying anything. He opens his closet. Just as messy as everything else. How is he finding stuff in this mess?

He drags out one of his football shirts. Turns around.

– Take off your shirt!

You laugh at him.

– I’m not gonna undress in front of you.

He shakes his head..

– Like I haven’t seen a bra before…

He mutters to himself, before opening the bathroom door. You walk inside, take the shirt from him as you walk by him.

It’s way too big for you. Jeez, he actually wants you to wear this. Is he trying to make fun of you? You take another breath, before walking out into his room again.

He looks you up and down again. God, is he doing this to make you feel uncomfortable?

– WHAT??!!??

You say.

– Nah.. That’s not gonna work…

He turns away from you, opens his bag, and take out a pair of scissors. Then he comes over to you again. Cuts his shirt in the middle, before he ties the two pieces together, right over your bellybutton. When he’s done, he takes a step backwards, and again looks you up and down.

– Perfect!

You look down on your exposed stomach.

– You want me to dress like this?

You ask, gesturing to your attire.

– What? You’ll blend right in with the rest of them.

You raise your eyebrows.

– Blend in with who?

– The girls! The crowd! Everyone! Only 5 year olds go to the game in mommy’s t-shirt.

You look down once again. You feel really uncomfortable in this. You’re not exactly used to expose yourself like this. But then again, you’ve never been to a game before. And Brock probably knows what he’s talking about. You have to admit that it was nice of him to help you like this. He didn’t have to do it. And he ruined his shirt for you. You look up at him.

– Thanks…. I guess..

He doesn’t answer. He just walks out of his room.

– I’ll leave first. Don’t want them to think I joined the nerd squad now!

You roll your eyes, and take another mental note.

“Everything is a joke to him!”

——————————————————–

The stadium is already packed when you arrive. A lot of noise, music, cheering. The cheerleaders are already doing their thing. God! It’s just a sport. Why is people so obsessed with this? It’s almost as people see this football thing as a religion.

You walk up some stairs, to find a place to sit. You walk past some sorority girls, their eyes burning into your back. What’s their deal? They have the same clothes on as you. White and grey t-shirts, with the team logo on. You knew this looked ridiculous on you. Screw, Brock.

You find a place to sit. Take a breath, try to cut out some of the noise. The girls from before takes a seat behind you. You can still feel their eyes on you, and although you don’t hear it, you feel that they’re talking about you. You’re used to people talking about you. Being the nerd. The keynote speaker, the girl who attends all of her lectures, the girl who’s second home is the library. You’re totally out of your element here. You can feel it, and they know it.

There’s a little pause in the noise when the cheerleaders takes a break in their cheering, before the teams are about to enter the field. You feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around. A blonde girl looks at you. Her hair long, curly and flawless. At least to pounds of make up on, and boobs so fake they look like balloons right before they explode due to too much air in them. She leans down, and whispers to you.

– Why are you wearing, Brock’s shirt?

What? How does she know that? They have the exact same shirts on.

– Huh?

She points to the back of your shirt. You turn your head as far back as you manage, before you see it, black letters “RUMLOW” probably the number 5 too. You didn’t think about that, when he gave you his shirt. God! Now you’re like really in the spotlight. This was so not what you wanted.

– Err.. He gave it to me…

You answer, almost desperate to get out of this conversation. Thankfully she doesn’t answer, instead she goes back to talk with her friends. You turn around to the field again, when a voice sounds over the speakers.

– Welcome out on the field. The Greyhounds.

The players names is announced. Rumlow’s first of course. And the crowd goes ballistic. Even how much you try to understand this, you can’t. How one person can be worshipped like this. Like he’s a God or something. On the other hand, you can start to understand why he is the way he is. This stuff is bound to go to anyones head.

You take another mental note, before you turn your attention back to the game.

“Might be too much for some to handle”