Serendipity | 1 | ✓

Chapter 8 - How Do You Know About That?

Author's Note: It's not that great. Pretty much a filler chapter. But the next chapter is gonna be loads better, promise! My excuse is that I'm babysitting a one year old baby, and it's kinda difficult to write very well while keeping an eye on an infant! Next chapter should be up in a couple of days, and if you're a Losing Grip reader, next chapter tomorrow or Wednesday! And don't forget to comment, comment, comment, and vote, vote, vote! Most people vote, but don't comment, if you're voting, drop a comment! I'd appreciate it! 

Chapter 8 - How Do You Know About That?

“You wanna get outta here?” Reese wonders as he pulls away from me a few minutes later.

I shake my head, “I really can’t. I have track practice.”

“And I have basketball practice. Can’t you skip it just this once?”

“I’m really sorry, Reese. But I can’t. I missed twice last week.” I lie, just looking for an excuse.

I’d be fine with staying here with him in this parking lot making out with him, but I don’t wanna, ‘get outta here’, because that insinuates going to his house or some other location and doing…things. Things that I am emotionally and mentally not ready to do. If I wanted to, I could leave, and just skip practice. Sure, I’d probably get hell from Coach tomorrow, but if I wanted to skip, I could. And as badly as I do want to go home and go to sleep, if I don’t practice, I won’t get better at running. I’m not trying to be the next Lolo Jones or anything, hell track is just a healthy pastime for me, really.

Reese shrugs, nonchalantly. “That’s okay. Here, gimme your number and I’ll text you or something.”

I nod, “Okay.”

I open my notebook and snatch out a blank piece of notebook paper and then find a black ink pen in my backpack. I scribble the seven digits across the paper, then write my name under it as neatly as I can manage. When I’m done, I hand the paper to Reese. He looks at it for a second before folding it into a little square and shoving it down in his pocket.

“Alright, cool. I’ll text you later on tonight.”

“Okay,” I reply, smiling probably like an idiot.

He gives me a slight smile and then a tiny wave as he takes off across the parking lot, heading towards the practice gym. That’s where the boys have their basketball practices at. I wonder if Drew is in there. He is on the basketball team after all. I’ve never understood why my school has a practice gym. It looks just like the regular school gym with the basketball court and all that stuff, the same with the football fields. We’ve got a practice field and a playing field. The football team never goes on the real field unless there’s a home game. I wasn’t sure why that was and Bradley told me it’s because the real field has really nice turf and the practice field is just plain grass. Apparently they don’t wanna mess the turf up.

I put my pen back in my backpack and tuck my phone and Bradley’s car keys into my Nike bag for safekeeping. Slinging the bag over to my opposite shoulder, I look both ways - I’m very precautions - and then cross across the lot, heading towards the real football field which is encased by the track. I walk down the firm stone steps, and when I reach the end, I plop down on a bleacher near the front, waiting for Coach to come out.

Most of the track team has already arrived, I’ve noticed. The  boys are down here too. The boys track team, I mean. Usually the girls and boys track teams practice separately, us girls out here and the boys on the indoor track. I don’t really have any track friends, which makes practices very lonely, but oh well. I decide that right now is as good a time as any to start on my complicated Trigonometry homework. I really should have done it in fourth block study hall, but I fell asleep.