LOVER, s.stilinski

iii. the skype stalker

CHAPTER THREE !!
the skype stalker

       THE VISITATION OF LACROSSE GAMES AND PRACTICES HAD PRACTICALLY BECOME A DAILY RITUAL IN CHRISSY'S CURRENT LIFE, being dragged along by Allison and Lydia almost every day to cheer on the hefty number of players until her palms itched red and the back of her throat scratched like rough sandpaper. The numbers of each jersey were basically imprinted into the membranes of her mind, seeing the same burgundy shirts over and over again had single-handedly changed the way she saw that colour forever.

       Even as a few days had passed since the night of the hectic yet jovial party, there were some people still coming down from their all-mighty dopamine rush, the major signs of a three-day hangover still visible in their sloth- like actions and movements. They were squinting their eyes to protect their minds against the harsh contrast of light and dark, doing anything in their power to never experience the agonising ache behind their eyebrows ever again. Some were rolling out their sore shoulders, rotating the joint in large circles: while others bent down to stretch the backs of their calves.

       The sun was blaring down upon the lacrosse pitch, casting a tangerine glow over the grass and bleachers, illuminating the area in nothing but a blinding brightness. There was a light breeze flowing throughout the entirety of the field, goosebumps tracing the arms of every student who was huddled outside. The grass had been freshly mowed in anticipation for the start of the new season, hoping that the change would benefit the abilities and skills of the players, providing a smooth experience to play on.

       Lydia and Allison were placed on the left side of Chrissy, who was far too busy digging her head into the contents of her notebook to even realise as to what was happening on the field. Her sole purpose was to currently ignore the Stilinski boy, the one who was actually on the pitch for this time, and she had done a fairly good job at actively avoiding him ever since Friday night.

       It wasn't like she was upset with him for ditching her at the party, unlike Allison- who was heavily frustrated with Scott- but mainly it was because she was embarrassed. Ashamed that she had let her guard down so much that she was only a few clumsy words away from spilling the secrets of her late-night strolls and future predictions. All the years of keeping it away from prying eyes would have been for nothing, and she would rather be attacked by a mountain lion than ever let her grandmother down.

       The common sound of Coach's whistle rang through the air, the high-pitched noise drilling into the sides of Chrissy's head. "Let's go! One-on-ones from up top." Coach shouted, holding a glove in his hand. "Jackson, take a long stick today. Attaboy."

       The Whittemore boy nodded with seriousness before reaching over to grab a long stick and rushing back to stand in front of the lengthy line of determined players. The whistle blew once again and the player at the front of the line scooped up the ball and set off with pace, charging at Jackson with as much power as he could muster up. Yet however, his attempts ceased to work, and within seconds he was flat on his back, panting from the force he had been hit by.