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Jackson POV
Part of me understood how petty I was being by threatening another player for being almost as good as me. I should've been happy that there was someone else to help so that I didn't have so much pressure on my shoulders during a game, but in a way I liked it. The pressure. I liked having all of those people depend on me if all else failed with every other player on the team that they looked to me for help.
But McCall was stealing my glory and I couldn't help but be filled with rage. I spent my whole life preparing for this moment, and I wasn't going to let some steroid taking freak take all the from between my fingers.
Before practice, when everyone exited from the locker room I cornered Scott at his locker. "Alright little man, where are you getting your juice?"
Scott looked at me in confusion. "What?"
"Where are you getting your juice?" I said more slowly, enunciating each syllable.
"My mom does all the grocery shopping."
My patience was growing thin and I could feel my blood beginning to boil. "Listen McCall, you're going to tell me exactly what it is and who you're buying it from, because there's no way in hell you're out there kicking ass on the field like that without some chemical boost."
Realization crosses over his child-like features. "Oh, you mean steroids. Are you on steroids?"
"What the hell is wrong with you McCall?" I shout, gripping his jersey tightly between my fists and slamming his small body into the lockers behind him.
"What's wrong with me?" I nod. "You really want to know? Well, so do I. Because I can see, hear, and smell things I shouldn't be able to see, hear, and smell. I do things that should be impossible. I'm sleepwalking three miles into the woods, and I'm pretty much convinced that I'm totally out of my freaking mind."
I watched Scott breath heavily and let his head fall into the locker. "You think you're funny, don't you McCall? I know you're hiding something and I'm going to find out what it is. I don't care how long it takes." My hand eases on its own accord and slams into the lockers by his head, and walked away after I saw him flinch.
---
"There's no way he's that good Layla, he's on something I know it." I rant to her as I paced around her room.
I came to her house right after lacrosse practice. "Jackson, maybe you're overthinking it."
"I'm not. Why are you taking his side?"
Layla sighed and she played with her fingers in her lap. "Maybe because you missed it again, Jackson. You said you'd come this time. You promised."
It was just then that I saw the outfit that she was wearing, a pretty exposing piece with gems littered all over it. Her dance duffle was thrown on the floor by her feet along with her shoes. "Crap, I completely forgot. I'm so sorry."
She shrugged, taking her hair out of its tight braids, her free hair now wavy and slightly tangled. "Don't worry about it, there's always next time, right?"
"Of course."
An uncomfortable silence swept over the room and Layla sucked in a deep breath, getting off her bed to grab some clothes and soap so she could take her shower. "You're clothes are in there too if you want to spend the night, my moms not home but I doubt she'd care anyway."
"Layla—"
"Don't forget you're towel when you take a shower in the guest room, you always get the floor wet."
--- 3rd POV
The following day, Jackson and Layla drove to school together like they usually did, and Layla pretended that she didn't remember Jackson blew her off like she usually did. "You're staying after school for my practice, right?"
Layla changed the radio station, growing annoyed of hearing Meghan Trainor singing All About That Bass. "I always do."
"Why so sour? Today's a good day and you're ruining it with your attitude." Jackson scolded, his blue eyes darting over to hers for a second before he turned his gaze back to the parking lot so he could get to his parking space.
Layla didn't feel like answering him, she wasn't in the mood for arguing with him. He always won away. "I have a chemistry test today, I hate Harris." She smoothly lied. "Anyways, weren't you ranting about hating how Scott made first line?"
"Yeah," Jackson started up again, parking his car and reaching into the backseat of his Porsche to retrieve his backpack. "I know he's hiding something, and I refuse to stop until I know what it is."
"Wish you had that kind of determination for our relationship." The brunette muttered, hiking her backpack up onto her shoulders.
