Completed Wattpad Version of {Kinda, Sort Of}

Chapter 9~ Camryn

Chapter 9
Camryn
  Jase and I continued texting throughout the weekend, discussing how we were going to pull off our "relationship" during school. With the whole act planned to the minute, Monday couldn't have come quicker.
  The plan is to meet outside the main doors, near the flag pole, so that we can make our grand entrance, hand in hand, in the hallway full of kids. Here I stand, leaning against the flag pole; waiting for Jason's convertible to pull up.
   A few minutes pass and I see it swerve around the corner, and pull into its usual spot, right in front of the school. Jason gets out of the car, dressed pretty cute I might add, in a long sleeve button down shirt, and khaki pants. He spots me, and waves, striding over. He greets me with a kiss on the cheek, and a tight embrace, already gaining us a few stares.
  "So, YODO," I mention, "What are you acting as now, the perfect boyfriend?"
  "That's the plan. Ready?" he questions, suddenly nervous.
  "As I'll ever be," I remark anxiously. Jason holds out his hand, palm up, allowing me to easily interlace our fingers. 
  We walk down the pathway, staring straight ahead, ignoring the dozens of heads turning in our direction. I notice Dina being one of them, her mouth open agape, before stretching into an enthusiastic smile. Jason apparently sees her as well. With both of us looking at her, she gives us a thumbs-up and races in our direction.
  "When did this happen?!" she exclaims. "Tell me everything!"
  It seems as if everyone in the hallway begins to inch closer as I loudly reply, "It just happened, this weekend. Turns out, we do like each other that way."
  "Yep, she's right," Jason notes, speaking just as loud as I did, "We're just meant to be." He finishes off his statement by placing a kiss on my cheek affectionately. The hallway fills with complete silence, and Jason takes that as our cue to leave. We both head down near our lockers, but not before running straight into Amanda. What is this? Like twice in one week? Her eyes glimpse down at our laced fingers, and Jason places an arm around me protectively, pulling me in closer to his side.
  "So I guess those rumors were true." She states, "With Vivian being the source, you never know what's real or not."
  "Yeah, too bad Amanda, I guess all of those flirty winks were just a waste of your time." Jason replies. Amanda huffs at his response and turns around, ambling away, her posse at her tail.
  Jason and I, positive our work is done for this part of the plan, head, linked together, towards homeroom. Upon our arrival, I notice the classroom is nearly empty and go to take my assigned seat.
  Before I can sit in my seat though, Jason grabs me, and pulls me sideways into his lap- this gets us a couple stares from the three other students currently in the classroom. I wrap my arms around his neck, as he holds onto my back. We sit there like that for about a minute or so, talking and laughing, until Mrs. Polanski comes in through the door, and orders everyone to sit in their own seats.
  Apparently surprised by our little arrangement, Mrs. Polanski swings by my desk, once everyone is settled. Before walking to the front of the class, I hear her whisper, "Finally!" into my ear. She then rips out her clipboard and begins to take roll call.
  It seems as if her comment was louder than I thought, because shortly after, I hear a muffled laugh from Jason, sitting on the other side of the room. I blush at that, and shoot a teasing glare in his direction.
  After Mrs. Polanski finishes up roll, I glance at Jason again, and can practically see the gears turning inside his head. Feeling me watching, he peers over shyly, before calling "Hey Bridge!" and forming a heart with his hands. I shake my head amusedly, and return the gesture. Mrs. Polanski just about bursts with joy- what a fangirl.
  The bell screeches, and everyone rushes out of class, heading to first period. Since Jase and I both, unfortunately, have Mrs. Gomalack next, we walk down the hallway, arm in arm, until we reach her classroom. When we get inside, we notice Mrs. Gomalack writing down a different assignment on the board, other than the usual reading and filling out of our organizers for A Lie of Sorts. Her head swivels around to catch us looking towards her and she snaps, "Find a partner."
  Jason quickly grabs my wrist and pulls me towards his seat. From the front of the room, I can hear Mrs. Gomalack sarcastically murmur, "What a surprise." I smile at her comment and lean my head up against Jase's shoulder. He bends down slowly to grab his backpack and pick out his copy of A Lie of Sorts. When he sits back up, I place one hand on his chest and reach to grab his book with the other. I open the pages, looking for his bookmark, only to find it on Chapter 10.
  "Did you read at all last week?" I ask, holding the book up in my hand.
  "You'd be surprised how much other homework I have." He jokes ashamedly.
  "Actually, I don't think I would, since we basically have all the same classes." I retaliate. "Is there something going on?"
  Jason sighs and reaches down into his backpack once more. He pulls out another book, this one titled, The Kick. On the front cover, there's a teenage boy with black hair that's about to kick a soccer ball into an open net.
  "I've been stressing out over my soccer game , that's after-school today." He states. His hands flip the book open to its middle, which displays enhancing diagrams of kicking motions and different key soccer positions. "Our practices are only so long, and it's not like I have the time to go and practice out on the field by myself all the time. So, during my spare time, I've been trying to read about the more professional tricks when scoring a goal. Coach Snyder says that if we win tonight's game, we might have a fighting chance to go to the championships later this school year. I think making it will help my chances of getting a soccer scholarship for college." 
  I stare back into his silver-grey eyes and give him a pat on the back. "Hey," I utter, "You're going to be great. I bet those guys on the other team are scared to come on down and face you tonight. They're probably sitting in their classes right now, frozen in fear, not even being able to write down notes 'cause their hands are shaking so much."
  Jason stifles a laugh, closing the book and placing it back in his backpack. "Thanks, Bridge. I really appreciate that."
  "Hey, what are fr-" I stop in mid-sentence, realizing that there are other people in the room. "-girlfriends. What are girlfriends forr?!!"
  A deep, low sound echoes from the front of the room, startling us both. After Mrs. Gomalack finishes clearing her throat, she starts to explain our new partner assignment.
  "In the novel, A Lie of Sorts, Cassandra is known to go through many different emotional challenges. Feelings such as sadness and anger can change a story dramatically as the plot goes along. Each partner pair will be assigned one of the emotions depicted in the book. You must use personal experience in your narrative, but if you do not have any, you can just make some up. Imagine what you think would happen in that kind of situation. Each story must be different and original, so do not share your ideas with your classmates, especially through social media." Seeing how old Mrs. Gomalack is, I'm surprised she knows what social media is.
  "Alright, James and Abigail, you'll be working with REGRET." She says as she begins to assign each group. "John and William, you will have GUILT. Suzie and Clara, you will have ELATION. Xavier and Josie, you will use PRIDE. Jacob and Derek, you will write about SYMPATHY."
  Mrs. Gomalack continues to give out emotions to the rest of class, until she reaches Jase and me. She pauses and cocks her head to the side, before speaking again.
  "Ah, Ms. Moore and Mr. Porter. Your assignment will be based on..." another pause, "PASSION, since you both are so infatuated with each other. Think... love."  She continues to walk to the front of the classroom and sets down her clipboard.
  "The project will be due at the end of the month. That gives you about a week, so do not procrastinate. You'll need all the time you have."
  Later in the day, I stand in my room, hurriedly trying to get ready for Jason's soccer game. I throw on some athletic shorts and a t-shirt, before walking downstairs. Just as I'm about to open the door to walk out, Jason rushes in, completely dressed in his soccer uniform- cleats, shin guards, and everything else.
  "Hey Bridget," he pants, holding up a piece of clothing crumpled in his hand, "I know that the game is going to begin soon, but I want you to wear this...for me."
  I grab the cloth, and hold it up in front me, to see none other than one of Jason's light blue Varsity Jerseys. On the front, it says "Portland Pro-Travel Soccer" in bold, white lettering. On the back of the shirt, it says PORTER, followed by the number 22 underneath.
  I stare at him in awe.
  He runs his fingers through his already messy, caramel-colored hair, making it stick out in all directions. "So, will you be my good luck charm for tonight?"
  With a smile, I use my fingers to sweep his hair back into place, before answering, "Always."
  Jason smileses, pecking me on the cheek , pecking me on the cheek and runsning right back out the door. Quickly, I change into the large jersey, the mesh material going almost all the way to my knees. Checking to make sure I have my clutch, with my phone, wallet, and car keys, I fly out the door.
  The drive to the game takes longer than I originally thought it would, because of the traffic. Luckily, I make it just in time, to wish Jason good luck, before he starts.
  "How do I look?" I say modeling the oversized jersey for him, with a laugh.
  Jason stares at me for a moment, tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, and whispers, "Beautiful," leaving me speechless and in awe yet again.
  I soon find a seat next to Mrs. Porter on the fourth row of the bleachers.
  She greets me with a hug, as she says "Cami! How are you? I feel like I haven't seen you come over in a while! Is everything okay with you and Jason?"
  Yeah, everything's amazing.
  "I'm great! Yup, we're good- I've just been busy with this ah... project." I remark.
  "Oh, okay. I see you're wearing his jersey tonight! I'm so proud of him; being captain and all, getting his team to the final game at the championships!"
  "I know! He's amazing at soccer.," And at being a fake boyfriend, I think. "I'm just glad the game was in town, and not in another county or anything."
  Mrs. Porter nods in agreement, and turns her attention back to the game, just as the starting whistle blows. I see Jason sprint down the field, maneuvering the ball with his feet, faster than I've ever seen. Another player from the opposing team goes to steal the ball, but Jase kicks it slightly backwards towards Ryan, one of the his offensive players. Ryan dribbles the soccer ball along the side line, faking a pass to Jonathan, and actually kicking it back to Jason.
  Jason does some sort of spin move, that I have no idea the name of, and hits the ball hard. It flies from his foot, pass the arms of the opposing goalie, right into the back of the net.
  Swoosh. The crowd cheers. Jason smiles and chest bumps with another player on his team. All the fellow Ram fans applaud loudly with Mrs. Porter and me, as the referees set up for the next play. The game continues intensely for a while like this- going back and forth. Our Jason's team scores a goal. Then the other team does. Rams. Jaguars. Kick. Goal. Cheer. Repeat.
  With 30 seconds left in the game, and the score in a tie, it's anyone's game to win. The anticipation and fervor hanging in the air is so thick, you could slice it. All the sudden, the Rams get the ball. It's passed to Johnathan. Back to Steven. Headed to Ryan. Kicked to Jason. Ten seconds remain on the clock, the ball at Jason's feet. I hold my breath as he looks up into the crowd, smiles at me, and slams the ball right at the goalie. The goalie's fingers brush the ball, as he jumps to block it, but to no avail. The soccer ball slicesflies through slices the air, bouncing into the net.
  The horn buzzes loudly, signaling the end of the game.
  There's lots of 'Congratulations' and celebration for our Jason's team as they exit the field, and march in a caravan of sweat to the parking lot. Jason rides with me, in my car, back to his house, so that we can work on our dreaded the "fun" new language arts assignment, given to us today by Mrs. Gomalack.
  Pulling up in front of his small Tudor home, Jason grabs his smelly soccer bag out of my trunk, and leads me inside, up the stairs to his room. The whole thing is a mass of green and blue hues. Pictures of famous soccer players and band posters cover the navy walls. Jerseys, socks, and old cleats lie in random spots on the wooden floor. I shake my head disapprovingly at the rumpled, unmade bed, and the leaning tower of clothes, in a heap on his chair. Papers are scattered about the mahogany desk in the corner, which is also sporting some old trophies from forever ago. A neat spot in Jason's room is scarce, but I do manage to find one: near the shelf above his light switch.
Leaning against the door, I look over the .
  It's the shelf above the light switch, next to the door. On the shelf are framed pictures of 6-year old Jason playing soccer, Jason's current soccer team, and many of the two of us together. I laugh out loud at the picture of 10-year old me and 9-year old Jason dressed up as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum from Alice in Wonderland. We were such dorks, in our matching red and yellow outfits, and wild spray painted hair. Don't even get me started on the hats.
  I feel warm air on the back of my neck, making me shiver slightly. Jason bends down and places his chin on the top of my head.
  "Eww, . gGet off! You're all disgusting!" I remark, pushing Jason away playfully.
  He responds, "Gosh, I was just going to ask if you want to start our assignment."
  "Jase," I exclaim, "We can start the paper after you shower! My olfactory system noseolfactory system is burning from your soccer-soccer-sweat stench!"
  He laughs, amused, "Alright, alright. No need to use your fancy words to tell me that I stink."
  Rolling my eyes, I shove him into the bathroom, and then busy myself tidying up Jason's pig-sty of a bedroom. Cleaning relaxes me, especially when I clean for someone else- it makes me feel useful. I also may or may not have slight CDO- that's OCD, but in its correct alphabetical order. See what I mean about 'slight'?
  After a good ten minutes, I call to Jason, "Hey, you done yet? I'm not getting any younger out here you know!"
  The door to the bathroom swings open, steam from the hot shower billowing out into the room. There stands Jason, his hair soaking wet, water droplets dripping down his face, in nothing but soccer shorts.
  My breath hitches in my throat at the sight. I've seen Jason without a shirt on plenty of times before, but I never noticed how who knew he had gotten so tan and muscular. And by muscular, I mean the six-pack currently threatening my sanity. (Is it possible to adamantly think that your best guy friend is...ugh...sexy?)  (meaning his super sexy abs)? My gaze travels down to the low-slung band on his waist. A feverish feeling washes over me at the sight of his hip bones sticking out. I fail to avert my eyes, before Jason notices me staring, and I turn beet red.
  Gosh darn it. God, wWhy does he have to look so hot, so boyishly attractive, so irresistible-to-stare, at right now? Out of all the times for Jason to make me think this way, it has to be now; alone in his bedroom.
  Jason, catching on, decides to embarrass me further.
  "Hey Bridge," he observes, "What are you staring at?" He smirks, sauntering closer to my position on the bed.
  "Na...not...noth...Nothing..." I stammer, covering my face with my hands.
  I feel the bed dip, as he sits next to me. He peels my hands off my face, questioning, "Are you sure it was nothing? Because to me it looked like you were checking out m- "
  I cover his mouth with both my hands, muffling what he has to say. Slowly, I squint my eyes skeptically, and release Jason. Still with that smirk on his face, something I'm starting to find dangerously attractive, he takes my hand in his.   "Want to touch them?" he questions, teasingly. For a few moments, I sit there startled at him.; it's probably just a bad case of "raging-teenage-hormones". It's probably just a case of 'raging teenage hormones'.
  Before my eyes can fully pop out of my head, Jason pulls my hand towards him, pressing it against his well-defined muscles. I don't think he completely realizes what he's doing, because next thing I know, we both let sighs of content escape our mouths. Jason freezes as I retract my hand, and turn away. After a few intensified moments of tension, Jason faces me once more.
  "Hey, I'm sorry Bridget," he says, non-apologetically, "I think we should just start the assignment." He stands up, grabs a notebook, and sits down again, still without a shirt on. I look at him, and his eyes crinkle, trying not to laugh. With his facial expression, Jason dares me to say something, knowing that I know exactly what he's doing.
  Finally, after sitting in such proximity for a couple minutes, I blurt out, "For the love of everything that is good in the world, Jason Porter, PLEASE go put on a shirt!"
  I blush even more, if that's physically possible, and watch as he turns the other direction, rummages through his drawers, and throws on a t-shirt. I see his shoulders shaking with silent laughter from where I'm sitting.
  Once we are both settled, with both of our shirts on, I say "Okay, so we have to write about passion  and or love. How about we each just write about personal experience, or make up something, and then see if we can put them together."
  Jason, now calmed down from his laughing fit, nods, and begins to write- lost in thought. Not knowing where this is going, I let my hand glide across the paper, no thought on my mind. By the time I stop to read what I've written, I realize that I'm describing what it's like to have a crush on someone, and blush yet again. As I edit, I feel Jason's eyes penetrating the side of my face, intently watching me.
  I glance over at him, to see the entire sheet of notebook paper that he wrote on filled. As I go to pick the paper up, Jason snatches it away, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
  "Come on Jase, I'm sure you're not that bad of a writer!" I joke, prying his fingers off the paper. As I lift the paper up to read, I see Jason go stiff in my peripheral vision.
  In Jason's boyish handwriting, I read: "...deep pools of green emerald..." before Jason rips the paper out of my grip.
  I stare at Jason, shell-shocked for a second- he was writing about me! I redden a little, and then go in for revenge.
  "What were you writing about Jason?" I question evilly.
  "Na...not...Nothing..." he stutters, unintentionally echoing me from earlier.
  "Really?" I smirk, "Because it looked like you were describing me in your paragraph."
  Revenge is sweet.
  Jason's face turns blushes a dark red color, as I lean in closer, staring straight into his eyes, and opening mine wide. I'm close enough to where our noses are touching, and rest my forehead against his. Jason, still rigid in his seat, closes his eyes, and sighs.
  "I was kinda writing about your eyes- they are...sort of... extremely kindaextremely pretty."
  When Jason finally opens his eyes again, I gaze into them earnestly and lose myself. He seriously thinks mine are pretty? Has he looked at his own in the mirror recently? His marble-grey irises shimmer with an emotion I can't quite name.
  "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I kinda think that your eyes are sort of amazing." I whisper carefully.
  Jase looks down for a split second and backs up. I step away from the desk and grab my piece of paper off the bed. Though once it's in my grasp, Jason snatches it away from my hands. His eyes swerve back and forth, as he quickly reads the page. I try to take it back, but he holds it up in the air.
Knowing that by stretching out his arm, the paper is way too high for me to get, I sit back down on the bed, giving up on retrieving my writing. When he's finished mocking me, Jase hands me back the paper, with a worried glance.
Even more tension begins to fill the room and suffocate me, as if I'm breathing it in instead of oxygen. I can tell that Jason feels it to, because he slowly sits back at his desk. I notice the notebook paper he wrote on before, stuffed into his back-jean pocket.
  "So..." he starts off, "I figured that maybe we could write about what it means to be in a relationship and have feelings or passion for someone."
  I nod in agreement, still frozen, urging him to continue with his thought.
"Maybe... I don't know...never-mind, it's stupid." He stumbles over his words.
"What?" I ask, urgently.
"Maybe," he continues, "we could write about liking each other. That way, if we have to present it, people will believe our little 'act' even Moore." He exaggerates on that last syllable, and I reach out and punch him in the arm for doing so.
  "Next time you say that, you'll never see the light of day." I joke.
  He laughs, but keeps on going. "I don't think so. I think I'll just keep doing it Moore, and Moore, and Moore."
  Jumping up, I smack him on the arm once again, but my intensions don't seem to be working, as it only causes more laughter to escape out of Jason's mouth. I eventually run out of energy to hit him, so I sit back down and swipe my arm across my forehead. Jason leans back against his desk.
  After a few minutes, I slowly walk over beside him and pick up his English notebook off the cluttered desk. Flipping until I reach an empty page, I grab a black felt pen from the pencil cup in the corner.
  When I glance back at the cup itself, I realize that it's one of the pottery cups that Jason and I made together in one of the million art camps we've gone to, while we've been friends. A small purple hand print spreads across the entire lateral surface of the cup, with little black lettering saying: Jason 2003, displayed across the bottom. We were both six years old when he painted that. Actually, one of the counselors had to write his name for him; Jason's handwriting was pretty bad back then. (It still kinda is.)
  I turn back to Jason, pen in hand, and ask, "So, how are we going to do this?"
  He tilts his head to the side, urging me to continue explaining my thoughts.
  "I mean, what are we specifically going to write about? Like, our past of being friends? What made us think we should become a couple? What we like most about each other?" I question further.
  "Yeah, that's good." He shuffles towards me and jostles the book out of my hands. "And that's my notebook by the way." He laughs and I give him back the pen as well.
  After finally cooling down with a couple of Oreo packets and Mountain Dew cans from the kitchen, we start working on our, so called, 'masterpiece'.
Author's Note:
Hello everyone! This chapter was kinda "spicy" (¿) what did you think?
Since this was a super long update, the next update will probably not be for at least another week. I know, I know, sue me. XD
What are your thoughts? How are you guys enjoying it?
I hope you are having an amazing week- I've started school again and am constantly tired ugh.
Love you all,
Kate