The Guy Who Gave Up His Jersey

The Guy Who Gave Up His Jersey (1)

            The Guy Who Gave Up His Jersey (1)

            Gabriela and I stared at Alejandro. He had a brunette girl pinned down by the guys' locker room. The girl twirled her hair around her index finger, getting lost in his light brown eyes. My stomach twisted in disgust.        

            He had finally dropped low this time. He was hitting on a dorky girl, and the poor thing probably didn't even know what was going on.

            “That jerk,” I growled, forcing myself not to go up and slap him.

            Gabriela rolled her eyes at me. “Really? You would think you would've gotten used to the whole hitting-on-girls thing,” she simply said, grabbing her textbook from her locker.

            I turned my head towards her, a little annoyed. She had a point though. Why did it bother me? He'd been doing the same thing since the moment I set foot in Roosevelt High. Hell, half of the guy population in this school was doing the same thing.

            Xavier appeared at my side and handed me his jacket.

"Who was the lucky girl?" I asked him, sarcasm dripping with every word.

            “Limia? No, that doesn't sound right. Lidia? No, no. Shit. I forgot her name,” my sweet older brother said.

            I looked at him in disbelief. He left the girl crying a mere five minutes ago, and he already forgot her name. I shook my head in disappointment. This guy with the dark brown eyes, messy black hair, toned body, and black Letterman jacket was none other than my older brother. Xavier looked at me, confused. He was breaking his head trying to remember the girl’s name.

            “You mean Linda?” Gabriela asked.

            He smiled happily. “There you go; Linda!”

            “You got into Linda Whistles’ pants?” I asked him in disbelief.

            Linda Whistles was the student body president. She was in all AP classes and never missed school. She wasn't the type of girl to open her legs for anyone. It was actually hard to believe that she didn't know the reason why my brother was speaking to her.

            Xavier flicked my nose. “Better believe it, sister. I fucked her. And let me tell you, that took work to do,” he said, slightly annoyed.

            I ripped off the patch that had the number twenty-one sewed on. Grabbing the titanium box from my locker, I grabbed the number twenty-two patch and slapped it on the jacket. Xavier sighed as he saw expression on my face.

The Letterman jacket that every guy in school wore didn't represent membership in the football team, nor in any other type of sport. It represented the rank they were in. The numbered patch informed you how many girls they slept with.

            “Don't look at me like that,” Xavier told me, slipping on his jacket.

            “Then in what way should I look at you? Am I supposed to be proud of my brother for having the highest rank? Or for being considered ‘a legend’ in the school?” I snapped at him, throwing the box back into my locker.

            Xavier started the game as a freshman. He thought it would be fun to see how easily girls would fall for him. As time went by, more and more guys got into it. When I entered high school, Xavier handed me The Playbook; a legendary guide filled with passes and moves that guys could use to make a girl fall for them.