Numbers(Randy Fanfic)

Part 16

*Andy’s POV*

Clytte let me stay the night in her what I like to call ‘mansion’, but she doesn’t like considering it a mansion. It is though. The house is massive. Her bedroom alone is bigger than my entire living room and kitchen added together.

I stayed the night over there in the guest bedroom, and she let me freshen up in the morning. She didn’t seem as much of a total bitch as normal, so maybe if I get to know her more, I can learn how to actually like her. Maybe even love her.

Everyone needs love in their life, and if Rye’s not going to be the one in my life to supply me with love, then I can find love in Clytte. My future wife. I need to learn how to love her whether it’s her I want to love or not.

After getting dressed at her house, she drove me to school as well, and didn’t say a word to me the rest of the day. I didn’t try speaking to her either because I know that she probably wouldn’t like that. I didn’t speak to Ryan either.

I saw him, and he looked like shit. I don’t know what happened to him, but his face was all bruised up, and he was walking weird as if he broke a rib or something. I shouldn’t care about what’s happening to him anyway. I need to get over him. He already told me that he didn’t like me, and I completely understand.

I sighed as I opened the school door, trying my best to push through the people. I slowly made my way around the building until the football field was in view. All of the players were already out there warming up for practice, kicking the balls back and forth to each other, probably waiting for Coach to get out there and tell them what to do.

The football players were all pretty nice guys. And the ones that were jerks, didn’t ever mess with me. I became manager of the team when I was in year ten for two reasons. 1. So the football players wouldn’t bully me. 2. Rye. The second reason is soon enough going to change, though, when I finally get over him like I know that I will.

I walked across the field, heading to the bench, where I normally sat during practice, while responding to multiple greetings from different players. Once I was at the bench, I sat my bag down on the slightly damp grass and got my Chemistry book out to work on homework until Coach showed up.

Before I could even start on my essay about certain chemical reactions, Coach walked out onto the field, immediately telling the team to run five laps around it. He always timed them, and if they didn’t finish under a certain amount of time, they would have to run all throughout practice.

It was getting pretty hot out, so multiple of the guys were already shirtless, including Rye. The sweat on his upper body glistened as it slowly dripped down his chest. His pecs and abs flexed with every step he took as he ran, making his body look even more impressive than it already was.

“Anthony, are you even listening to me,” a loud booming voice said from right in front of me, causing me to jump quite hard as I jerked my head from Rye’s body to the bald man in front of me.

“Yes sir,” I responded quickly, ignoring the fact that he once again got my name wrong. He always remembered the names of the actual players on the team, but he never remembered mine. This is my fourth year being manager, and he has been calling me wrong names since day one.

“Okay so like I said, go to the locker rooms and sort out all of the jerseys by their sizes. The players are going to pick their numbers today,” he said as he looked down at his clipboard again.

I stood from my place and quickly walked across the field to get back to the locker rooms. I opened the doors to immediately be met with the smell of strong cologne and smelly shoes.

I continued walking through the locker room until finding the closet in the back of the room where the jerseys would surely be. I grabbed all of them and moved them to the bench that was in the locker room so I could sit while I organized them.

After about an hour, I finally finished organizing all of the jerseys, and I checked my watch to see that there was still quite a bit of practice left. I bit my lip debating what to do as I peered out the window at the shirtless guys doing drills. My eyes drifted back to the lockers. A specific locker.

I want to know what the hell is going on with Rye. He seemed like he actually enjoyed being around me until he just exploded like he did. I want to know what happened to make him go off on me like that. I looked outside on last time before standing up and speed walking over to Rye’s locker.

I grabbed the lock on it and put in the passcode. He has used the exact same locker with the exact same passcode every year since he’s been in secondary school, so I have had his passcode memorized for a couple of years. Once the lock opened, I took it off of the locker and swung the metal door open.

Rye’s backpack was hanging on the hook of the locker, and his gym bag was sitting on the bottom of it with the jeans, jumper, and shoes he wore to school today. I picked up his clothes because I thought I saw something, and I certainly did. On his clothes was dry blood.

I still don’t know what the hell happened to Rye yesterday, but he sure went through a lot of pain. I sat the clothes back down and instead grabbed his backpack. Before I started looking through it, I leaned over to look through the window again. The boys were still doing their drills, and I could calm down a bit, knowing no one would walk in on me going through Rye’s stuff.

I looked all through his bag, only finding school books and trash from junk food and school supplies. My fingers landed on a spiral notebook, and I quickly pulled it out to view it. It was a red spiral notebook that was at least a year old, maybe older, and it had the word ‘Notes’ written on it.

I flipped through it to find out that I was right about the notebook. The front of the book was all a bunch of notes from two years ago, and as I flipped further into the book, there were more recent notes.

I finally got far enough into the book to see notes from this year until I got to a page that had an eight digit number on it. He had written the same number at least once on each page, one coming after another. Each time he wrote it, it was written in a different font.

I really recognised the number, but I was struggling so hard to remember where it was from. My eyes drifted from the paper to my arm where the very same number was. Why has he been writing down my number?

I heard the door open, and my head whipped towards the door in fear as the voice yelled out at me. “What the hell are you doing?”

A/N- Oh my frickin gosh, I have so many ideas for this book, but it’s gonna be hell trying to get to the points that I want to be at!! Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter!! Please vote and comment thanks!!xx