alexander's lover

chapter one : INJURED VIOLET

''keep it up'' the lacrosse coach belted, his beer belly moving in sinc with his words. ''motion, motion'' the coach spoke, a group chuckled walking past us, ''it sounded like he said 'oh shit'', one of them said. it was gym, and ginger and i were dressed in our loose fitting uniforms. she prompted watching the lacrosse practice, even though i had no care for it; ginger's whole life revolved around the male student body, and sex, even though she's a virgin . . . sex simulations. she watched intently at how their leg muscles flexed, the grunting and groaning, pushing. she puffed out a breath, the whistle blew, ''i don't think you should smoke with exercising'', a young boy spoke up, ''it's 2018, i can do what i want, get gone freshie'', she shooed him. ''i still don't get why you call them 'freshies'', i piped up, ''we were them last year'' before she could shoot back i was hit with a sudden wave of nausea, my eyes rolled back in my head and the world as i knew it went dark.

heavy, breathing, the sound of ginger struggling, a sudden burst of color, the dull track, my bloody knees, i dropped.

''w t f-uck'' ginger spoke as i opened my eyes, i rubbed them, then tried to sit up. the back of my eyes began to burn in a white heat so i decided to lay my head back on the paper pillow. "wha-" i began, "you were hit in between the eyes with a lacrosse ball, and passed out", ginger interjected. "whe-", "and guess who threw it", she seemed a little too excited during the situation i was currently in, "who-", "jacob fucking-davis". my head hurt too much to shed a tear, flash a smile, or give ginger and standing ovation for remembering a face. "so?" i questioned, "so? he's the single most beautiful male specimen here at washington high", she began, "and my crush", she smoothed out her gym shorts, still sweating from today's activities. "weren't you into mason?" i recalled the blue eyed raven haired man-whore ginger mentally claimed as hers, "i'm over him" she rushed, "he was going to pick you up and take you here but i stopped him". "what, why?" I questioned. "i have a plan, don't worry about it", the nurse walked in with her clip board, shiny plastic heels shining a brilliant red on the tiled floor.

ginger had dragged me to the lacrosse game, normally a teen would have to ask they're mother or father if they could go, and they'd say no, because 'it's a school night', when all i had to do was slip past his sleeping body. lacrosse games, or any game to be honest at washington high, in ridgemont oregon are not your average games. no matter what day of the week, the stadium is packed. it's such a small town, every one holds a familiar, so if you don't attend, you'll be hearing about it the next day at work. people sometimes fly in to see our games, parents waving banners with phases like, ''let's go andy!'', or ''you got this becca!''. college students who attended years ago come to see their home town defend it's title. but for me, i feel like a fish out of water, i never did well at places with a lot of people, or shouting and screaming. ginger always calls me 'mundane', when i'm too shy to ask the store clerk for a paper bag.