College is coming soon, and Blake Warner is sure that his life is embedded into the dead-end that is Merritt Hills, Georgia. His mother has assured him millions of times, that money has nothing to do with where his future leads.
But whenever he lie...
| E X P E C T T H E U N E X P E C T E D | • • • 0 . 1
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Hands clapping were all to be heard throughout the entire field, as Blake took a stand, bat awaiting behind him, as Greg Wheeler pitched the ball as fast and far as he could muster. But everyone, including Greg, knew Blake wouldn't miss it.
Blake had only ever missed a pitch if the pitch didn't feel right, or Blake was feeling even more asshole-y than usual.
Gwendolyn sat beside Blake's aunt, Mariam, who commented on the fact that Blake's shoes were ripped, pulled at, and tethered. But what could Gwendolyn do? While even working extra shifts at Luanne's Diner, she still couldn't find the extra money to buy Blake a new pair of cleats.
She knew most kids would've given her a hard time about it. Blake was as understanding as can be, only whispering to his mother's ear that everything would be fine, and that he didn't need those stupid shoes.
Greg Wheeler watched as Blake ran the fastest he'd ever ran to first base, where he stood, his breathing still regular, and his face holding a pair of smug, knowing lips.
People cheered, their faces holding anything but surprise and distaste. But, pride and joy of what happiness Blake had brought the team while still a senior at Merritt Hills High School.
The game had wrapped quickly, and just as Blake was getting ready to go home, he spotted a familiar face in the corner of his eye.
Blake turned, his full attention now bestowed onto the young, now high school graduate. But Brooks hadn't noticed him, until he bent down to pick up the remaining cans and paper bags.
And when he returned back up to his full height—which wasn't very tall—he noticed Blake staring him down, with a stare that only meant trouble.
Turning, Brooks tried to run, while still walking. But Blake only let out a deep chuckle from afar, the toe-curling, heart-wrenching sound had Brooks turning back towards him, the extra trash still in hand.
"Chill, alright? I'm a high school graduate, now, I've grown." Brooks shook his head, trying now to let Blake faze him, just as his mother had taught him, the first time he went home from school crying because of something Blake Warner did.
Brooks' father hated the fact that Blake had the ability to make Brooks cry so easily. He'd always said that Brooks should've just sucked it up, and acted like a man.
Those were the days where Brooks' mother would sit there silently, as her husband spat hateful, hateful things at her only son—who she claimed to be her little boy.
But Brooks understood. His father had always been a merciless, abusive man. Even to his own son who'd never, ever given him a reason to hate him so much.
Maybe, that was why receiving the acceptance letter from UCLA was such a blessing, he'd go far, far away from Merritt Hills. And he'd say goodbye to his picture-perfect family that was created at the expense of him. And he knew it.
He'd heard his mother talking about it when he was just a child, and eavesdropping on his mother and aunt's drunken conversation. First, he'd his mother stutter out a confirmation of the fact that she and Charles—Brooks' father, had been a one night stand.
A one night stand that had lead to a son, an unhappy home, and the rest of her days were now dark with soon-to-be memories of Charles Sutton.
When a hand touched his shoulder, Brooks shrugged it off, his backpack beginning to slip. "Look, can't we just take this opportunity to never talk to each other. I mean, I'm going to school to California in the fall, so just three more months, and then we never have to see each other again."
The words had hit Blake, and he merely smirked, both bulging arms crossing across his chest. "I think not."
