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 . 2
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Mitchell Haling, a fellow teammate, had invited Blake to a party. But not just any party, the annual beginning of summer party. And Blake had been attending each and every end of summer since he was just fifteen-years-old, and had just gotten his braces taken off.
But, Brooks, Brooks had never gone to one before. But when his mother and father began their usual spat, he knew it'd end badly, so badly he may even get a little bit of it before his father inevitably left. Wherever the hell he ever left.
He watches from the entryway of the dining room, as his father shouts loudly, his ears twinging red in anger.
Brooks takes this opportunity to snatch his father's keys to the Porsche from the keychain, and bolts out of the doorway. Even when Charles threatens to destroy Brooks' guitar.
But still, Brooks slams the front door to the home that had a nice outside, but once you opened the front door, his father's ways would suck you in. And there was no getting out.
Brooks knew this for a fact.
He drove in silence, while Blake did the same.
Blake wanted to get hammered, as Mitchell Haling would say. He wanted to celebrate the fact that high school was over, and of course, he wasn't going anywhere. It was still nice to know that he wouldn't have to go back to Merritt Hills High.
Just as Brooks began pulled in, so did Blake, the two's car's only merely inches away from one another.
Brooks' heart raced at the scene unfolding before him, as Blake seemed just fine, him sliding his torso through the window to shout over at Brooks.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" The question seemed like a trick or trifle, as though he was waiting for Brooks to answer, and then he'd strike. Just like Brooks had been expecting him to since the school bell rang, and his high school days were over.
Brooks pushed the drivers side door open, his eyes almost bulging. "What the hell is your problem? You saw me going for this spot—"
"Yes, but I also wanted the spot. What was I supposed to do? Let you have it? Come on, Sutton, you know that's not how I role." His dark skin was illuminated beneath the light of the moon, his teeth as white and shiny as ever.
"Not how you role? Are you serious right now? No, I'm done. I came here to have a good time, not get into whatever the hell your angle is." And with that, he slammed the car door shut, and made his way to the front door of Mitchell Haling's home.
Blake's eyebrows arose at the sight of Brooks' father's Porsche left in middle of the driveway, Brooks letting himself into the booming, loud home. Where he knew the night most-likely wouldn't end well for him.
But he didn't care.
Blake ran up beside Brooks, his lips once again, curled into that smug kinda of smirk that had Brooks wanting to bash his head in. "Alright? You wanna be done? Let's play a game. One game, and if you win, I won't bother you for the rest of the summer."
Brooks thought, and thought, until he finally turned to Blake, with a face that both meant seriousness and business.
"Fine," he began, "but one game. And if I win, you leave me alone until I leave for school. Deal?"
Blake smirked, once more—him, of course, having us angle thought of and planned. "Deal."
