Football players are assholes. I know; I'm related to their king. My older, and annoyingly overprotective, brother Jake is the star quarterback at Santa Cruz High School. I love him but hate living in his shadow. Everyone worshiping the air he breat...
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A horrible mood pried open my eyes on Thursday morning. We normally had a game tomorrow, but this week was a bye. With a Friday night off, this weekend was the perfect opportunity to take out Ellie. Technically, I told her I'd do that, but after she admitted to not seeing me at the animal shelter, I only heard silence from that girl all week. She had no reason to contact me, and I took a break from my plan to pursue her because the more I was around her and the more she opened up, the more confused she made me. My plan ended with Ellie in tears and Jake so wound up that he got himself ejected, but my motives blurred the moment she got upset at my expense.
I needed a break. Separation of time and distance was supposed to reset my priorities like during camp... except now it didn't work. A week passed, and my only change was an unexplainable rising irritation. My mood started when my fist punched Meade's ribs, and it grew each day since. Like poison, it swept through me, made me squirm wherever I sat, and turned my mood to shit.
My mind fucked with me at the weirdest moments, derailing my efforts to forget about Ellie. She popped into my mind more times than I comfortably admitted, but highlights always appeared whenever I stretched out in bed and groaned at the morning lump in my underwear. My worst reminders were in the post-practice showers when guys shared their weekend plans. Once again, Cole's parents weren't home, and our 3-0 start needed apparent celebration.
No, scratch that. The worst was my morning stiffness, but the fact I had no plans with Ellie made me tense from head to toe. Hot showers alleviated some of it, but a murderous look in my eyes reflected in my bathroom mirror. I palmed my face with my towel and scrubbed until my nose and cheeks were pink, which I wished worked for my brain.
I checked my phone obsessively for a message from her, any message. At this point, I would've welcomed an insult. A few times, I swore I saw Ellie at school. Impossible, but I hadn't noticed how many short, dark brown-haired girls attended Salesian. I did now.
My Thursday morning pissed-off mood exploded when I came downstairs to Mom's house, the front yard, and my truck trashed with toilet paper, raw eggs, and shaving cream. "What the fuck!?" I stepped through the mess blocking the front door. Once I reached the pile of shit my truck parked under, I tightened my fists and braced myself for actual damage. Thankfully, aside from swear words about Salesian and me painted on every side, the exterior seemed intact. No punctured tires or broken windows this time, but fuck.
"Logan, manners - oh my." Mom's face fell as she stood in the front doorway. Her hands clutched the opening of her robe, and the question 'why?' hung in her eyes. I clenched my fists tighter, my skin burning hotter the longer I looked at our front yard. "Who would do this?"
Harrison, no doubt, but I mumbled, "I dunno." Her car was also intact but trashed. I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick picture.
Me: Good morning to me. Anyone else? Me: [ image attached ]
