Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“That’s what I was trying to say,” the football player said. “He asked me to give tickets to someone called The Mime?”
Piper looked like she’d been punched. She turned to me, lips parted, eyes flashing angrily.
I felt as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water over my head.
“What? What’s happening? Who’s a mime?” Kiersten asked, frantically looking to the others for an explanation.
You’d have thought we’d just heard the school was closing down with the panic she was showing in her eyes at this turn of events.
“Well. You must have made quite an impression,” Piper said, rolling her eyes and shoving the now-torn envelope towards me.
“Wait, really? This is for me? Why?” I asked the freshman.
The player shrugged. “No idea. They’re amazing seats though— in the reserved section for guests of senior players. So, you know. Go.” He shook his head. “Look, I’ve got the team meal, so I gotta bounce. See you at the game I guess, Mime,” he said, then darted out of the doorway and down the steps.
Kiersten and Piper reeled around to me. “What did you do at that party?” Kiersten asked.
“Nothing! Seriously, nothing. I don’t know why he gave me these,” I said, holding the envelope away from me, like it might contain poison.
“This is bullshit,” Piper said bitterly. But then she blinked and seemed to compose herself. “Those are just…tickets,” Piper said, shrugging dismissively. “Nobody even needs tickets to the first game.”
“I don’t understand. Is this a joke?” I asked, but I was talking mostly to myself by now. I set the tickets down on the counter and folded my arms over my stomach. Was Jacob Everett making fun of me? I was horrified, not just with him, but with myself for caring so much.
I wasn’t supposed to get taken in by this kind of silliness. I wasn’t supposed to be competing for the attentions of some obnoxious jock who thought a pair of tickets and a pre-game blowjob were the height of romance.
“Hey, congrats, tickets to the season opener,” Piper called over snippily. “Come on, Kiersten, we have to go.” She grabbed Kiersten’s hand and started tugging her toward the door. I watched Kiersten stumble after Piper.
This was insane. All this bitterness over what? A guy who didn’t care about any of us?
“Wait, what am I supposed to do with these?” I asked. “I don’t even like football, and I’m not interested in Jacob Everett.”
“Whatever you want. They’re great seats, apparently,” Piper said, mocking the freshman player as she said the last bit. Kiersten gave me a pitying shrug before she allowed herself to be pulled out the door. I was left alone, still in my pajamas, a pair of apparently fancy football tickets sitting on the kitchen counter.
The game started at three-thirty, I remembered. Which meant I needed to get to the student center.
Two hours later, I was on my way home with a handful of shopping bags, two boxes of cereal, and still seventy dollars in cash left in my pocket. I was delighted— I’d easily scalped the tickets for two hundred dollars each at the student center. Jacob Everett thought he’d make a joke at my expense? Call me The Mime?
It’s Sasha, thanks, jackass.
At home, I admired the new dresses I’d gotten. They were far more expensive than anything I’d have normally bought (which wasn’t really saying much, given that my motto was Viva Old Navy!), but I was particularly hungry to spend Jacob’s ticket money on something frivolous.
I did a bit more unpacking, then stared at the television. It was nearly three-thirty, and the game would be on soon. I had no interest in attending a Harton football game, but watching one didn’t seem wholly terrible. I clicked the television on and, after negotiating with the variety of remotes that were on the coffee table, found my way to the game.
The stadium looked wild— a sea of green and gold, people screaming, painted bodies and wigs and streamers and banners. The players themselves looked almost comically small when the camera panned out for a wide overhead shot that had to be coming via blimp or something— tiny dots on a green field. They were playing someone wearing white— I had no idea who— and the sportscasters kept flashing names and stats across the screen. I tucked my knees up under me and tried to make sense of the game, which was just now kicking off.
It was hard to follow, given my total ignorance of football. Just when I thought I’d figured out what a “down” was, something would happen to mess it all up in my head. If I were being totally honest, I thought the halftime show was more entertaining than the game itself, and was sad that they kept interrupting the marching band to interview football experts or former players or whoever. By this point, I’d already collected my biology book and started flipping through it. I was moments from muting the television altogether when I heard a name I knew.