CHAPTER 1
The slender blonde leaned against the arm of the couch feeling herself starting to fall over. If it weren't for the arm in question she would have without a doubt been on the floor. Yes. Tyra Collette was drunk. Probably more drunk than she'd been in awhile. But hey, her current situation called for it. She didn't even want to come to this damn party. She rarely ever attended the many Dillon parties anymore. She glances over at a few of the Sophomore girls that she had never taken the time to even acknowledge whispering and looking right at her. She didn't need to ask. She knew what they were whispering about. It was the same reason that they had thrown water on Lyla Garrity at the football game last week. Not that she felt sorry for Lyla. She'd never liked her. Not since they met in the first grade.
No, she didn't blame her. Not entirely. She blamed him. This was his fault. A few days ago in the hallway at school when she asked him if he was in love with her he didn't answer. But his eyes did the talking. They always did. They never had to talk. She could always look at him and know what he was thinking or what he wanted from her. At least partly. But that didn't matter anymore. Nothing involving Tim Riggins mattered to her anymore. She was through. Through trying to be there for him. Through trying to be let in. Through dealing with his rapid mood swings. Through giving a damn about him. Through with it all.
Figures. Just as she's thinking about this she spots him across the room. He's skulking in the corner with a few of the Panthers listening to them talk. He is the only one without a beer in his hand. He'd probably quit for Lyla. Like that was going to make her love him back. Please. In a way, Tyra was happy for him. While they were together most of their bigger fights (and pretty much all quarrels in general) had been fueled by alcohol. He would even get drunk before their dates which had always annoyed her. No. She would not let herself care about him. He was on his own. She was on her own. This is way it should be. Lyla did her a favor.
She looks away quickly with an eye roll as he looks her way, his eyes partly on the floor. She tryed to focus on the countertop in the kitchen but ended up meeting the eyes of Smash Williams who was talking to some girl by the refridgerator. She gives him a smile, raising her plastic cup. He smiles back doing the same. She'd always liked Smash. He was good looking. Motivated. Had his head in the right place. He had always treated her with respect. And it was no secret that he'd always liked her. A big plus was that Tim hated him. Since they started playing on the Panthers together anyway. It was almost like they were both threatened by each other but weren't man enough to admit it. Typical guy drama. Don't ask, don't tell, just hate with a passion for no reason spoken. Their flirtation with one another was an easy way to make Tim jealous. And as much as Tyra hated to admit it she got off on it. Jealousy was a weapon she always used well.
Her eyes wander back to the corner of the room and she notices that he's left the group. He had probably seen her and bailed. Pussy. That was so Tim. Not wanting to deal with anything. The same reason he waited so long to visit Jason in the hospital. That was what she disliked, even hated, about him the most. His inability to face anything. To acknowledge anyone but himself. Whatever. She took another sip of her beer, finishing it off, and grabbed another from the pack on the floor. She pops it open and stumbles towards the back hallway to the bedrooms. She needed to lie down. Getting drunk alone sounded pretty great right now.
She turns as someone bumps into her, causing half of the bottle to spill on the floor and then on her new shirt. "Goddamn it! What the hell?!"
It was Bart Oliver. "Hey baby. What's going on? How you doing tonight?" He touches the ends of her blonde hair and she defensively swats him away. He was even more drunk than she was.
"How am I doing? Not that well seeing as I now have beer on the front of my shirt because of your dumb, drunk ass." Tyra hisses trying to get past him. He slams his arm hard against the wall blocking her way past him. She narrows her eyes. "Not tonight, alright Bart? I'm not in the mood for this right now. Really. Just get out of my face."
He tries to touch her with the other hand and she swats it away again, harder this time so he might get the message that the last thing that she wanted was to be touched by him of all people. Going out on a date with him was the biggest mistake she'd made in a long time. What a loser. "You know I was standing over there watching you thinking-"
"Oh, you were actually thinking? Wow. There's a shock." She makes a face when he touches her hair again, pushing him away this time. "Get the hell off of me."
He puts his free hand up in a surrendered position, keeping the other one firmly against the wall. "No one's touching anybody, baby. I was thinking that our date last week didn't go too well and that I want to take you out again. Come on, give me another chance. I'll take you places you ain't never been. I promise."
Tyra laughs, trying not to lose her temper. Her temperment always got worse when she was intoxicated. In fact, stories of her drunken scenes at parties were legendary at Dillon High. "Right. That'll definately happen. But right now," She pushes hard on his arm against the wall, causing him to drop it and hold it to his chest in pain, "I suggest that you pick up one of the rally girls over there, take her back to your truck, have your way with her, and then go home and sleep it off."
He's silent, shocked by her verocity. "But let me give you a little advice. When you do go home, don't think about me. Because even your fantasy of me, whatever that may be, is too good for you." She turns to leave and then turns back to him. "Oh, and one more thing. Touch me again tonight or any other night and I'll cut off that dick of yours that you're so proud of. Got it?"
And with that, she made her way back down the hallway and into a dark bedroom.