dear all of my lovely positive reviewers...thank you! so so much! for all of the support. it really does mean a lot to see so many open-minded people who understand what love is...

and for that person who decided to...give me a great laugh with their definitely not surprising review..."woman is made for man"? so woman is made only for man. the only purpose...a man's. now youve accomplished being sexist along with homophobic.

mad that im assuming your sexist? well, sorry. im sorry that you assumed the story sucked.

and..."les or no?" les or no?

what does that even mean?

what?

blame it on the stars
oneshot 3: friday night lights (im sorry)

They have tall stands and large football fields at schools. I would know if I got off my butt and went outside and interacted with people. I'm okay with sticking to the paleness and roughness and paper-cut inducing qualities of my drawing pad…but I'm going out into the wild tonight, this dangerously lovely Friday.

"I don't know anybody here. You're stuck talking to me," Mandy remarks, as we march up the silver steps, looking for an empty place to sit (or stand, since no one's really sitting and I don't wanna look lazy. Well. I am.) Or a short enough person to be behind. There's a lot of tall girls. And guys. A lot of tall people in the real world.

"They're all really tall here."

"Thank you. Observant."

Jackson versus Howard. The biggest game of the town. This month. I go to Maitland, and those kids and Howard students tend to be together a lot, so I could maybe find some familiar faces. Explaining my beanie and absence of eyeliner—my best disguise. The noise is loud, immediately irritating me, and colorful (blues for Jackson and Howard oranges). Cheering and jeering and enjoyment. One the field, there's a bunch of identical guys, their shoulders bigger than usual, crashing into each other. Then standing. Waiting. They stand and wait the whole entire time I'm walking up the stands. This isn't a very active game. And the line of twenty or so girls, facing the field, in skirts. Bows so large I can't see the color of their hair.

I don't go to sporting events. I don't go out. But…Mandy suggested we do something, and I mentioned there being the big game tonight, and she mentioned that Charlie cheerleads for the team. (Correct. I knew that full well. Wonderfully aware.) I nodded. As normally as I could. And maybe we can all hang out afterward. Probably not. We're so high up and I won't be able to get even some kind of glimpse at her.

(Do I even want to look at her? Do I want to think about her? I haven't the slightest clue. I know this for certain: I do. But do I want to? Am I accomplishing anything?)

Nothing. I mean, like always.

"You look so conflicted," Amanda states.

"Thank you. Observant."

"It's nothing."

"Exactly. Moody." She's so mean to me sometimes.

A hail arises from the crowd—so booming, it could be happiness and disappointed combined. All the players are at the same end of the field. Something just happened?

Blame it on the Fairlies or on my several incidents of imprisonment or the fact I live asleep or in fear of sleep. But you would think in between all that I would have the desire to be normal and attempt to learn sports. Learn sports? Learn how to sport? Look at me. Amanda calls it cute.

"Slam dunk," she mutters. I laugh. I know that's not what that was. (One thing I'm sure of.)

We must have arrived late to the game. It's a good thirty minutes until it's all done. Amanda will use incorrect terminology for each team gain and I'll scoff. I keep a close eye on the line of cheerleaders…can't spot any difference from any of them. (Do I have that terrible eyesight? I have an artist's eye. I should have the ability to tell them apart. At least…Charlie.)

Some tanned guy spun around at the sound of our laughter and smiled and eye-twinkled and said Hey. Manda nodded. He took a look at me and smiled more. Seemed nice.

Hah.

Howard gloriously mad dashes off the field to the beat of some song that was cleaned extensively for use. I'll be hearing about that in the hallways when they say, like we all don't know it already. And to the few people will tell me—wow, I'm proud of myself—I'll be able to say Yes! I saw it.

And this is fantastic. The crowd disperses, including the action on the field, and the cheerleaders disappear but Charlene comes out quick, meeting us as we descend from the stands.

"I'm a sweaty mess. I would hug both of you, though," She smiles. I'm somewhere between Hold me and Don't touch me, I'll get weird. "You guys showed up! I just got your text."

"For a change," Mandy laughs.

Charlene's face is slightly red from all of the cheering and her hair's a bit frizzy. The blue bow is leaning to the left. She wears a black light jacket, logo for her gymnastics studio in sparkles.

She isn't a mess in the slightest.

She and Manda go off about the game, and I'll nod my head and answer with Yeahs. Here is the thing with me: I am either completely insane and bright or just nothing. Quiet. Do not speak. That is basically my approach. Because my words do a lot of good in my brain and they are meant to stay there. It will not come out as it first sounds. I live by that, I guess. In the daytime when I'm not tired.

"All of the Jackson kids are heading to The Frozen Marble. Wanna tag along?" Charlene asks, fingering her water bottle. Catching my eyes. What do I do. What do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do I look away? Yeah. I look away to ask Manda. I shrug my shoulders. I looked away way too fast.

My life consists of wanting to be near her and scared of getting too close. It can't possibly be constant disappointment like this forever. It can't possibly. Amanda has had the roughest time, ever, than anyone on this planet will ever have, and she's found someone.

Well. It isn't official.

They have the imminent event of being official.

"We're gonna head back to the house," Mandy answers. "But thanks."

"Sure. Thanks for coming." She says good night and I wave and try smiling—whoa, there was a smile back. It paralyzes me for a moment- only a moment!- but I let the lingering brightness of her face blow past my head and leave me. Amanda grabs hold of her handbag and we make our way out of the field.

I'm pretty sure I saw this moments before turning my head back to leave—a lowering of Charlie's shoulders as she walked away. Disappointment?

Sure. I'll let that linger in my mind—a little, just enough, because it's a Friday and I interacted with people and it's really dark outside.

"That was eventful."

"Being around excitement exhausts me."

"Talking to Charlie exhausts you?"

Don't take too long to answer. Do not. "No."

It's very true. I don't. I could never, ever, ever…

It's still early into the night. There are…possibilities. Not often for me. But some.