i had fun writing the soccer player's parts.

cl;

I didn't understand why Massie had picked me up that Tuesday morning wearing school colors (complete with dark blue and silver eyeshadow) until she walks out of History, the last class of the day, with me, and instead of turning for the front gates like we usually do, keeps going straight towards the soccer field.

"Mass? Where are we going?" I ask her, even if I have a pretty good idea where. "Really, Mass? Since when were you into school sports?"

"C, I've always loved this school," Massie coos loudly as the soccer team runs by, wearing their blue uniforms. I try my hardest not to look for Derrick, but it's too late, his big brown eyes have already found me. I look directly at Massie, ignoring Derrick. "And I love our soccer team."

I raise an eyebrow, smiling. "And what's our team name?"

"Like, the Pirates right?" She asks. "Okay. Fine. I might not have always loved this school or it's soccer team, especially since I used to think organized sports were a waste of time and money, but I've been enlightened by um, the Organized Sports Buddha, and -"

"Okay, Mass. Spill. Which soccer player is it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Kuh-laire," Massie says, widening her amber eyes and looping her arm through mine as we walk towards the soccer field. "I'm here for the rush of adrenaline that you get when your team scores a point. Well, the alleged rush of adrenaline, the Organized Sports Buddha wasn't all that convincing."

"Is it Kemp? Because trust me, you don't need to show up at his soccer games to get him," I tell her.

"Who's Kemp?" Massie asks, scrunching up her nose.

"It's Josh, isn't it? He's cute. He has like a sunglasses fetish, though," I say. "But he has a leather jacket, which makes up for it, and he looks like Josh Hartnett did in Pearl Harbor, and personally, Josh Hartnett is way better than Ben Affleck, even though I'd say I like Ben Affleck more than Matt Damon."

"I never realized you talked so much, C," Massie yawns. "But more importantly, where are your school colors?" Massie asks as we sit down in the bleachers, which are cold from the October weather. I roll my eyes and lean forward, examining the game.

"So, what position does your mysterious soccer player play?" I ask Massie, squinting at the field.

"Um, he kicks the ball into the goal."

"What position is that?"

"I dunno. Isn't it like, every position besides the... goal protector?" Massie asks. She frowns. "This sport shit is hard." She digs around her bag and pulls out a bottle of water. After watching Massie taking a long sip from it, I realize it isn't water. And I sigh.

"people line up to receive

she got the current in her hand

just shock you like you won't believe"

the tomahawks;

-jh

Holy shit, are Claire Lyons and Massie Block sitting in the bleachers?

-kh

So I'm looking at the crowd, you know, of my admirers, and I see this big gap in the middle of the bleachers, and I'm like, what the hell? And then I see who's sitting in the middle of the gap: Claire fucking Lyons and Massie fucking Block. At a fucking soccer game. That's fucking sick.

-dh

Even now that I know why Claire didn't talk to anyone at school now, I'm still amused out of my mind when I see that she's come to watch the game, and there's this huge space around her and Massie like a forcefield or some shit. It's not even a forcefield that maybe a couple of losers would get. It's like a forcefield of... admiration. Which sounds gay, but you have to see it to get it.

Why is Claire here, anyway?

-cp

Fuck, it's Claire Lyons. Holy fuck, it's Massie Block.

But you know what's even more impressive? That guy in the front row has salt and vinegar chips.

-cf

I blink, shake my head, blink again, then squint. "Dude, just because your eyes are different colors, does not mean you're not blind," Kemp says to me.

"Yeah, but is that -" I point to the bleachers.

"Claire Lyons and Massie Block? Yep. I thought I was hallucinating too. Then I realized, why wouldn't they be here? I'm a babe," Kemp laughs, jogging away, popping an imaginary collar.

I look back at Massie. I thought she was being sarcastic when she said she would watch a game at Plovert's party, maybe lying, acting on impulses.. I mean, she had been smoking weed. She was pretty high.

Massie catches me looking and gives me a small wave, mouthing 'good luck'. And I turn to make sure that a European prince or a Hollywood movie star isn't behind me.

"Dude, game's starting," Josh calls, wacking me on the back of my head as he runs past me.

"Yeah," I mumble.

"one look sends it coursing through the veins, oh how the feeling races

back up to their brains to form expressions on their stupid faces

they don't want to say hello, like i want to say hello

my heartbeat's at its peak, when you're coming up to speak"

cl;

I gasp and start poking Massie repeatedly. "What?" She asks, sounding annoyed.

"It's Cam?" I exclaim, probably louder than I meant to, because people started staring at us. "It's Cam?" I whisper, but I guess it was still pretty loud because they kept staring. Massie nods, a hint of a smile on her face.

I smile too, actually happy for her, because in the eight years that I had known her, her boyfriends hadn't been that great. Most were from the city, some were older, most were just bad. But Cam? Cam is here. Cam is nice. Cam has two different colored eyes, which is really actually cool.

I can't help it, I give Massie a hug. "Okay, wow, um, next time I'll make sure go after someone you disprove, because I really can't breathe right now," she says. I let go.

We watch the game, until they take their first break. Then, Massie stands, and I stand with her. We walk down the bleachers, to where the future WAGs of America – Alicia Rivera, Oliva Ryan, Heather and Meena (no one bothers getting their last names) are sitting, cheering them on. When Massie arrives, they shut up, quietly taking out their phones and texting (presumably) each other.

Cam is at the plastic fold-up table, draining a bottle of Gatorade. He looks Massie and starts choking. I look down and smile at the effect Massie has on him. Not even just him, Kemp and Josh were suddenly moving towards the plastic table, and even a couple players from the other team were looking.

"Massie," Cam says, trying to act cool after choking.

"Hey, Cam," Massie greets. "Um, so, I told you I would watch a game. And here I am. Watching a game." She nods. "So, are we winning or losing?" Massie asks slowly.

Cam laughs quietly while Alicia pipes up, "We're winning, one to zero."

Massie frowns. "But that's only a point."

Cam raises an eyebrow. "You don't watch a lot of soccer, do you?"

I let them talk. "Claire," a familiar deep voice says. It's not really a greeting, just kind of a statement.

I turn. "Derrick," I murmur.

He looks at me up and down. "How are you?"

I know what he means. I still decide to go with the obvious, "Fine," because A, Alicia the gossip queen is right behind me with a cell phone, and B, Derrick is never ever going to play therapist again. I'm pretty sure I was like, PMS-ing or something that day, so half of it was just hormones.

"I think we should meet again for the project," he offers. "Maybe actually get something done this time."

I nod and look at Massie, who looks nowhere near done with her conversation. I face Derrick again. "Um, so, Saturday at nine? The library? I checked, it's open on Saturdays."

He nods, and a whistle blows. "It's a date." And before I can tell him it's not a date of any kind, he's gone.

A/N: this chapter sucked. sorry ]: lyrics are from a band commonly known as MGMT - and the lead singer of this band commonly known as MGMT is smokin', with the coolest name ever: andrew vanwyngarden. isn't that fucking epic? it's like julian casablancas. i can imagine me being 'ana vanwyngarden/casablancas' one day. :D i'm sorry. i feel giddy. [the second set of lyrics are from the arctic monkeys]

ugh. this was such a lame chapter, guys. i'm sorry. ]:

&thank you for your review, luvclique194 and amber311.