Sorry the updates are so slow on this story. I'll try to do better. Enjoy!

Mercedes used to swear that she'd never go to a football game at her school, but sitting on the cold bleachers on the visitor's side of the field with the rest of the colored folks in attendance, she realized how times had changed. She kept her eyes focused on the game, but she still felt the glares of some still-bitter whites burning into her back. It was something she should have been used to, but she never thought she'd get to that point. Being hated for something so simple would always confuse and scare her.

"Mercedes Jones." She snapped her eyes away from the football team and looked up to see that Ms. Corcoran had come over to their area of the bleachers.

"Ms. Corcoran…"

"Call me Shelby, we're not in class," she said, waving it off and sitting down beside her.

"Okay well, no offense, but what are you doing over here?" Mercedes asked.

"I assumed it'd be better company," Shelby replied with a shrug. As if on cue, one of the fathers sitting on the home side of the field began screaming obscenities and ranting about how they wouldn't be losing if it weren't for those damn—

"I can see that," she said, looking away and trying not to focus on the man's words. There were now two colored boys on the team and no one would admit that they were actually doing slightly better with them.

"So why are you here? You didn't strike me as a football fan," the older woman asked. Mercedes bit her lip and glanced at Sam, who was now sitting on the bench after playing the whole first half. He'd already been staring over at her with a grin on his face, obviously elated she finally came to a game to see him play.

"I'm not…I just didn't have anything to do," she explained.

"I guess that's a reason," Shelby said, smiling.

When the game ended, Mercedes stayed seated until even the coaches were gone and the lights had shut off. She was actually terrified to be alone, in the dark, and in the South, but she tried not to think about it. She was tough and she repeated this fact to herself.

When she felt enough time had passed, she went to the parking lot and smiled when she saw his car sitting under the light. She hurried over and knocked on the passenger window. He reached over and unlocked it so she could pull it open before she got in.

"I think you waited a lot longer than you had to," he told her, smirking.

"Better safe than sorry. How does it look if someone like me is sneaking around the football field late at night when she's supposed to be at her friend's house? It spells trouble, Sam."

"At least you're here now," he replied, reaching over to grab her hand.

"Yeah. I am," she said, smiling down at his hand.

"I wish I could take you out more," he complained after a few moments of silence. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him. He was staring at the dashboard biting his lip and she sighed.

"You don't have to. I'm not really into all that stuff anyway."

"I want the option, Mercedes. I want to take you to the cinema or a fancy dinner and have to listen to you tell me over and over how you're not really into that stuff, the whole while with a little smile on your face. Like a real couple," he told her, squeezing her hand.

"We are a real couple. Realer than most in our school, anyway. We're not just for show." He cracked a smile at that and nodded, leaning over the middle to softly kiss her lips.

"You're right. But it would be nice to show you off," he whispered.

"You wouldn't get the reaction you're thinking of," she responded. "They'd laugh or throw things or worse…"

"Yeah? Well we'll just have to stay together until people aren't idiots anymore. Even if it's one hundred years from now."

Mercedes bit her lip and furrowed her eyebrows. Sam's hand was on her cheek and he was still leaning across the middle, his face not far from hers. He was smiling as if he didn't realize the intensity of his statement. They'd been going out for a minute and he was acting as if nothing stood in their way and he planned to spend his life with her. She liked that he felt so strongly about things…about her, but it was also a little strange. He was a little strange.

"Penny for your thoughts, beautiful?"

"Nothing. Just…hopefully it doesn't take one hundred years," she replied.

Later that night, after sitting in the empty school parking lot talking about anything and everything, Sam took her home. She argued and told him she could just walk, but it was dark and in his opinion, driving with her in the car would be less dangerous than her walking home alone. 'There are sick people in this town, Mercedes,' he told her, waving a hand at her protests until she broke down and gave him directions. She figured she could always duck if another car passed.

"I like your house," he said when they arrived.

"It looked like every other house on this block," she replied, rolling her eyes. She reached for the door handle, but he beat her to it, pulling her hand away and touching her face so she could face him.

"No kiss goodnight?" he asked, grinning. She rolled her eyes again at his antics and leaned over to press her lips against his. He responded eagerly, taking in her bottom lip and nibbling on it, causing her to smile into the kiss. She began to pull away and he followed her, deepening it.

"Sam…" When she spoke, he gave her small pecks to tempt her to move back in closer to him.

"What? No 'congratulations on the game' kiss?"

"You lost," she retorted, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean for effort," he amended, grinning sheepishly.

"I have to go, Sam."

"One more."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she sighed dramatically and leaned in to kiss him again. He let her go after this one, watching her go inside and biting his lip. She turned and waved once more before going into the house.

He drove off, turning on the radio and failing to notice the little boy staring down through the curtains of the second floor.

Chris was having a major inner struggle. The night before, when he saw his sister kissing a white boy in a nice car, it completely baffled him. White boys were the reason he hated going to school. They'd jeer at him on the sidewalk and the bus, reminding him of what he was worth to them and how they'd like it better if her were dead, and his sister was necking with one. It didn't make any sense. White folks were the reason for his unhappiness and he thought possibly Mercedes wasn't in her right mind.

So when the opportunity to make sure she remembered what they were like presented itself, he was uncharacteristically grateful. On the way to the bus stop, he'd been ambushed and sucker punched by a few white boys his age, resulting in a black eye and a busted lip. It hurt, and he went home with tears in his eyes, but at the moment as he watched his father pacing angrily in the kitchen, his mama pressing a wet cloth to his eye and Mercedes clenching her fists at the table in front of him, he realized how easy it would be for him to take care of what he saw the night prior. He only saw the boy she was with briefly, but he'd do his best.

"Hateful…just hateful…" his mother murmured as she dabbed his face.

"It hurts, Mama," he said, milking it. Mercedes's expression hardened. She hated seeing her little brother this way.

"Whoever did this to you can go straight to hell," she scowled, glaring at his busted lip.

"Mercy. Language," her father scolded. She sighed and clenched her fists more.

"Who did it?" she asked.

"Why? What are you going to do about it?" her mother intercepted, raising an eyebrow.

"I just want to know," she said, sighing. Chris looked between him and took a deep breath, hoping he was a convincing liar because it was necessary. He rarely told tales.

"It was…a high schooler," he said, gulping. Mercedes's eyes bulged and he went on. "He just attacked me. Pulled his…blue convertible up on the sidewalk and hopped out, calling me names and punching me in the face. When I didn't fight back, he laughed and spat on me then got back in the car with his friends. It was so random, Mama…"

Their mother shook her head stopped dabbing his face, pulling him closer to her so his head rested on her bosom and muttering 'poor baby' over and over. Mercedes looked uneasy.

"Blue convertible?"

"Yeah. He was tall and blond with big scary hands. His car had those tires with the white stripe on 'em," he added, glancing at her to gage a reaction.

She was staring at the table with her eyebrows furrowed.

"Did he have big lips and a letterman jacket?" she asked.

"Yeah! Yeah, he did! And his friends called him…" Chris paused to pretend like he was trying to remember.

"Sammy?" Mercedes supplied, taking the bait.

"Yes! Do you…do you know him?" he asked her. He could see the hurt in her eyes and almost took it back, but he knew what he was doing was right for her. For them.

"Not really. I have a class with him," she answered quietly.

"You still have that pepper spray, right Baby Girl?" her father asked. She nodded and stood from the table, going to her room without another word.