Sugar, We're Going Down- Fall Out Boy

I had been standing out in the ninety degree weather all by myself getting more and more pissed off for thirty minutes. Last night I had called Coach Nelson and told him to tell Edward to meet me at the school's practice field at ten o'clock the next morning. So where is he?

Not here!

I had brought all of the things that I thought would tire him out the quickest: cones, ladders, hurdles, even a parachute in case the wind picked up. It became pretty apparent, though that I wouldn't be needing any of this.

How could anyone be such a jerk? First he's a total douche bag to me right when we first met and now he's not even going to give me a phone call or any other kind of message to tell me he's not coming? I was beginning to wonder if any of this was even worth being captain.

And then I heard it. Loud, obnoxious, bass-filled music. Not long after I heard the music did I see the culprit. Nodding his head to the beat of the foreign sounding music- otherwise known as rap- Edward parked his jeep next to my car and turned off the engine. He climbed out and walked over to where I was standing in the middle of the field. He stopped when he got a couple feet away from me and just stood there, staring at me.

"Well?" He finally said. He seemed impatient.

" 'Well' what?" I asked, crossing my arms and shifting my weight to one leg.

"Are we going to get this thing started today or should I come back later?"

Oh hell no!

"Excuse me?" I snapped. "I have been waiting for you to show up for over half an hour! I specifically said ten o'clock. Where have you been?"

"Yeah, well, I had other things to do."

I really had to bite my tongue at this. I knew fighting wouldn't get us anywhere. "Fine, let's start off with-" I realized what he was wearing and almost burst into laughter.

The moron had on a black t-shirt, black, sagging jeans, and a pair of green high-top Converse.

"What are you wearing?"

He looked down at his outfit. "What's wrong with this?" he asked, honestly confused.

"What's not wrong with it? How do you expect to run in jeans that are practically hanging around your ankles? And last time I checked, those weren't running shoes. Plus, everyone knows that black is the worst possible color to wear to work out in when it's this hot out. You'll be begging for death by the second lap."

"Whoa, what are you talking about? You brought me out here to work out?"

"Why else would I have told you to meet me at a soccer field? To read a book?"

"Fine then. Seeing as how the way I'm dressed right now will be the death of me we should just cancel."

"Oh yes. Because we wouldn't anything to happen to you, would we?" I said sarcastically. With a sigh I begin to pack up all of my equipment and walk over to my car.

"Get in." I tell him once we're back by our cars.

"What?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Get in." I say more slowly and open my car door.

He glances around as if to make sure no one is watching and then gets into the passenger seat.

"What are we doing here?" he asks as I pull into a parking space at Mike's Sporting Goods.

"You need new clothes," I say as if was obvious.

We walk inside and immediately head for the men's section.

"You have different colored t-shirts besides just black, right?"

His only response is a shrug.

Idiot.

"Fine. What size shirt are you?" He just stares. "Turn around." I pull at the back of his shirt to see what size he is. I grab a couple of different colored shirts- not black- from the rack . "What size shorts are you?" I finally get a response but soon wish I hadn't.

A smirk comes to his face and he raises an eyebrow provocatively. "Do you wanna look?"

I resist the urge to knee him in the groin. Asshole.

Instead I shoot him a look and hand him a pair that I think will fit.

"Take these and try them on."

With a small chuckle he takes the clothes and walks over to the fitting rooms.

Several minutes later he comes back out and hands me the clothes.

"How do they fit?"

"Fine."

"Good. We'll get some more in the same size, then. Do you have a pair of runners?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

He shakes his head and I take off to the shoe section. After several minutes of just standing there, looking up at the wall of shoes, I practically scream at him to pick a pair. Then, while we were at it, we picked out a nice pair of neon green cleats.

When we made our way up to the checkout counter I pulled out my wallet, but Edward stopped me.

"It's my stuff, I'll pay for it."

"Well I'm making you get it. Therefore, I will pay." When I saw that he was about to argue I shushed him.

"Tomorrow. Here. At 6:30 a.m. Don't be late. And please wear the appropriate attire next time." I had him his bag of newly purchased items.

We're back at the field, standing in the deserted parking lot.

"Whatever you say, Coach," he mumbles and throws the bag into his car.

I ignore this. "Wear your cleats but bring your runners. And you'll probably want to break them in tonight. Just wear them while you soak your feet in warm water."

He looked at me like I was a retard.

"Just do it," I ordered, then thought of something. "Give me your cell phone." I held out my hand.

"What for?"

I replied by sticking my hand our farther. He sighed and slapped his phone into my palm. I flipped it open and sent myself a text message.

"Was there a reason for that?"

"So that I have your number in case you decide not to show up tomorrow."

He rolled his eyes and took his phone back. Without saying anything he turned and got in his car and drove away. I could still hear his music even after his jeep had disappeared around the corner.

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