"You ready?"

I laughed to myself, then the humor faded as I began to feel self-conscious. Fixing my hair in the mirror, I sighed, then turned back to Uncle Jordan, who was looking at me while tossing his keys in the air.

"I guess..." That seemed like a good enough answer, 'cause he walked past me and mussed my hair with his hand. So much for gel.

"I'm proud of you, Nathan," he mumbled, turning to face me.

"Why?"

"You're doing something. Finally." Jordan laughed again, and so did I, but inside I was feeling queasy. And disturbed. Have I really been acting like a pile of shit these past few days? Huh. I guess I have.

________|)(|________

When we pulled into the school parking lot, I opened the car door and stuck my head through the open window.

"I think I can take it from here," I said to my uncle. He looked surprised, and hurt. His lips moved but no sound came out. The car exhaust blew in my face and I coughed.

"Are you sure? This is your first time, and it'll be rough..." he finally said. Then I felt bad. Jordan played on the school's football team in the year '89. He was tall, muscular, and eye candy for the ladies. All he wanted was to support me.

"I'm fine, Jordan. Pick me up at 5?" He nodded, and in a flash the Porsche left Columbus High School.

Here we go, I thought. Time to show Marc I can play ball.

"Dude, you never told me you play football!" Chris yelled, running towards me. I was halfway towards the field, lugging my huge sports bag on my shoulder. My best friend was already in football attire, number 14, meaning he was on last year's team.

"Yeah, well....I kinda got into a situation, so--"

Chris cut me off, grinning like a lunatic. "Save the shit for school, bro. Come on, Coach Mike is waiting." Again, I felt nervousness rise up, and the feeling of throwing up clouded my mind. 

"You look sick. Are you OK?"

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, and flashed him a smile. "Perfectly fine. Where's the--"

"Ah, look who it is. Little Nathan Quinn, in his girl shorts," a voice tormented me from the sidelines, and I glanced over. How is it that whenever I try to speak, people interrupt me?

"Girl shorts?" I muttered, looking down at my running shorts. They weren't too long or too short.  And when I looked down, one of Marc's minions took the opportunity to give me a wedgie. Literally.

"Hey, uh....dude, put me down..." I kicked the air, and even though I'm six foot, this guy was almost seven.

"Not so fast. Connor, keep him there," Marc smirked. Then he walked up to me, staring into my eyes like a leopard watching its prey. When he finally stood in front of me, he leaned forward, until his nose almost touched mine. 

"I don't want you talking to my ex, asshat. You get me?" He whispered. I peered quickly behind his shoulder, and saw Chris watching the exchange between me and Marc. He was videotaping us.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, my voice shaking a little. Then he ordered his minion to drop me, and I straightened my shirt, happy to have my feet touching the earth.

"Don't go playing this shit, Quinn. We're on thin ice, you and I. Thin ice."