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September 6

"I can come with you," Marla says, peeking at my face as I slump back in my seat and attempt to focus on cramming for the test.

I've just devoured the Oreos she handed me because I felt like I would die if I didn't eat something right away. Not only that but the loud grumbling of my stomach was beginning to make the class laugh. Thankfully, my friends aren't totally shitty so when Marla handed me the blue packet, I smiled at her and finished it straight up.

I try focusing on the teacher standing at the front of the class. She's ticking off the names of the students who have handed in their assignments. I'd managed to get mine done, falling asleep last night with my head over the laptop keyboard. I left a long line of random xcz's halfway across the page. If not for Racheal's call to ask me a question about which country had lost world war II or if I agreed with her that there are no losers or winners in war, I wouldn't even have woken up to finish my paper.

"Tay." Marla nudges my arm. "Let's go to the damn nurse here if you won't see a physician."

I can't help but smile, turning a sarcastic gaze to Marla.

"She's going to give me a bandage and that lollipop poisoned with sugar and tell me to have a nap," I remind her. "You really think that's going to help me?"

Marla sighs, curling one of her dreadlocks on her finger and staring into the distance as her eyes glaze over.

"I'm fine," I reassure my friend.

"I'm worried you're not taking care of yourself," she answers, turning her concerned gaze to me. She's way taller than I am, hunched over so nobody will hear our whispered conversation.

It's not like we're the only ones talking in class. Everyone is waiting for the bell to ring so we can all get out of here and prepare for the football match tonight. On Fridays, nobody in Gordon Blake High has any concern except watching the second match of the series that will determine which team moves to the regionals. Riley, though, wants to know which great college Carlos will get into on football scholarship. Only then can she stalk him there.

"Have you seen how pale you are?" Marla asks.

"Isn't that a good thing? I'll finally be white," I joke.

Marla, who absolutely despises the mention of skin-color and how it makes a difference, puffs out her lips and narrows her eyes. Despite being black, she has never been discriminated against, maybe because she's always so nice to everyone. Not to mention she has the sass of a queen and can slay with her words so nobody dares mess with her.

Nobody messes with me either even though I'm not white either. It's always been a mystery to me why Carter got more racial slurs than I did. We looked nearly the same and yet he was the one people teased. Maybe having supportive friends around me helped me fit in better than Carter ever could. He just never belonged.

"You talk to your mom and dad?" she asks me seriously.

I let out a laugh and fold my arms across my chest, sliding further down in my seat.

"Like it'll make a difference. They don't even hear me anymore," I admit, quickly adding, "but on the bright side, I can stay out late tonight because we no longer have family weekends."

I raise my hand and make a victory sign with my first two fingers, flashing a bright smile. Marla isn't amused, facing the front when the bell rings and students begin to get out of their seats.

"Okay, students, see you next week!" The teacher attempts to say goodbye but the sudden ruckus drowns out her voice. The scraping of metal against concrete echoes in the room as students push their chairs back. Their excitement spreads like a contagion.

My phone buzzes and I look down at it to see Racheal's text.

"They're waiting in the bleachers for us," I tell Marla, putting the phone in my hoodie pocket and standing up. My head feels heavy and I stand still for a moment to get it to stop spinning.

"Let's get snacks," Marla says, winding her arms through mine. With her on my side, I'm more confident I won't lose my balance and break my nose.

"Riley's going to kill us when she sees we didn't wear the outfits to match the team colors." I laugh.

Sure enough, Riley glares when she sees me sliding into the seats after Marla and fitting between her and Racheal.

"You're wearing enemy colors," she nearly yells at me over the noise in the stadium, indicating down at my green hoodie and black jeans.

I shrug, taking my large serving of popcorn and tossing one into my mouth.

"You're wearing --"

"Carter's favorite colors," I answer her.

Riley freezes and so do Marla and Racheal. They look at me like they're expecting me to break down at the mention of my dead brother's name. I won't do it, though, that's not what he would have wanted. He didn't like being pitied so he won't like me using his name to get out of things. Instead of crying, then, I smile.

"I'm wearing my brother's favorite colors and I don't give a shit which team wins today," I repeat louder, not caring who hears me.

Neither of my friends says anything but Marla beams at me. I return her smile, reclining back in my seat and focusing on the flavor of butter melting in my mouth. As the noise increases and the teams march into the stadium so that the roaring gets so loud it makes my head hurt, I dig out my headphones and stuff them in my ears. The loud music booming in my ears isn't too pleasant but it's better than the incoherent yells of football-obsessed high school students with their screechy voices and clapping. Some groups have even made up their own cheer songs, singing slogans at the top of their voices. I focus on Chester's voice instead, tapping my foot in time with the music.

Riley elbows me in the ribs when the match begins. I look up to see approximately two dozen guys walk into the spotlight, forming ranks in the center. With their helmets on, I can't make out who is who. The only difference I can recognizing is by the colors of their uniforms. Green is the defensive unit and white the offensive unit which Carlos will be leading.

I neither have much information nor much interest in what's happening on the field but soon the game is on, with players racing this way and that. I stop paying attention after a while, listening to music and playing candy crush on my phone as I wait for the game to break halfway so I can make up an excuse and go home. Maybe I'll just sneak away and sit in the bathroom for a while instead of going home before returning to the bleachers.

Suddenly the nature of the noise changes and I frown, looking up as the entire crowd rises in one hasty movement.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice inaudible in the roars of panic.

"He's down!" Riley yells at me, her eyes wide in horror.

I attempt to peek at the game past the tall guys before me. They're now standing on their toes and yelling towards the enemy team, blocking my view. Knowing I won't be able to see anything, I turn to my friends who are white-faced and alarmed. Riley's frenzy at Carlos' injury is understandable but I don't know why Marla and Racheal are freaking out. The entire school is yelling and I can't remember the last time everyone was so concerned about Carlos. He might be popular but he's not this liked.

"Is he okay?" I cry out over the sound.

"I sure fucking hell hope so!" Marla shouts back, not tearing her eyes away from the field.

The wailing of ambulance sirens isn't loud enough to be heard over the dreadful sounds of the crowd as medics march onto the field, disappearing out of my view. I get to my feet, tilting my head this way and that. I only catch sight of someone being strapped onto a gurney and being rolled into an ambulance before it drives away in a rush.

Students are yelling and crying, while I continue to frown at the sight. The excitement that had a few moments ago been at its peak has is replaced with pain and anguish. Somehow, I feel like this has more to do than the loss of the game alone.

"What happened to Carlos?" I ask my friends.

Riley frowns. "Carlos? Carlos wasn't the one playing."

I blink, feeling completely clueless.

"Then who got hurt?" I ask.

My friends give me exasperated looks, probably upset at my oblivious attitude. I start to feel bad for not knowing what happened. I'm not a fan of football. But they know that. That's why their annoyance surprises me.

"Shane," Marla says. "Shane Gray got hurt."

Oh, well ... fuck you, universe!

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A/N: I've never felt so disconnected from something I'm writing about. Haha, the only football I know of is soccer as Americans call it so I read through so many rules and team construction websites to get myself acquainted with American Football. If anything still seems amiss, please do educate me, guys. My half-Asian half-UK-based knowledge isn't fit with this story as much :D

Anyways, what are your thoughts about Shane and his injury? Will I break his leg or will he be okay? ;)