The Player

Chapter 9

Brielle

7:04 AM

I placed both of my hands on Scott's chest, trying to push him away from Christopher, but to no avail.

The two stared at each other, their jaws tight, waiting for the other to make the first move. Before that

could happen, I butted in.

"Please, don't do this. I've had a bad enough day as it is," I pleaded to Scott, my eyes round. He grew

hesitant as his glare softened, not knowing whether to listen to me or not. I assumed he chose the

latter when he averted my eyes, locking onto Christopher's once more. All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

I grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at me. "Please, just be my brother and listen to me." I let my

eyes be vulnerable, and express all of the hurt that I had experienced today already.

"Please," I whispered.

He gave me a small nod before turning towards Christopher, his finger now pointed at his chest.

"If you ever get near my sister again, by the time I'm through with you, you're going to wish you were

dead." I figured that then wasn't the right time to tell him about me and Christopher's joint punishment.

He wrapped his arm around me, comforting me, while we left the principal's office. Once we were a

good distance away, I stopped, turning towards him.

"Why do you and Christopher hate each other?" I questioned. This question had been bugging me ever

since the incident in my driveway. "Shouldn't you guys be friends since you're both on the football

team?"

His face grew pale, his eyes quickly flashing an emotion that I couldn't quite decipher.

"Drop it." He clipped, turning away from me. I would usually just let it go, but whatever happened was

important enough for him to punch Christopher in the face. And whether I liked Christopher or not,

between practicing for the showcase and scraping the gum off the bleachers, I was going to be

spending a lot of time with him.

"No," I demanded, moving in front of him. "You always shut me out, but not with this. Not when

whatever is going on between you two affects me. I deserve to know." I crossed my arms, standing my

ground.

"I said," he spat out, his voice basically dripping with venom, "Drop it." He stormed down the hallway,

leaving me standing there alone.

"Fine." I mumbled under my breath, turning around and heading for my second period class. His

suddenly moodiness was only the cherry on top of an already bad day.

I huffed. If all of Junior year was going to be like this, then it was going to be one rocky ride.

*****

"Can you pass the spray?"

Christopher and I were currently scraping the gum out from under the bleachers. I nearly gagged when

I saw how much ground there was to cover. I didn't think that the punishment could get any worse, but

after I took one look under the seats, I was proven wrong. All the metal underneath was hidden,

covered by a layer of multi-colored gum.

I took the spray from by my feet and threw it at Christopher. It was immature of me, but considering that

he was nearly a foot taller than me, it was the best I could do to let out my frustration.

"Are you seriously mad at me?" he questioned, picking up the bottle and spraying the hardened gum.

My head whipped in his direction, shocked that he would actually have the nerve to ask me that.

"Yes Christopher," I fumed. "I am mad at you. Anyone would be after all the crap that you put me

through." I began scraping more viciously, imagining the dried paste as Christopher's face.

He stopped scraping, now turning his attention towards me. "But you poured water on me, so now

we're even."

Are you kidding me?

I threw my scraper into the bucket, making a loud clang. I was so mad that I couldn't even focus on the

task at hand.

"You lied that we slept together twice, once to my own brother, the entire school was talking about me

the whole day, your evil girlfriend poured Gatorade over my head, and you think that me pouring water

on you makes us even?" His eyes grew wide as I continued to speak, apparently detecting the anger in

my voice.

"Well when you put it like that I guess not." He scratched the back of his head, looking guilty for what

he out me through. "Look, I'm sorry."

"No."

He looked at me confused, baffled that anyone would turn down one of his rare apologies. "What do

you mean no?"

"I mean no. You can't do awful things and then expect an apology to magically fix it."

"Well at least I'm trying," he huffed, frustration evident on his face. "Doesn't that count for something?"

"Well try harder!" I spat out. "You have no clue what you put me through today! I was miserable

because of you." Tears welled up in my eyes. I pushed them back, not wanting to cry. "Why would you

even put me through that?"

He was quiet, seeming to soak up what I said. By how long he took to speak I expected him to have a

profound response. Instead he said, "Because I'm an ass."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Is that really the best excuse that you have?" He recoiled back, somewhat hurt

by my statement.

"I'm going to need a little more than that. Are you mad because your parents won't give you your trust

fund? Or did you only get a red BMW instead of the black one you wanted and now your lashing out."

He stayed silent, avoiding my eyes.

"Oh yeah, I forgot that you have a perfect little life. You have everything that you could ever want

handed to you on a silver platter. Since you've never had to go through anything in your life, maybe the

only true excuse for why you're an awful person is because you truly, deep-down are an ass." I picked

back up my scraper, trying to finish and get away from his as quickly as I could.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him sit down in the bleachers, his head in-between his legs. He

stayed that way for a while, not uttering a word. When he finally looked up, his eyes were red.

"My parents are dead."

I froze where I was, my blood running cold.

"My oldest sister Bianca took custody of me and Nicole when she was 18, then moved across the

country for college, leaving us here alone." He sucked in a sharp breath of air, the story hard for him to

say. He fiddled with his hands, trying to distract himself.

"Tomorrow is the second anniversary of their death, and I-I..." he stuttered, not able to find the right way

to describe it.

"I guess I always act out when it comes near." He looked up at the sky before focusing on his hands

again. "I'm sorry that I dragged you into it."

My heart sank for him. In that moment he looked so vulnerable. He reminded me of the boy on the

beach I saw in the picture on his desk. It wasn't until then that I realized what a large part of him was

changed by what had happened.

"I just know that if they saw what I was like right now they would be so disappointed in me." His voice

cracked on the last word, causing something inside me to break.

"I'm so sorry," I reached for his hand, but he quickly pulled them back, his eyes hardening.

"I don't need your pity. This whole time you have been judging me and my life without knowing anything

about me." He picked back up his scraper, becoming guarded once more. "Don't think that just

because I told you about my parents that what you said is erased."

We worked in silence for the rest of the time, both of us in our thoughts. I was ashamed of how I had

misjudged him. Every time that I called him a spoiled rich kid, it was just another reminder of what had

happened to his parents. I couldn't help but wonder if his arrogance was just a cover to hide how he

really felt.

Even though he said those horrible things about me, I couldn't help but forgive him a little. I couldn't

understand in the slightest what he must be going through. Although his methods of coping weren't the

best, I couldn't stand to hold it against him.

After an hour of work, we got up, figuring that we could do the rest tomorrow. I turned towards him,

brushing my hair behind my ear. But before I could get a word out, he walked towards his car, leaving

me alone.