The Essence of Your Love

Chapter 3 - Sweet Boy with Bicolored Eyes

Chapter 3 - Sweet Boy with Bicolored Eyes

“Blue, twenty-eight!” I watch carefully as the players on the other side of the scrimmage line up, muscles tense and breathing fast, just like us. “Green, thirty-six!” My legs are burning with effort and sweat is pouring into my eyes. “Hut, hut!”

The ball falls in my hands through the snap and I start running. I quickly detect the position of the halfback and throw the ball, feeling the hard material slip through my fingers. It flies through the air and I follow the spinning movement until the pass is completed, and the player catches it with agility.

He immediately runs at full speed, closely followed by one of the safeties. He's knocked down but doesn't drop the ball, which gives us a great touchdown and my team wins the practice. All around the field shouts of celebration can be heard and many fall to their knees, totally exhausted by the long hours of training and the rough, uncooperative weather.

I'm in the same condition; my uniform dirty with mud, grass, and wet with sweat, my extremities shaking from the overexertion and I think that the asshole of Parker left a nice bruise on my leg when he crashed me. I'll find out in the locker room.

I take off my helmet, mouth guard, gloves, and sit on the long bench in the waiting area. I use the white handkerchief on my waist to remove some of the moisture from my face. The Coach hands me a bottle of water, I drink it in a couple of sips.

“Good job, kid,” he repeatedly pats my back and sits next to me. “If you guys keep being this aggressive, we'll win the next game just fine.”

“You gotta do something about Sam, Coach,” my throat's still dry and my voice is rasping from all the gasping. “He left me unprotected twice, in one of those Parker knocked me down.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” his eyebrows arch; he checks something in the folder he always carries around. “He's good but a little slow, that's the problem with admitting beginners,” he puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Give him time, we need the strength. I’m sure that, with your guide, he’ll learn quickly.”

“Fine,” I nod. “But if he doesn't get better by the next match, I won't waste any energy on him,” I rudely warn, he remains silent, knowing perfectly my temperament and that I stick to my word. “I don't like delays.”

“We'll take care of it,” he stands and blows his whistle. “Okay, ladies!” Everyone turns and looks at him from their positions. “To the showers, training is over!” New cries of celebration spread through the air, and we all drag our miserable, exhausted asses to the dressing rooms, at last having a refuge from the piercing rays of the sun.

“I think I'm gonna throw up,” Steve moans and hits his forehead repeatedly with the helmet.

“You better aim at Johnson, he has such strange preferences that he sure enjoys it,” we all laugh, except Johnson, who tells Nathaniel to f**k off.

“What are you doing tonight?” I open my locker and remove my shirt, the shoulder pads, and the T-shirt I wore underneath, completely drenched in sweat.

“I don't know, dude. But it's Friday and my body knows it,” Steve moves his waist in circles and immediately regrets it when his sore back complains. “Damn it.”

“It seems like what your body knows is that you need to rest,” Nate mocks.

“I'm not staying home on a Friday night,” Steve starts undressing. “How about we go to the Blue?” Blue Detroit is one of our favorite clubs. The music is great, the atmosphere is comfortable, sometimes they offer free drinks (with our fake IDs), and usually the live bands don't suck.

“I don't mind,” I take off my pants and the pads, evaluating the punch on my leg. “Goddamn it, Parker!” I turn, he's completely naked, and I point out the big bruise on my right thigh. “Was this necessary?”

“I'm sorry, man,” the asshole shrugs with a smirk. “I got carried away.”

“Well, my fist is gonna get carried away in your face, motherfucker,” I move closer and he adopts a defensive position.

“That's enough,” Nathaniel places both hands on my chest to stop me. “Calm down, remember what happened the last time you got into trouble,” he whispers near my face.

“He did it on purpose,” I mumble, fists clenched at my sides.

“Don't, Jas,” Steve stands in front of me, hiding Parker from my view. “Coach is watching us,” he gestures toward the office with the large window. Coach Smith is standing with his arms crossed, staring at the scene with a frown. f**k.

“Fine,” I sigh deeply, trying to cool down. “You can let go now,” I say to Nathaniel, and he slowly releases me.

“You can always leave him on the bench,” Steve mutters with a teasing smile as Parker heads for the showers. “What better revenge than to deprive him of playing time?”

We laugh and I finish getting rid of my shoes and other protections. I grab a towel, shampoo, and soap from the locker to go to the showers. The hot water is like a blessing over my bruised muscles, I remove the sweat and all the dirt, thoroughly washing my hair. The steam in the showers is thick, making it a bit difficult to breathe, but we all concentrate on bathing in silence... except for Steve, of course.

“Hey, Jas,” I open my eyes and he's all bubbly, with a foamy beard like Santa Claus. “Do you feel horny watching my sexy silky body?” His hands are slipping down his chest and I laugh at his bullshit.

“You wish,” I pick up the shampoo bottle and press it hard, shooting a stream of the soapy liquid right into his face.

“Hey, that stings!” I laugh harder at his desperate attempts to clean his eyes.

“And you call me immature?” Nate rolls his eyes, but despite the thick mist, I can see the smile on his face.

I end up washing and go back to the dressing room with a towel tied around my waist. Before I think of removing it, I do a quick scan of the surroundings, just to be sure there’s no one hiding, waiting for the slightest chance to get another picture of me naked. When I approve, I open the locker and take out a new change of outfit.

“Paranoid?” the asshole of Steve makes fun of me.

“Can you blame me?” I throw the towel aside and slide the boxer through my legs. “You would be too after finding out someone took a picture of you in a place that's supposed to have restricted access.”

“Maybe it was one of the players,” Nate suggests, pulling off his towel to start dressing.

“Or maybe it was me,” Steve slides a still-wet-arm across my shoulders, landing a loud kiss on my cheek. “You're just too sexy, I couldn't resist.”

“Get out of here, moron,” I push him away and he laughs. “That kind of thing pisses me off, especially the way I discovered it.”

It’s not at all pleasant to arrive at your place of study to detect that, in the middle of the informative billboard, there’s a huge photo of you half-naked, plus a large group of people sharing it on social platforms. Most of the comments on my i********: and Twitter were flattering, but still, no one should have taken that shot without permission.

“It was months ago, get over it.” Steve complains.

“It wasn't you who was admonished for it,” yeah, by the way: I was the one who got punished. The principal thought I was confident enough to put a picture of my naked ass in a public place. Unbelievable, isn't it?

“But a lot of hot dudes and girls wanted a taste of your bones,” Steve growls in a pathetic lion imitation, curling the fingers like claws. “Grrr, delicious.”

“For God's sake, Steve. Stop it already,” Nate rolls his eyes and closes the bag with his dirty uniform. “Just wrap it up already, I need to go find my brother.”

“Is he here yet?” I tie the laces of my boots tightly, and then close my locker.

“Yeah, I escorted him to his first class this morning,” Nate smiles. “Poor guy was terrified of getting lost.”

“Will he attend one with us?” Steve questions.

“Yes, Spanish and Technology,” I can hear the pride in Nate’s voice.

“Is he waiting for you somewhere?”

“I told him to wait for me in the cafeteria,” Nate picks up his bag and hangs it over his shoulder. “If you're done with the bullshit, we can go get him.”

“Let’s go, then,” I shut my bag and hang it over my shoulder, too. We exit the dressing room afterward.

The day is still hot, but after the relaxing shower, the tiring atmosphere is much more bearable. I notice the "Queen Bee" and her soldiers sitting in the stands chatting, so I tell Nathaniel and Steve to walk quietly to avoid being detected.

They make fun of me, like the good friends they are, but they still comply. By the time we reached the cafeteria, we spent a long time looking for Nathaniel's brother, but we couldn't find him anywhere.

“Maybe he's already gone?”

“No, I told him to wait for me,” Nate checks his phone. “He would have texted me if he was planning on leaving.”

“Maybe he's made a new friend and they're out exploring.” I suggest.

“Yeah… maybe,” Nate mutters, moving his fingers on the screen.

“Gentlemen, I need to go to the bathroom,” I let them guard my bag, and jog to the bathroom not far from the cafeteria.

Luckily, it's not crowded, so I mind my business promptly and wash my hands before exiting. I'm walking along the corridor again when something catches my attention. It's a boy, struggling with the old candy machine. He's small and thin, wears a big university sweater, and his little hands shake the machine repeatedly to no avail.

A big bag is on the floor with a couple of books on top, and I don't know how long I watch him fight in vain until, for some strange reason, I decided to help him. I've never done it before. I mean, I'm the sort of person who thinks: “Everybody deals with their s**t”. But before I stop to analyze what I'm about to do, I'm already beside him, listening to the obfuscated murmurs cursing his luck.

“Come on, seriously?” He runs a hand through his wild brown hair, sighing deeply. “You're such a dollar thief,” I laugh and stop immediately.

«What's wrong with you, Jasper?» I repeat over and over in my mind, trying to figure out a cause for my unusual actions, eventually giving up.

“Do you need help?” The kid flinches and spins in my direction. He has thick, black pasta lenses.

“Huh?” He appears unsure, taking fast glances around as if he's looking for someone.

“Old Maggie has a trick,” he frowns, puzzled by my words. I point to the big red machine. “Should I show you?”

“Um,” he bites his lower lip and pushes up the glasses on his tiny nose. “Yes, please.”

“Okay,” I nod and approach. “Which candy do you want?”

“Almond M&M's,” he whispers.

“All right,” I turn to the machine. “What you have to do is click the number that indicates the candy, in this case, is...” I verify the digits under the candy. “Thirty-two. Then, you press the eject button for more seconds than necessary, almost a full minute, or it won't work.”

I perform the whole process, terribly aware of his proximity while he’s staring at my movements, before hearing the gears of the machine and the “clack” of the M&M's package falling into the small metal box. The boy leans and reaches through the slot to retrieve the yellow candy wrapper.

“Wow, thanks a lot,” a small smile accompanies his words.

“No problem,” I smile, too, and find myself desperately seeking some excuse to prolong this moment further. Although, fortunately, he solves my dilemma.

“Why do you call it Maggie?”

“Because that's its name,” I signal him to step closer, and when he does, I point to the side of the machine that has the name marked in big blue letters. “See?”

“Yes, I see it,” he laughs softly and I think it's adorable. “Do you want some?” He opens the wrapper and extends it towards me.

“No, thanks,” I shake my head. “I don't like chocolate.”

“Really?” His voice rises in astonishment and I smile while recognizing that his shyness is slowly fading, though I doubt he noticed. “How can you not like it? Chocolate is the most fabulous thing in the world.”

“Never kept me awake,” I shrug. “Besides, it's not the taste, it's the texture.”

“You're weird,” he smiles briefly and then raises a hand quickly, seeming scared. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” I promise with a smile.

“Perfect,” he nods and brings a red candy to his mouth. “What's your name?” He chews, I consider the movement of his lips fascinating.

“Jasper,” I extend my hand. “Jasper Wright.”

“Well, Jasper Wright, it's a pleasure to meet you,” he removes his glasses and lets them hang off the collar of his sweater. Then, he smiles, holds my hand and shakes it. “I'm James Gibbs.”

That's when I freeze. Not because for some odd motive, his name makes me want to remember something very important. Not by the heat of his hand on mine, causing the hairs on my skin to stand up. Not because his face is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I mean, all of the above factors add up to my reaction, but it's because he has... this boy has…

He has one brown eye and the other is blue.