Past & Present

Chapter 5

Cassandra

I dig my hands into the pockets of my gray sweatpants, anxiously waiting to be called on. I keep my head down and dig my heel into the damp dirt, marking my white sneakers. The obnoxious sing-song voices of my peers and the loud noise emitting from Mr. Ronaldo's whistle is all I can hear in this entire damn field.

Why soccer? Can't we do something else for physical education?

"Cassandra!" Crayvin calls out with a raucous voice. His brows furrow when I look up and make eye contact. The eyes I used to admire are cold and calculating as a slight close-lipped smile grows on his face. I cringe at the smugness that radiates from the condescending douche.

Fidgeting with my short fingers against the inside material of my sweatpants, I shift glances around the field, and my eyes widen when I realize why he called my name. Everyone was chosen for teams and I, like always, am the last pick of the crop. Moping, I drag my feet over towards Crayvin's team.

I stand in the goalie position, watching as everyone is jetting across the field, in hopes of getting the white and black ball into the net of their opponent. My eyes shift to Crayvin's athletic form as he runs across the field. Before last week, P.E. was my favorite time because I was able to watch him. But now, when I look at his tall and athletic build, I instantly remember how monstrous he is. The way his straight, white teeth bite on his lower lip when he's either nervous or determined, and his big, prominent eyes drive me insane. Even the small scar just below his lower lip, something I once found adorable, now makes me want to grind my teeth in agitation.

Okay, maybe I still find the scar adorable. But, once you take away all of his good outside features, you're left with nothing but his cocky spitefulness who feels entitled to anything.

I shift my weight from side to side as soon as I notice a tall, imposing, fast-moving guy kicking the ball with a vengeance towards me. My arms stretch outwards and I blink as I see his leg swing back and forward to kick the ball with the tip of his foot. With one eye, I open it back up to see what has happened, and there is nothing but scrutinizing looks directed at me. I turn my head and see that the ball made it past me, scoring a point for the other team.

Mr. Ronaldo blows his whistle, indicating that it's time to run in and change out. I start to jog with the rest of the students and end up tripping over my own foot when I hear someone snicker behind me, "Run fat girl, run!"

With my vision distracted, I crash right into Crayvin and knock both of us down. The crackling noises of the students surround me as I immediately roll my body off Crayvin's. His eyes narrow and his face has turned a crimson red. He stands up, wiping the mud off his shirt, and puffs out his chest as he looks down at me, still sitting on the ground.

"Seriously? Your bodyweight about crushed me," he snarls and retreats to the locker room.

"Trying to squish our captain, huh?" Faith speaks, delving the tip of her foot in the dirt and kicking some onto me. "That's for making us lose. We put you as the goalie hoping that the ball couldn't fit around you, but you even managed to fail at that. What a joke." She spits, flicking her perfect hair over one shoulder. After one last sneer at me, she dashes off towards Crayvin and throws her arm around his waist.

"Cassandra!" My sister sighs, nudging my shoulder with hers and snapping me out of my recollection of the past.

"Sorry, what?" I turn my head to face her.

She lifts her bottle of beer to her lips and smiles. "Look over there, isn't that the guy that lives in our apartment complex?"

I follow her gaze towards the pool tables when my eyes land on him. The guy with sandy brown hair and blue eyes that I have been admiring the past month strikes the solid yellow ball with his cue stick. He's tall, athletic build is something to admire.

I shift back in the barstool, resting my forearms on the bar and holding my beer with both hands.

"Yeah, that's him alright." I bring my eyes back to Tarra, who's now smiling at me.

"Well, go talk to him. He's hot," Tarra says, and I let out a loud laugh, snorting at her comment.

"Oh, yeah sure. Let me just go over there and pull some moves on him," I sarcastically say, turning my attention back to my beer.

"Come on, Cassandra." Her words flow over the slightly sticky bartop our elbows rest on. "You haven't been laid in what, a year?"

I arch my brow and look at her momentarily, before turning my head sideways. "A year and a half," I admit.

I've only had s*x with one person before and it wasn't anything special. Anderson, my f**k buddy if you will, was basically the only thing that would take my mind off of my father's death. But as soon as it was over and I kicked him out of my bed, the depression tried to seep through again.

"Yeah, that's ridiculous. As I said, it's time to celebrate." My sister is quite the serial dater and she's also a registered nurse. So to her, s*x is like a study of the human body, just one that she particularly likes. "You just don't find s*x as fun because you've only hooked up with what's-his-face, and he was probably like a starfish. He just laid out and did nothing while he got to finish. You need to find someone to give you an orgasm..."