#lacrosse

You never understood how people could fail tests. In your brain, it wasn’t that hard to study nor was it to apply oneself. But kids your age were so focused on dating and sports and whatever other bullshit. To be completely honest, you were a proud and confident nerd.

The bell rung loudly throughout the school, signaling the end of third period. Silently, you shoved your books and pencils into your bag as everyone else rushed out of the room. As you were packing up your belongings, you couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between your teacher and fellow classmate.

“Clay, this is the fourth time you’ve failed a quiz in my class. I’m sorry, but if you bomb another I’ll be forced to fail you for the semester.” Mrs. Robinson warned the boy.

Clay Barton was the epitome of jock. Lacrosse was huge at your school, so obviously he was the captain. Girls flocked over him like he was some sort of celebrity. Every single guy wanted to be friends with him, or actually be him. You didn’t see the appeal.

Nevertheless—you were quite shocked hearing that he was failing so miserably. Clay didn’t strike you for the dumb type, not at all. He’d have to have some sort of intelligence to lead an entire team, so how could he be so academically challenged?

But then you remembered how others treated him. People talked to him like he was the rarest gem on earth—which typically leads to the growth of a huge ego. You could imagine that Clay thought he didn’t have to work hard for anything—that’d it just be handed to him.

Then it’s about time someone humbled him.

You scoffed lightly and threw your bag over your shoulder, tuning out of the world around you. Just as you were walking out of the classroom, your teacher stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/n, can you come here for a second, please?” The older woman asked, waving you over with her wrinkly fingers.

“What’s up Mrs. Robinson?” You huffed, adjusting your backpack strap.

“I’m sure you heard some of that..” She rolled her eyes in a perfect circle, referring to her exchange with Clay. You nodded, prompting her to go on. “I’ve assigned him a tutor, and…it’s you.”

Your jaw almost detached from your face. There was no way that you could tutor the Clay Barton. If he didn’t pay attention in Mrs. Robinson’s class that was beyond easy, why would he even give you the time of day?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea..” You said anxiously, face twisting in irritation.

“Look, I know he’s…well..himself. But you’re one of the only student helpers signed up for our tutoring program. He really needs this, you’re a smart girl, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Mrs. Robinson reassured, a soft smile gracing her thin lips.

It’s true, you were a smart girl. But there were a million other things you’d rather utilize your smarts for. Tutoring Clay would be like climbing Mount Everest. Based off of the few interactions you’ve shared, he was such a prick.

Mr. Barton put gum in your hair in 3rd grade. In middle school he threw a basketball at your head in gym class. And in 9th grade he bumped into you, making your lunch spill all over the cafeteria floor. You already weren’t popular—so that was just the icing on the cake.

Despite this, you knew nobody else would be willing to tutor him. The kind hearted part of you would hate to see his downfall, it’d be pathetic. Thus, you swallowed your ego painfully and agreed.

💻....

The day of your first tutoring session came fast, faster than you would’ve liked. Your shoes pattered against the tiles of the library, all else quiet. You were not excited for this at all. He probably wouldn’t even be here, then you’d just look like an idiot.

Astonishingly, he was there. Clay Barton actually showed. For some reason, you felt a little spark when you turned the corner and saw him. It was odd, you felt…excitement. No, no, annoyance is what you felt.

Clay sat comfortably in the plush library seat, eyes averted down to his phone. A grey, cotton t shirt hugged his muscular frame, and black sweatpants pooled at his waist. You couldn’t help but gag at how effortlessly good he looked.

Eventually he noticed you staring at him and raised a brow suspiciously. Great, now he probably thinks you’re a pervert. Quickly, you collected yourself and walked over to him, looking his figure up and down when you got close enough.

“Sup, gum girl.” Clay greeted, looking up at you from where he sat. Gum girl—the name he’d gifted you in 3rd grade when he smeared that sticky pink bubblegum in your gorgeous hair.

“Hi Clay, I see you’re still immature as always.” You shot back, giving him a fake smile.

“What? You don’t like your nickname?” He teased. Clay clearly enjoyed messing with you, that much was clear and had been your entire lives. It was unclear why you’d thought he’d change since the two of you were older now.

“As much as I’d love to sit here and listen to your stupid jokes, we have work to do. Well, you specifically have work to do.” You reminded while grabbing your English textbook out of your bag. You noticed his smirk seemed to drop at the mention of work. Weird.

“Yeah, yeah.” He acknowledged, getting his supplies out as well.

“What exactly is it that you don’t get with this? Mrs. Robinson’s class is so easy.” You questioned, your tone judgmental.

Clay squinted his eyes at you. Why was it that you always had to act so cocky? Even when asking such a simple question like that. He knew he was one to talk about arrogance—but you were on a whole different level.

You carried yourself with this quiet confidence that was seemingly unshakable. Yet—you had no friends and absolutely no social status yet you had the audacity to judge him? Yeah, no.

Clay adjusted the silver ring on his finger, staring into your eyes that seemed distant and guarded. You always looked that way. Whenever he glanced at you in the hallways, or at lunch, or during class. There was some type of wall that restricted you from being…normal and open—from being liked even.

You were just so….nitpicky.

“Everything…you’re gonna have to explain it to me. Nice and slow.” He spoke calmly, shifting his body so that he could face you more.

“Seriously? God…ok fine. So we’ll have to start with chapter one…” You groaned, beginning to explain the material.

The library seemed still. Whilst you were explaining the numerous articles from your textbook, Clay couldn’t stop thinking about how much you ticked him off.

Ever since the two of you were kids, it was always just something about you that rubbed him the wrong way. But it wasn’t just your arrogance or the fact you thought you were Albert Einstein. It was something else he felt. Clay pretended he’d sneak looks at you because you were weird—because you were so peculiar that he just had to look. He hated to admit that maybe he was looking because you peaked his interest in other ways.

It was so frustrating how soft your lips looked as you spoke, how your delicate fingers glided across the old book pages—how, every now and then, you’d look up at him with those stupidly pretty eyes. You were just so vexing.

“Do you got that first bit?” You interrupted his thoughts. God…you were so serious, he’d have to get you to lighten up a bit.

“Yeah, keep going.” Clay nodded, running a hand through his thick black hair.

You went on and on, explaining the various things he needed explained, ‘nice and slow’. You were so focused in on the work, barely engaging with the boy directly. Therefore when you did, you were aggravated to see that his mind seemed to be elsewhere. He was literally staring into the distance.

“Hey!” You snapped, causing him to shoot his gaze to you. “Pay attention, or you’ll never get this.” You said as you shoved your finger in his face.

“Who says I’m not paying attention?” Clay snickered, flicking your finger away. You shook your head, leaning back in your chair.

“I’m serious, Clay. Failing 4 tests? Really? You can’t be the star player of lacrosse if you aren’t passing English.” You pointed out.

He knew you were right. Lacrosse was everything to him and if he kept up this behavior he could kiss it all goodbye. That couldn’t happen, not now, not ever.

“Whatever..” he mumbled, motioning for you to go on with his hand.

Hours upon hours passed of you breaking down everything to Clay. He hated to say it, but by the end of it he’d actually learned a few things. Who would’ve thought?

You yawned sleepily as you began to toss your things back in your bag, not particularly caring about organization. You wasted no time getting up from your seat and readying yourself to say goodbye.

“Hold up-do you got a ride?” Clay asked, standing up after you.

“Nope, I walked. My place isn’t far from here.” You explained, running a hand over your face.

Clay glanced outside, it was completely dark. As much as he wanted to get away from you, it didn’t feel right leaving you to walk alone at night.

“I’ll give you a ride.” He decided, beginning to walk before you could say anything.

“What, no! It’s fine, it’s like a 5 minute walk.” You argued, quickly catching up to him. He didn’t even look at you before replying.

“Nope, you’re not gonna walk alone at night. It’s not safe.”

“Since when do you care?” You grumbled.

Was it so hard to just accept a ride from him? Who in their right mind seriously would prefer walking completely unaccompanied at 10 pm? You were just hard headed.

“Since I realized if you were to get murdered out there I’d be the last person to have seen you. Therefore I’d be a suspect. I think I’m good off that.” He reasoned.

Though what he said was a possibility, it wasn’t really the real reason he wanted to take you home. Somewhere inside of him—he cared. He wanted you to get home safely. But the infamous Clay Barton would never accept that truth.

“Oh..so you’re doing it for you own benefit. Why am I not surprised?” You mumbled the last part to yourself as you followed him out of the library.

Clay didn’t respond to your comment, opting to not entertain your foolishness. The two of you continued walking until you arrived at his vehicle—if that’s what you could even call it.

“uhh, there’s no way I’m getting on that thing.” you were practically revolted by the sight of his motorcycle. Of course he’d ride one of those things.

“Y/n…just get on the bike.” He sighed, moving to hand you a helmet.

“Ok, I know you have this whole bad boy scenario going on but there is no way on gods green earth that I am risking my li-“ You tried to speak but before you knew it he was picking you up.

You were stunned. Did Clay Barton just pick you up? Like it was nothing at that? Clay plopped you down on the the seat, hands firmly holding your waist.

“Just shut up for once, alright?” He squeezed your flesh to further his point, shoving the helmet down on your head.

And thank the lord he did. Your face flushed in embarrassment, teeth sinking down onto your bottom lip. You hated how he just manhandled you like that—though you hated how good it felt more.

“Hold onto me.” Clay ordered as he saddled the motorcycle, throwing his helmet on. At that point, you were so defeated that you just listened to him.

Your arms slipped around his mid section, holding tightly. You could feel the pattern of his breathing, and the warmth that radiated off of his body. Your eyes squeezed shut—you tried your best to zone out of the moment, and pretend you weren’t feeling the things you were.

Clay couldn’t understand why his heart was all of a sudden beating so fast. The adrenaline from riding the bike was long gone, so it couldn’t have been that. It definitely wasn’t because you were so close to him. It certainly wasn’t because he could feel your chest pressed against his back. He was just…annoyed that he was forced to take you home.

The ride was silent and long—somehow 3 minutes felt like 3 hours. All you wanted to do was go to your room and wash off all of this tom foolery. You swiftly removed the helmet from your head, dropping it into his hands like it was some sort of disease.

“Thanks for the ride..” you cleared your throat, nodding to him. Truthfully, it was really nice of him to give you a lift.

“No problem..just didn’t wanna be wrongfully accused.” Clay joked, his brown eyes burning into your own. You blinked before turning around and walking to your front door, not daring to say another word. “See you tomorrow!” He called out while reving that stupid engine.

You waved curtly as you fumbled with your house keys. As soon as you were in the comfort of your home you leaned against the front door, face in your hands.

This was NOT going to be easy.

💭(・・?).. 📓 ‧₊˚ ➢ .