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Coach hated it, but was strangely terrified of her for some reason Izzy refused to tell me, so she never really got in trouble for it. Coach found out she was one of my friends and insisted that I had to clean up her mess. I shrugged, even if she couldn’t see me.
We all could have Facetimed, but the internet connection was awful here and while my strange roommate seemed to be able to sleep to the loud sound of the guitar and screams in his ears, he woke up instantly when I had the light on. “It’s camp,” I muttered stupidly.
She was rolling her eyes. I couldn’t see her, but I knew her well enough to know by the sound of her clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth that she had to have rolled her eyes. “Boys are so stupid,” she muttered as a grin spread across my lips.
I did enjoy being at camp, it was always the best part of the year for me. However, over the past few months of being friends with Kinsley and even Isabella, this was the first time I wished I was home. The rest of the school year wasn’t too bad after spring break. People had been curious as to why the three of us were constantly together after I had punched Roan, but no one wanted to mess with me after I punched him.
He still had his remarks, even a few about me. However, with Isabella there, almost everyone seemed to think that either we shared her or she was my girlfriend. Pretty sure the last rumor that had been circulating was she had been Kinsley’s and I took her from him.
It didn’t help that Isabella seemed to love making me give her piggyback rides or her strange habit of holding hands. It wasn’t just me, she held Kinsley’s hand all the time as well. A few times I had gotten so used to the feel of fingers laced with mine, that more than once I caught myself just as I slid my fingers against Kinsley’s, and had to pull away with a muttered apology and a slightly redder complexion plastered on my cheeks than before.
“How are your parents doing?” Kinsley asked. I could hear the sound of his computer loading up and smiled, I knew that meant he’d start to draw something now. Over the past few months, I had found myself enamored by his art.
Football practice finished in time for me to make it up to the art room, where Isabella and Kinsley were by themselves at their little table surrounded by their art. The other side of the room was filled with freshmen smoking, and while I always ended up being late to work, that hour I spent with them babysitting the freshmen while I watched Kinsley draw was probably my favorite time of the day.
However, the past few months were a lot harder at home. As much as I wanted to, I didn't stay at Kinsley's again. My father refused to let me spend time with him, to have contact with him, and constantly watched me. He couldn't do anything while I was at school, and Kinsley dropped me off at work far enough away that my boss thought I ran there instead.
My father would interrogate my boss who didn't know anything. From what he could tell, I always ran to work every day. Father started to pick me up after work and drove me every morning, even if he was tipsy from the night before binge he often had. He suffocated me, made sure I didn't do anything he didn't want me to do, and I could barely sneak out to hang out with Kinsley and Isabella.
Not to mention the fights. I gripped the football tighter and threw it blindly into the air. The darkness hid it from view as the straps glittered in the dull light from the stars plastered on the ceiling before I caught it by the tips of my fingers. The fights were worse ever since my mom stuck up for me that day. My father was ten times worse than before. The bruises left my stomach and spilled over onto my face.
It made the rumors of me being in a gang float around the school more than ever before. Our town wasn't much for it, but the next town over was about an hour and a half away and there were a lot of rumors about drugs and guns, and gangs where stuff was sold and brought in illegally. I wasn't part of any of that, but the rumors made it sound like the kids in school thought I was.
I guess all I had to do was punch Roan one time to be considered in a gang, whilst he beat people up constantly and he was never looked down on. Then again, we were on a completely different level. Him with his rich and influential parents, and me with my storm.
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