CHAPTER 4: FIFA & Chill

So, there are only three girls left on the list: Cassidy Sijin-Franck, Kaye Montgomery and Emma Grange.

I'm still keen on finding the owner of the diary but I think I'm gonna be more subtle now. Melissa gave me great fruit shower and red mark on my face to remind me not to just jump out and ask a girl if I took her virginity or not.

Next on the list: Cassidy Sijin-Franck.

I was passing by the hallway on my way to Biology when I saw the half-Asian beauty. I approached her as she was closing her locker.

"Hi, Trevor," she greeted me.

Cassie's one of my more frequent bedmates. A fuckbuddy, if you will. But we didn't start out the more-or-less-weekly "meet-ups" until two months ago. Before we got together, I never would have thought that she'd be that sexually active.

The girl was the pastor's daughter, for Pete's sake!

She was kind of like me, but more discreet. I don't want to label her as a slut, because, come on. That's just offensive and ridiculous. Can't a girl do what she wants with her body without being slut-shamed for once? Society's fucked up.

"Hey, Cass," I nodded at her as I leaned back on a locker. "I was wondering what you were doing after school."

"Nothing really. Why?" she asked, shifting her books in her arms.

"Do you wanna hang out at my place? Maybe play some FIFA 14 or something?" I asked.

I remembered that the mystery girl played FIFA the night she found out she was not pregnant. Not many girls know how to play that let alone actually enjoy playing it.

Cass looked at me skeptically for a while but then smiled. "Sure," she answered.

"Cool. Meet me at the parking lot after school," I said, smiling at her.

"Okay," she called as I turned around to walk to class.

×××××

"Any reports on the mystery girl?" I asked Louie as we settled down on our usual lunch table.

"Nope. Maybe if we read more from her diary, we would find her quicker!" he said.

I shook my head. "I don't know..."

"Come on," he pressed. "You know you want to."

"Fine," I answered directly. I just wanted to put a mild fight so that it'd look as if I respected the writer's privacy. But since we've already read more than we should have, I thought it'd be useless trying to stop.

I was actually looking forward to reading more. I'm beginning to like this mystery writer. I even had the diary in my bag. I pulled it out and we started reading.

"September 29, 2016"

"I'm starting to get the hang of this whole diary thing. Who knew it could actually make me feel any better?

I saw Trevor with Patricia today. He walked with her to the parking lot. He usually walks there with Louie but I guess today's just different.

Wow, I'm turning into a stalker."

I laughed a little when I read that, although it was a little creepy.

"Hey, she knows me!" Louie exclaimed.

"Everybody at school knows you, Lou," I said. "You're like Westmont's very own Kobe."

"Flattering," he said dismissively and dove back into the diary.

"I wrote a poem about him. It goes a little something like this:

...

Trevor Jettison, you lowly slut!

You hump every girl your eyes land at.

Never bothering to get in contact with them in the morning after,

You just go seducing girls one after the other;

You just go around town, doing what you please

Oh, how I hope you'd get some sexually-transmitted disease!"

Louie burst out laughing for that one. But I'm not even insulted. You can insert a Fresh Prince meme here 'coz I ain't even mad. It came off as adorable that she'd write a poem about me. Well, minus the STD part, of course.

"Man, we gotta find out who she is faster. I really wanna meet this girl!" Louie remarked. Then, we read the rest of the poem.

"Trevor Jettison, you lowly fuckboy,

You treat every single girl as if they were toys!

So, how did I let myself fall for your charms that night?

I guess, long-kept feelings flooded me until I couldn't put up a fight.

Who ever knew that spending one night in the sack,

would stir up these feelings as complicated as fuck?

... 

Trevor Jettison, you lowly man whore,

You know, I never felt like this about you before.

The only guy I've only ever loved was my ex,

And, hell, we didn't even have sex!

He's the first guy I've ever loved, thought he'd be the last;

But now it seems I've found my second, and shit, I'm falling fast.

...

I'm thinking of calling it "Hymen and Heart", because those were the two things Trevor Jettison broke into that night.  What do you think? Is it Pulitzer Prize-worthy? Ha!

Oh, I feel like I need a tub of Nutella-flavored ice cream with marshmallows sprinkled on top. Also, pizza... coz, why not?"

"Geez," Louie nudged my shoulder. "She has a crush on you!"

"How do you know that?" I questioned.

He answered by pointing at the second stanza.

I scoffed dismissively. "Long-kept feelings. That could just be lust!"

"She wrote a fucking poem about you, dammit," he persisted. "Don't be such a schoolgirl. She has a crush on you."

"Had," I corrected. "This poem was written weeks ago! And do you think after what I did to her, she'd still feel the same way?"

Louie kept quiet.

I continued, "And read the first stanza! She seems to hate me!"

"After what you did to her?" Louie copied me. "Of course she'd hate you! What? Did you expect her to shower you with rose petals and gold confetti?" Louie pointed out.

"Well, no -"

I had to cut my answer short because right then, London and Sage came to the table. I immediately shut the notebook, but it was too late.

"What are you guys reading?" asked London. I've told enough people about this little hunt of mine already. Better not include more.

I stuffed the diary back in my bag and randomly picked up a book.

"This," I said, lifting the book up.

"The school guide book?" Sage asked, making me stare at the book I picked out. I mentally facepalmed myself. Really, Trevor? You couldn't have grabbed your Physics book? I swear, sometimes, I just need to be awarded with a Nobel Prize or something.

"Yeah. We wanna know how we can be better students, okay?!" Louie reasoned a tad too defensively.

"Okay..." Sage said, but her tone made it clear that she wasn't buying any of our shit.

I glared at her. Why is she here, anyway? This used to be mine, Louie and sometimes London's table. We're friends and all, but she usually sat with the intellectuals. And this table? Well, it's reserved for the most awesome people in the planet. Smartasses not allowed.

"Why are you even sitting with us?" I blurted out in a tone which I had not intended.

"Trevor!" London scolded.

"No, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that you didn't use to sit here," I cleared up.

"Well, my best friend's been stuck at the hospital and I thought sitting with two decent people and you would be better than sitting alone," she countered back with a smirk.

"Oh, go fuck a fork, Dewirth," I bit back.

"It'd be better than fucking you."

Louie choked on his apple juice. London was trying so hard not to laugh, but failing ultimately. Damn it. This is why you shouldn't argue with smart people.

×××××

"Hey, Cassidy. Ready to go?" I asked her as I opened the door to my beat-up car. She'd been waiting by the parking lot, gloved hands in her coat's pockets. 

She gave me a simple smile, tucking her black hair under her cute pink, wool hat, and slid into the passenger seat.

The ride to the house wasn't long. We had time to talk about stuff, though. It was mostly about music. I had initiated it by asking what she thought of Bruno Mars.

"Oh, yeah," she nodded, making me more confident that she might be the one. "I love that little Filipino guy. He's like the new version of Michael Jackson."

We reached the house and like always, dad wasn't home yet. Lally was already there, watching Steven Universe, but as soon as Cassie and I entered the house, she knew the drill. Off to her room, she went.

I plugged in the game console and gave her a controller.

"Which team are you playing?" I asked.

"The one with Ronaldo!" she answered.

"I'm shooting for Barcelona," I told her. "Looks like we're gonna have an El Clasico tonight, yeah?"

"You bet."

The game commenced.

It took me at about the 40th minute of the game to realize that she didn't really know how to play FIFA 14. I got that when she had been shooting goals against her own goalie. And the score was 11-0 in my favor.

"Cassidy, do you really know how to play this?" I asked her after my twelfth goal of the match.

She set the controller down and crawled over to me. "No. But we're not gonna play that game all afternoon, are we?" she said as she sat down on my lap and put her arms around my neck.

My expression dropped. She's not the mystery girl. She doesn't know how to play FIFA. Then why did she agree to playing--

Oh. I thought as realization finally dawned on my mind. I was so caught up on finding out if she was the mystery girl that I didn't see the obvious signs.

She wants the D.

I dropped the controller as she immediately closed the gap between our faces. She smacked her lips on mine and my hands involuntarily traced up her back.

Hormones!

Grabbing her by the waist, I pressed her body against mine and a small moan escaped her mouth. Our lips continued to mash together in a rave of flesh and teeth.

I couldn't seem to stop myself and the next thing I knew, she had her legs around my waist and I was carrying her to my bedroom while still sucking on each other's faces.

Yeah, we may be sluts. But who cares? Blame it on hormones.

 What'd you think of the poem?

This one's for my main monkey, OrangeMagicMan, who is celebrating his 18th birthday!