𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

11. 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏

Football games weren't usually your favorite after-school activity, but it was homecoming week and you promised Chris that you would be there to support Chet and the rest of the team, despite how the cold air nipped at your lungs and how the stale concession stand popcorn tasted like rubber in your mouth.

You never go back on your promises. Not even the ones you're not sure you even made in the first place.

You jolted in your seat as the crowd of students surged around you. "What happened?" you choked, leaning over the fence to offer some popcorn to Chris, who was leaning back against the stands in her very pretty yet very uncomfortable-looking cheerleader uniform. She laughed and took a handful from your bag.

"We just scored."

"Oh. Really?"

Football. The one thing you would never truly understand. Maybe if Meeks explained it to you, you'd get it. But you doubted even the two of you put together could figure it out.

Chet was the team captain. Or the quarterback. Whichever was more important. Whichever title gave him the right to knock over every underclassman in the hallways and show up late to whatever classes he didn't want to attend.

It felt strange not toting off to Welton immediately after school. You wondered what you were missing right now. Was class already out? Did the boys get the message about your excused absence? Which of them actually did the work. And out of them, which would let you look at their notes?

Stop it, you scolded yourself. You didn't skip class just to think about it all day. Football. You're supposed to be learning football.

And you would've too. You bet you'd have been an expert on football by the end of the game if Chris hadn't leaned over to whisper in your ear; "Isn't that the kid from your dad's school?"

You frowned and stood up in your seat to peer over the surging student section. Sure enough, Knox was leaning over the fence on the far side of the field. His bicycle was tucked under his arm and the black Ray-Bans over his eyes reflected the weak autumn sun. Even you could see that he didn't belong there, amongst the common folk of Vermont. It was like he jumped straight out of a Ralph Lauren catalog and stumbled onto some random public high school football field.

"Hold this," you mumble, shoving the popcorn into Chris' hands. It took a good few seconds to march to the other side of the field. From there, the screams of your peers were more like drowned out whispers.

Knox propped his elbows over the chain fence that separated you. His cockiness rivaled Charlie's when he really wanted it to. And he was really trying to sell it today.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" you hissed, crossing your arms. It was only going to get colder as the night drew on and by the looks of the current score, they were going to keep playing until well after sunset.

There was a clatter as Knox tore the sunglasses away from his eyes. "You weren't in class," he reasoned. "I was worried."

His expression mirrored that of a kicked puppy. You almost felt bad. Almost. 

"I told Keating that I was going to be absent. Does Nolan even know you left campus?"

Knox sort of scoffed, turning away to roll his shoulders back. "No, of course not."

"You're going to get us both in trouble!" you whisper-shouted as if somehow Nolan himself was going to come stampeding over the hill and land you both with lifetime detentions.

He raised an eyebrow, making a wide sweeping gesture with his arm that you supposed was supposed to be intimidating. "What, is it a crime to care about you or something?"

Knox. You loved him, you really did, but he was insufferable when he finally decided to put his foot down on something.

"No! It's a crime to leave campus unaccompanied!"

"That wasn't an issue last week when we went down to the cave!" he barked, matching your tone perfectly. This back and forth was really getting old.

You took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Knox, go home."

He was about to counter with some new ridiculous point he came up with when you both heard a voice that had your heads whipping around to pinpoint the source of.

"Hey (Y/N)!"

Chet Danburry stood on the very edge of the field, helmet hanging loose at his side. He was sweating profusely underneath all of his football gear and when you looked past him at the scoreboard, you realized that it was already half-time and Chris and her fellow cheerleaders were taking to the field with their red pom-poms ablaze.

Any hint that you were in the middle of a loud argument was washed from your face. You waved back to Chet, who was eyeing Knox like his newest victim of lunchroom torment. "This guy bothering you?" he asked, gesturing toward him with his helmet as if sizing him up for slaughter.

You looked back at Knox just to see him glaring daggers at the football player behind you. "No," you said, regretfully. Part of you wanted to see just how tough he'd act with the school quarterback (or team captain or something of that nature) at his throat. "We're fine. Could you tell Chris I'll be just another second?"

"Sure thing. Just call for me or Teddy if you need anything."

Teddy Van Buren was another of his football buddies. It was always someone else's brother or cousin or friend. Connections ran deep in this neck of the woods. You couldn't know someone without knowing someone else first. 

You waited for Chet to jog off before allowing a disapproving glare to make its way back onto your face. Conveniently enough, Knox was already wearing his sunglasses again when you faced him.

"You're coming home with me."

"What?" you sputtered. "No, I absolutely am not. Chris is giving me a ride back after the game."

You watched dumbly as Knox struggled to knock the kickstand off his bike. "I said," he grunted, "we're going home now, (Y/N). I don't like you hanging around this meat-for-brains Danburry douchebag."

Your jaw dropped and your hands fell limply at your sides. "That meat-for-brains Danburry douchebag just so happens to be the son of one of the most influential alumni of Welton! How would your father feel if he knew you were talking about him this way?"

In reality, you had no reason to be this offended by what he was saying. In fact, you kind of liked it. It wasn't every day you got to provoke a well-to-do private school snob. And it wasn't every day they let you get to them this easily.

You could practically see the smoke pouring from Knox's ears before he even opened his mouth. "I don't care what my father thinks and neither should you! Just–" he paused for a breath, the air leaving his mouth and trailing above his head in a thin ribbon of steam. "Just get on this bike!"

"If I get on that stupid bike will you promise to never come out here and find me again?"

He was at his wit's end. "Fine! Yes! Let's just get out of here."

You only realized exactly what you'd agreed to once Knox reached over to help you scale the short chain-link fence. Mounting the bicycle was so much easier with your arms wrapped securely around his waist. Peeling out of the school parking lot a few seconds later, you could feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest as he pedaled you back up the hill toward Welton.

A sigh moved through your lungs and you dug your face into the back of Knox's wool sweater. It smelled freshly washed but still carried the essence that every Welton boy carried at one point or another. Cigarette smoke, whiteboard chalk, and cologne.

You would just have to call up Chris later and apologize for abandoning her. 

(A/N: This has been sitting finished in my drafts for like ages. Sorry if it sucks. I feel like it's not my best, but I haven't updated it in forever. Happy Easter!!! Hope everyone has a great weekend).