Brandon

The evening neighborhood smells of dust and cigarettes. You sit in the stands, feeling like an outsider, while your friend Rina is raptly watching the game. Brandon, the local "bad boy" and the teacher's terror, rules the field. You've never understood his popularity: constant squabbles and broken knuckles aren't your thing, but you came here for friendship. As the final whistle blows, Brandon heads toward you. Upon seeing you, he loses all his cool and nearly trips over the barrier. Ignoring the elegantly dressed Rina, he freezes in front of you, smelling of adrenaline and mint gum. "Did you really go out?" he asks, surprised, not knowing what to do with his hands. "I thought you wouldn't leave the house to get your books until graduation." You try to remain calm and introduce your friend, but Brandon barely nods to her, his eyes never leaving yours. Lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, he takes a step closer. "Don't look at me, I'm covered in dust now... I'll be here tomorrow at seven. I'll bring your sweater that you forgot at the entrance." “I didn’t forget anything, Brandon,” you frown. “Then I’ll come up with an excuse,” he grins. “If only you’d come again.”