Past And Present

Cassandra

Have you ever been so publicly humiliated and embarrassed, that you wish you could crawl under your bed and hide?

Well, me too, but there's no way my fat ass would fit under the bed. Or, at least, that's what the entire student body likes to inform me. Let me catch you up on what I mean by going back six hours before I met a new revelation that changed my entire life.

Six hours earlier...

"Is that what you're wearing to school?" My older sister Tarra asks me as I step into the kitchen.

I look down at my outfit choice. My eyes take in my cream-colored, loose-fitting sweatshirt, baby blue sweatpants, and tennis shoes. To my dismay, this is about the only type of clothing that I have left that fits me. I slouch my shoulders and lower my head as I take a seat at the breakfast table, grabbing the box of frosted flakes and pouring them into my cereal bowl.

"Tarra, leave your sister alone and eat your damn food," my father scolds.

Tarra throws both of her hands up, her fresh new manicure on display. "Hey, I'm just trying to help," she defends herself to our father.

Tarra was always so protective of me. I swear if there was a fire, she would throw herself in front of me to protect me from the flames. So without a shadow of a doubt, she always meant well, even when her choice of words sounded harsh.

She sits next to me, bringing her hand to my shoulder. "All I'm saying, Cassandra, is that you may want to reconsider your outfit choices. Kids are punks and if you give them more and more fuel, they will take a match and light that fire just to watch you run or fall and pick on you."

I watch as her petite self grabs a banana from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. Tarra just doesn't understand. She's never had a problem with being overweight since she has always been gorgeous and is a magnet to the guys in school.

Tarra is one of the most popular seniors in our entire school. She's 5'8'' and lean, with hazel eyes and the most perfect heart-shaped lips. The guys pretty much fall at her feet. As for me, not only am I the youngest but being a freshman has been a completely different experience.

If a boy were to fall at my feet, I'd probably miss it, due to my belly hiding the view of my feet. People either identify me as Tarra's little sister or they don't know who I am. I'm 5'2'' and I weigh two-hundred and fifty pounds. I got our mother's height and dark brown eyes, and dad's thin lips. The only physical trait Tarra and I have in common is our dark hair. Mine is more raven-colored while hers is a walnut brown. At least I can say that I have a slightly bigger bust and a butt, as where she's like a flat board.

A beautiful flat board though.

"I hear Crayvin likes baby blue," I say under my breath, gesturing to my choice of sweatpants.

Crayvin Smith.

What a perfect specimen he is. A Greek God.

I lift my spoon with milk and then watch as I slowly tip the spoon over, dropping the liquid back into the bowl and daydreaming about the angel himself. Crayvin is a senior and he's your typical star linebacker in football, with an outgoing personality that makes him loved by pretty much everyone. Every guy wants to be him and every girl, plus probably a few guys too, either to date him or bone him.

Standing at six feet, with ash brown hair and ocean-like blue eyes, girls have never been an issue for him. If only I could be one of those girls, but the guy doesn't even know I exist. I stood by him once in gym class, his tall perfectly sculpted body towered over me; even his cologne smelt perfect. But, like everyone else in school, they either identify me as Tarra's little sister or they don't know who I am.

"Ugh, I don't understand what you see in him. Crayvin's a tool," Tarra says with disgust laced in her voice and rolls her eyes.

My dad clears his throat, looking down, he checks the watch on his wrist that he has had for as long as I can remember. "It's seven forty-five. You girls should get to school before you're late," he advises us.

I nod my head, put my bowl in the sink, and then walk back over to my dad to kiss him on the cheek as he sits in his chair. "Goodbye, Daddy. Be safe today."

My dad smiles, knowing Tarra and I both worry about him daily just as he does us. We have always been his world and vice versa. When Mom passed, his hard exterior became even more hardened. He is a cop after all and was always so brave and strong.

"I always do. Love you girls." With a soft smile and expanding crow's feet, I get a glimpse of that flicker in his eyes that I look forward to seeing every morning. That flicker reveals the goodness and warmth in his heart. No matter how hard the shell may appear, he was always a softie on the inside for us.

Tarra finds a decent parking spot in front of the large, two-story university. Each morning I stand before this gray and blue building, take a deep breath, then walk up the concrete steps with my hand tightly gripped around the black handrail and my head hung. Each morning starts the same and each day I sigh with relief after I made it through. Little did I know that today would be the worst of all, changing the course of my high school career.

By the time Tarra and I get out of the car, the bell rings and I begin running up the concrete steps to retrieve my books from my locker before I'm late. I almost reach my locker when I trip over my own feet, landing belly down on the pavement. Echoes of laughter from nearby witnesses encircle me as I begin to stand up from my embarrassing fall.

Suddenly, I feel a hand grabbing at my arm, pulling me up from the ground. I look up to see who my rescuer is, and it's none other than Crayvin Smith himself.

I'm never washing this arm again. Or at least not till my next shower tonight; but I'll have no problem reliving the feeling that coursed through my body the second he touched me.

"Th...Thank you," I stutter. Great, the first time I actually speak to the guy that consumes my thoughts, I barely manage to get out a simple thank you.

"Sure, not a problem. Can I walk you to class? We have chemistry together, right?" I nod, not believing my ears. His beautifully soft, yet deep voice is harmonizing and for once it's directed at me. He's the teacher aide in my chemistry class, and I never knew he noticed I was in the same room.

I wipe off the debris from my pants and turn around to get my books out of my locker. My fingers fumble to get the combination right to open the locker. When I finally get it right, the door clicks open and I grab my book before I begin walking to chemistry; with Crayvin alongside me. As if my heart couldn't beat any faster, my breath falters as I feel his hand rest against my upper back. I pray he can't feel how outrageously crazy my heart is reacting to his contact. His warm touch is such a subtle gesture, but it's maddening and the effect it has on me is shocking.

For the rest of the class, I remain completely silent. Trying to listen to the teacher go on and on about whatever he was talking about has been extremely difficult. My thoughts have indefinitely left the room, having been consumed by my crush that has grown significantly by one little touch.

I look over my shoulder to glance at Crayvin and his ocean-like eyes are smiling at me. My heart flutters in my chest, and I pretend to rub my chin against my shoulder. My pencil falls from my hand while turning back around. Leaning down to retrieve it from the floor, my cheeks warm as I force myself not to look back again in case he was still looking my way.

Was he admiring me the way I did him?

By the time lunch came around, my stomach was growling. My appetite must have built up after fawning over Crayvin all morning. Since seniors and freshmen share the same lunch hour, I usually sat with my sister every day. I grab a tray, stand in line, and wait to be served the brown gooey stuff the cafeteria workers were claiming to be goulash.

Mystery meat is what they should call it.

I feel someone poke the back of my shoulder and I turn around to see two girls snickering behind me. "Is Miss Piggy your favorite ice cream flavor, or is that the nickname you prefer?" The skinny brunette remarks, laughing with her blonde friend.

"Uh, no. It's not my favorite," I answer shyly. Knowing what they are trying to do, I turn back around and refuse to let them provoke me.

I get picked on daily for being fat and I never fight back, it's just not worth the effort. Though, I use bullying as an excuse for my excessive appetite. I keep saying that I'm going to start working out with Tarra and lose weight to be happier with myself, but all motivation is lost on me when I constantly get put down.

What's the point if no one believes in me anyways?

"They should just call her Oompa Loompa. That fits her short, fat ass better," I hear one of them say. My fingers grip the tray harder at the edges as I slowly move up with the line, biting my lower lip to distract myself from crying.

"Fits? Doesn't look like anything fits her. Her everyday outfit has to consist of elastic bands," the other girl says before their high pitch laughter burns through my ears.

I pay for my lunch and stand momentarily, looking out for Tarra. I spot her sitting at our usual table, and begin to take a step forward when I hear another comment from behind me, "I think the nickname Crayvin picked is much better. Miss Piggy! She has like some creepy obsession over him. In fact, she'd probably eat our Crayvin. He's a stud muffin after all."

"Cray...vin," I mutter.

I lose all train of thought as I trip over something, someone's leg. I fall to the ground the second time today, only this time my face goes right into the middle of the brown gooey stuff on my tray. I peel my face from the tray and stand up, noticing that a circle of students has formed around me. The laughter rippled through my eardrums and made my heart plummet. Everyone is laughing, including Crayvin. He leans over his waist, holding his stomach, laughing hard and uncontrollably.

"Back off!" Tarra yells, breaking the tortuous treatment I'm receiving. She comes to my side and kicks the tray over to where some of the group is standing.

"Are you okay?" She whispers and the room falls silent. I can't move, instead, I stand frozen with my head down. Tarra goes to rub my back and a rustling noise emits from the back of my sweatshirt. I feel her peel something off of my back, and to my horror, she shows me a piece of paper that has been taped to my back that says 'Miss Piggy.'

"Who did this?" Tarra yells out.

No one answers, but all eyes focus on Crayvin.

I feel my pulse stop and a sensation of the blood draining from my face, causing me to go pale. Sharp, stabbing pains radiate through my body, as if I got stuck in a barbed-wire fence, the wires cutting through me and strangling my neck. The most sobering reaction is how much I welcome the burning as if I have done something to deserve this.

Crayvin's blue eyes glimmer mischievously as he stands straight up, folding his toned arms over his broad chest.

"Crayvin, why would you do this to my sister? What has she ever done to you?" Tarra begins to question him. I look up at him, wondering the same thing, and I wish I hadn't. There is absolutely zero remorse upon his facial features as he answers.

"Why? Because I see how your sister stares at me every day. She looks at me like I'm another one of those dishes she probably devours. Almost like she wants to eat me. It's creepy," he scoffs. As I try to drain out the noise coming from around me, the quiet taunting of my peers, his words cut through me like a knife.

Crayvin shrugs his shoulders, opens his mouth again, and mocks me with, "Besides, Miss Piggy is a cute nickname. It's better than Oompa Loompa or chubby bunny." The entire circle of students begins laughing again, including Crayvin. Their laughter roars through the cafeteria while tears burn my face.

Just as I always have, I stay silent but swear that my insides feel like they want to fall out of me. My sister was right; Crayvin is a tool. My eyes lift back to him and watch as he continues to laugh.

He just needs a pitchfork and horns to match his red shirt; the bloody devil.

"I told you he was an ass," Tarra says. "Let's get out of here, I'll take you home," she adds quietly, and I nod in response.

My words are frozen as I turn to start walking away, leaving my dignity and crumbled heart on the ground before Crayvin. Some students move, allowing me to exit the vicious circle when I hear Crayvin's voice.

"What the fuck, Tarra?"

I turn around and see his hair covered in chocolate milk, the brown liquid dripping over his face. Usually, this would have been a fantasy. To see the guy I liked covered in chocolate, but now it brings some satisfaction I never knew I needed until this very moment.

My crush on Crayvin Smith blinded me from seeing who he truly was. Though, I think a part of me, buried deep down inside, always knew how he was. He's a player, he has probably slept with half of the girls in that circle. He's self-absorbed, insensitive, and after today, evil. This entire time I was so captivated by those eyes and that perfect smile, that I didn't see the horns and the cruel, ugly soul inside.

I guess our hearts just need more time to accept what our minds already know. Today, I learned that not only was my crush a monster in disguise, but I also realized I need to change my appearance. Not for his satisfaction, or anyone else's for that matter, but me.

That's one thing about me that I did get from my late mother that helps me; once my mind is set, there's little to no chance of changing it. I can't continue to be this big punching bag and be too soft to stand up for myself. My mom died of cancer three years ago and she was fighting on her deathbed. My body and health need to change.

I look at my reflection in the mirror and my breath catches behind my throat. The reflection staring back at me damn well made me cringe with the threat of bile pleading to escape my turning stomach. Drawing my face nearer to the mirror, I assume a look of pensive bitterness as my fists curl tightly at my sides. Tears full of shame and disappointment fall from my eyes, cascading down my cheeks, and blur my vision enough to where my reflection looks like a big blob standing in the mirror. That was the last thing I saw before my fist drove straight into the glass, causing my knuckles to bleed as shards of glass fell to the floor.

It's time I change and learn to fight my own battles. To fight as she did. Like my mother always did before she lost her battle.

And so...

I did.

Cassandra

Seven years later...

"Tarra, we have to go!" I yell, knocking on the door of our shared bathroom.

I hear the click of the lock and Tarra opens the door. "Alright, alright. I'm ready, let's go." She says with a big grin, her right hand resting on her hip while her left-hand grasps the doorknob.

She steps out of the bathroom in a cute, white, patterned chiffon dress that rests just at her mid-thigh, brown wedges, a brown belt around her tiny waist, and a denim jacket to complete the look. Her hair falls to the middle of her back in loose waves.

"How do I look?" She asks me, a small smile pulls at her lips as she spins on her heel.

We finally start to leave and I grab my keys from the key rack that hangs just to the right of our front door to our apartment.

"Good, as always. Now can we go?" I grunt, frustrated with the lack of time we have left and her procrastination.

"Oh, wait, Cassandra! I almost forgot something!" Tarra yells out and I refrain from groaning.

Instead, I roll my eyes and exhale in frustration, looking at my watch. Twenty minutes left to get to my graduation. I cross my arms and start tapping my foot as I watch Tarra scurry down our hallway and turn left into her bedroom.

My eyes drag over our small, thin-walled apartment where pictures of our family litter the gray paint. After skimming over the pictures of our parents, smiling and happy, my eyes land on the round wooden dining table that rests in our dining room. It is the one piece of furniture Tarra and I kept from Dad's estate.

I glide my finger over the small scratch that is on one end of the table, and close my eyes, remembering the day Dad made it. He had been in a hurry to get to work. He had finished drinking his cup of coffee and went to pick up his gun holster, dragged it along the freshly waxed tabletop, and left a mark.

"Fuck, not my favorite table," he had muttered.

Tarra and I never bothered to repair it since this small scratch holds a memory of him.

Moments later, she emerges from the dimly lit hallway, holding something wrapped in what looks like Christmas wrapping paper that is probably leftovers from last year.

"You ready?" I scowl, arching my brow and removing my finger from the table.

"Yes. Now you can stop rolling your eyes behind my back, Sis."

"What's with the present?" I gesture to the reindeer decorated papered gift that rests on my sister's lap. I glance at the time on the dash and press on the gas a little more.

The harsh Arizona sunlight was beaming through my windshield, warming my fingers that are on the steering wheel. The humidity drapes the atmosphere and I already feel myself sweating. I turn up the air conditioning to help the sweat and to keep from feeling sticky. Then again, I could be sweating from the nerves. They have been going haywire all morning.

"You do realize that after today you'll be a cop right? So no more speeding, Missy." Tarra mocks, pointing her accusing finger at me, and I stifle a laugh.

"Anyways, this thing here-," she says, lifting the box and giving it a small shake, "is for you. But you have to wait until after the ceremony to open it."

I exhale dramatically. "You know I hate waiting. Can't I get a hint?" I giggle as I turn into an empty space, parking my black Toyota Tacoma.

This truck has become my baby. After busting my ass to buy myself a vehicle, I almost went with a small car, but then my eyes set on this beauty. I call her Darth Vader. I like to say I got her because I can do more with it in the desert, but in reality, I think I got this truck because of how big it is. I was always made to feel small in school, and in this beast, I feel on top. It brings me a sense of comfort each time I drive it.

Tarra puts on a mischievous grin and shakes her head. "Nope, nope, nope. Must wait, you shall. Impatient, you are." She laughs, impersonating one of the characters from my favorite movie series.

Star Wars, of course.

I shake my head, laughing as I hop out of my truck and make Cassandra the rear to meet Tarra.

She struggles to hop out, her dress lifting up from sliding amongst the chair and revealing her underwear, or lack thereof. I start laughing as she quickly fixes herself with a grunt.

"I don't know why you insisted on having to take your damn truck instead of my car. Mine is much more accommodating. I practically need heels to get into your truck."

I arch my brow, giggling when I say, "Well in my case, I need a ladder." My hand raises and I point my index finger down towards my head, "Hello, five-two over here."

We both laugh and she puts her hand out to straighten my tie. "So, you ready to do this or what, Sissy?"

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and nod.

It's time.

My heart races as I sit with all of my fellow cadets, waiting to receive our badges. All twenty of us are exhilarated by our new sense of purpose and accomplishment. This badge symbolizes all of the blood, sweat, and tears that we have had to endure. The honor of wearing and receiving one means we made it, after months of pushing ourselves constantly, we made it.

Never did I think I'd be sitting here, about to receive a badge and become a patrol officer like my father had once been. I certainly never thought I'd get pepper-sprayed one day or tasered for that matter, but that's something we had to do in order to carry a firearm and to know how to properly use it if the situation should ever occur. Luckily, I already had plenty of firearm experience, thanks to my dad. Sure, at eleven years old, it wasn't every little girl's dream to learn to shoot clay pigeon targets, but I enjoyed the experience.

Just like every cadet's face I see in the crowd, I imagine mine wears the same accomplished expression. I have earned this. Ever since that dreadful day of my freshman year in high school, I worked hard and never gave up. I made a promise to myself that day when I sat in absolute solitude.

Physically, I cried. I cried so much that it literally shook my core. Always my protector, Tarra had brought me home and I drank hot tea to sulk my sorrows. For days I didn't eat or talk. At first, my dad feared I was on drugs until Tarra and I explained what happened to me and why I was like the walking dead.

I remember how it felt to have my heart shattered publicly and having the ground beneath me cave in, sucking me whole. I thought death would feel better than how my peers made me feel.

Once my tears stilled and my body felt beaten down, suddenly, the fighter within me came out. That girl, heartbroken by her evil crush and his cruelty, promised to never cry in front of those people again. I promised myself to be a better me, and only for me. My focus shifted so I could move on and live my life under my direction, and so, I have.

My chest fills with a deep breath, I exhale and rub my slightly sweaty palms against the velvety smoothness of my uniform pants when I realize that I'm next. With the thundering ovation roaring in the auditorium, each cadet stands with pride, and tingles of nerves inside me spike, causing the small hairs on the nape of my neck to lift.

I have to give a speech... in front of all these people.

I bite my lower lip and glance at everyone sitting out in the audience. My fellow cadets all anxiously waiting to be called upon to earn their badges. I'd much rather be sitting with them than up here on the stage.

"Without further ado, I now introduce Cadet Porsse, who graduates today at the top of her class." Our instructor boasts over the microphone, my nerves rise even higher.

Each step matches the loud thud of my heartbeat as I walk up to the podium and pull the microphone down so that my short ass can be heard. My right-hand my left wrist as I scan the sea of people before me. I really only know the cadets I graduate with today that live out of town, with their families filling all of the remaining seats. There are two people I wish could be found within the crowd. Oh, how I miss my parents and hope that right now they are looking down on me with a proud smile.

I am grateful my sister is here for me, being supportive of me as always. My eyes land on her as her big, goofy smile widens. Somehow she got a seat up upfront though we weren't early enough for her to get a seat like that.

Power of persuasion, that one.

With a slight lean sideways, I subtly clear my throat away from the microphone, and my lips part to speak. My hands, still damp from nerves, hold the same position and my eyes analyze everyone. Instead of looking into waiting eyes, I fixate on the audience's eyebrows. That public speaking trick gives off the illusion that I am looking directly at them and am capable of delivering this speech.

"Today we leave behind the title of the cadet to wear the title of a police officer. What we must remember though, is what comes with this title. You may have situations where you will need to protect, to bleed, to fight, and yes, unfortunately, maybe even die for someone that isn't exactly grateful."

I watch as all of the cadets, including the instructors, nod their heads in agreement.

"We as cops, are never officially off duty. We will constantly be looking over our shoulders, checking our six because that is how we were trained, how we survive. There are people out there who will tell you they don't like you because of the piece of metal that we will now carry, our badges...our shields. But, we should be proud of it. Be proud of what you have accomplished and what we stand for. We are police, the thin blue line, standing between good and evil, and protecting the victims."

"Never let anyone put you down, or make you feel that you simply can't achieve anything in life. Take me for example. I was known as the fatty in school, suffering from an eating disorder, and weighing two-hundred and fifty pounds. Granted, my height never budged, but after being bullied, I stopped being a victim. I lost a hundred and forty pounds and now weigh one-ten today." The crowd starts clapping, which I acknowledge with a smile but put out my hand to quiet them down so that I can finish.

"I'll end my speech with this. There are five things you can't recover in life. One, an oath after it's said. Two, an occasion after it's missed. Three, time after it's gone. Four, trust after it's lost. And lastly, a life once it's stolen. Live this life every day as if it was your last. Love the career you've chosen and don't become complacent."

"Be the heroes I know you can be. Congratulations my brothers and sisters, we did it!"

After the ceremony is over, I rush out to find Tarra with my badge in hand. Excitement, honor, and accomplishment pour out of me as I grasp onto the piece of metal that I received. My finger grazes over my last name that has been engraved.

"Well, Dad, there is officially another Officer Porsse in the world," I say to myself.

I spot Tarra and wave my badge in the air. "Can I have my present now?" I shamefully beg her, my lips pouty.

Her hazel eyes flash knowingly. "Uhm, can I get a hug first, Officer?"

We both smile at each other and she pulls me in for a tight hug.

She sniffles and whispers in my ear, "Dad would be so proud of you. Mom too."

She pulls back from the hug, keeping both hands on my shoulders to meet my eyes. I don't cry in front of anyone, including my sister. Even though our parents are always a touchy subject, I battle back the tears until I'm alone. Dad died two years ago after being shot while on duty.

He's why I wear this badge today. Why I made the choice to try and save lives as he did.

Tarra reaches in her purse, pulls out the same reindeer wrapped gift she had this morning, and hands it to me.

"You may open it now, Officer." She giggles, brings both hands together and touches her lips.

"You don't need to call me that every time, Tarra." I snort. "Only when I'm pulling you over in that box on wheels you call a car."

I observe my sister as she rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest. "Just open the gift already."

A laugh escapes my mouth as I tear the decorative paper apart and reveal a small box.

I hope this isn't one of those pranks where it has several smaller boxes within this one.

She got me on that last year. I pull back the tape, open the flaps of the box, and lift the beautiful watch up.

The watch's silver flashes in the sunlight against the black face of the clock. A thin blue line, which represents the thin line Officers face daily between life and death, crosses the face, along with the small quote, 'Heroes don't wear capes, they wear police uniforms' in white lettering. I flip it over and run my index finger over the back of the watch, where the words say, 'Love, Tarra, and Daddy' are engraved. The message fills my heart full as soon as my eyes pass over the words.

"He said he knew you were going to be here one day. He was right."

"I love you, Tarra. This means the world to me." My voice cracks and I look down, my eyelids rapidly blinking to prevent the tears from spilling out.

As I begin to fasten the watch around my wrist, she says, "I love you too, Sissy."

To anyone outside our little family unit, it may appear silly that we still call each other Sissy. But, given what has happened in our family, it's nice to have some consistency.

My gaze looks up to hers and my lips pull into an awkward smile. Without saying the words I already know are in her thoughts, how she knows I'm battling my own tears, one falls from each of her eyes.

"How about a beer? I think we need to celebrate." She offers, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes, please," I immediately answer with a loud sigh of relief.

A cold one is much needed.

Cassandra

-Flashback-

I dig my hands into the pockets of my gray sweatpants, anxiously waiting to be called on. I keep my head down and dig my heel into the damp dirt, marking my white sneakers. The obnoxious sing-song voices of my peers and the loud noise emitting from Mr. Ronaldo's whistle is all I can hear in this entire damn field.

Why soccer? Can't we do something else for physical education?

"Cassandra!" Crayvin calls out with a raucous voice. His brows furrow when I look up and make eye contact. The eyes I used to admire are cold and calculating as a slight close-lipped smile grows on his face. I cringe at the smugness that radiates from the condescending douche.

Fidgeting with my short fingers against the inside material of my sweatpants, I shift glances around the field, and my eyes widen when I realize why he called my name. Everyone was chosen for teams and I, like always, am the last pick of the crop. Moping, I drag my feet over towards Crayvin's team.

I stand in the goalie position, watching as everyone is jetting across the field, in hopes of getting the white and black ball into the net of their opponent. My eyes shift to Crayvin's athletic form as he runs across the field. Before last week, P.E. was my favorite time because I was able to watch him. But now, when I look at his tall and athletic build, I instantly remember how monstrous he is. The way his straight, white teeth bite on his lower lip when he's either nervous or determined, and his big, prominent eyes drive me insane. Even the small scar just below his lower lip, something I once found adorable, now makes me want to grind my teeth in agitation.

Okay, maybe I still find the scar adorable. But, once you take away all of his good outside features, you're left with nothing but his cocky spitefulness who feels entitled to anything.

I shift my weight from side to side as soon as I notice a tall, imposing, fast-moving guy kicking the ball with a vengeance towards me. My arms stretch outwards and I blink as I see his leg swing back and forward to kick the ball with the tip of his foot. With one eye, I open it back up to see what has happened, and there is nothing but scrutinizing looks directed at me. I turn my head and see that the ball made it past me, scoring a point for the other team.

Mr. Ronaldo blows his whistle, indicating that it's time to run in and change out. I start to jog with the rest of the students and end up tripping over my own foot when I hear someone snicker behind me, "Run fat girl, run!"

With my vision distracted, I crash right into Crayvin and knock both of us down. The crackling noises of the students surround me as I immediately roll my body off Crayvin's. His eyes narrow and his face has turned a crimson red. He stands up, wiping the mud off his shirt, and puffs out his chest as he looks down at me, still sitting on the ground.

"Seriously? Your bodyweight about crushed me," he snarls and retreats to the locker room.

"Trying to squish our captain, huh?" Faith speaks, delving the tip of her foot in the dirt and kicking some onto me. "That's for making us lose. We put you as the goalie hoping that the ball couldn't fit around you, but you even managed to fail at that. What a joke." She spits, flicking her perfect hair over one shoulder. After one last sneer at me, she dashes off towards Crayvin and throws her arm around his waist.

-End of Flashback-

"Cassandra!" My sister sighs, nudging my shoulder with hers and snapping me out of my recollection of the past.

"Sorry, what?" I turn my head to face her.

She lifts her bottle of beer to her lips and smiles. "Look over there, isn't that the guy that lives in our apartment complex?"

I follow her gaze towards the pool tables when my eyes land on him. The guy with sandy brown hair and blue eyes that I have been admiring the past month strikes the solid yellow ball with his cue stick. He's tall, athletic build is something to admire.

I shift back in the barstool, resting my forearms on the bar and holding my beer with both hands.

"Yeah, that's him alright." I bring my eyes back to Tarra, who's now smiling at me.

"Well, go talk to him. He's hot," Tarra says, and I let out a loud laugh, snorting at her comment.

"Oh, yeah sure. Let me just go over there and pull some moves on him," I sarcastically say, turning my attention back to my beer.

"Come on, Cassandra." Her words flow over the slightly sticky bartop our elbows rest on. "You haven't been laid in what, a year?"

I arch my brow and look at her momentarily, before turning my head sideways. "A year and a half," I admit.

I've only had sex with one person before and it wasn't anything special. Anderson, my fuck buddy if you will, was basically the only thing that would take my mind off of my father's death. But as soon as it was over and I kicked him out of my bed, the depression tried to seep through again.

"Yeah, that's ridiculous. As I said, it's time to celebrate." My sister is quite the serial dater and she's also a registered nurse. So to her, sex is like a study of the human body, just one that she particularly likes. "You just don't find sex as fun because you've only hooked up with what's-his-face, and he was probably like a starfish. He just laid out and did nothing while he got to finish. You need to find someone to give you an orgasm..."

I choke on the beer that was halfway down my throat and cough, my eyes watery. Shaking my head, I interrupt her with, "Okay, okay. Stop, Tarra. I'm not on a quest to get laid to your dismay. Sorry." I shrug my shoulders and turn my attention back towards the bar, observing all of the different styled bottles of alcohol that sit on the clear shelves.

She turns her bar stool so that her body is facing the pool tables behind us and leans in, her breath hitting my cheeks when she talks. "You're twenty-one. It doesn't mean you can't just have fun." She wiggles her brows and hops off of her stool.

I watch her as she walks over to the pool tables and starts a conversation with the guy from our apartment complex. I pull the bottle of beer to my rose-colored lips and my eyes widen when I observe Tarra smirking and pointing at me. The guy looks up and squints his eyes to do a once over before smiling at me. I turn right back around, facing the bar again with my heart beating rapidly, my nerves shooting straight to my cheeks.

I feel a finger poke my back, turn around, and see a long, bony finger that belongs to him. My lips open slightly, about to speak, as he takes a seat in Tarra's stool and offers out his hand for me to shake. I put my hand in his and shake it. His hand is soft, yet strong.

"I'm Drew. You've got quite the handshake there, you mean business," he announces.

My cheeks immediately warm as I pull my hand back and wrap it around my beer. Using my opposite hand, I push back a strand of hair behind my ear and smile at Drew. "I'm Cassandra."

I watch as his eyes scan me slowly, taking me in, and I can't help but suck in a sharp breath. Up close, I can see the light stubble on his protruding chin. When he smiles, there is slight discoloration to his straight teeth, so he's possibly a smoker, which is a turn off for me. I gently shake my head at myself for observing him like an Officer observes his arrest. He's still cute, and as Tarra said, I just need to have fun.

"What do you say, Cassandra. Want to play some pool? My friend is pretty distracted and I'm a little bored over there playing by myself." He nods his head, gesturing to the guy against the wall in a heavy make-out session with a blonde. I can't see his face since it's basically being sucked off, but his friend has a white shirt on with his broad back facing us.

"Sure, why not?" I reply. I turn from the bar when Drew puts his hand out to help me off the stool. I stand from the stool and Drew looks down at me and smiles, approvingly.

I decided on wearing tight black leather pants, a deep-colored red shirt that reveals my shoulders, and my black high heels to make myself appear taller than my actual size. I follow Drew over to the pool tables, grab a cue stick, and stick my tongue out at Tarra without Drew noticing. She puts a hand over her mouth to cover her proud smile.

"So how should we do this? I can break and you two go against me, or?" Drew questions, while chalking up his cue stick.

I grab a cue stick from the holder and begin to chalk mine up as well when Tarra leans against the pool table, folds her arms over her chest, and grins. "Believe me, Drew. My sister doesn't need help, she's quite the badass at pool. How about, I will be on your team and she breaks?"

Drew nods and racks up the balls, placing the white ball in the position for me to break. Another thing I learned from my dad was how to be a badass pool player. Whenever he wasn't working, our usual hangout times consisted of either pool or shooting ranges. Grinning, I take my cue stick and lean down, striking the white ball in a brisk motion. The variation of multi-colored balls scatters across the velvety green table, starting the game with three balls already in the holes. A flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes, after which I glance over at Tarra and wink.

He has no idea what he's up against.

Ten minutes later, Drew lifts one brow and raises his hand to rub the back of his neck as I sink in the black eight ball, winning the game. "Damn, I've never seen a girl play like that."

There was a sense of familiarity and comfort with Drew. It was as if we have been friends for some time and things felt easy. I found myself enjoying my time with him and laughing at the small talk that we exchanged. My flirting game definitely needed a little work, but he went along with it, being the cutie that he is.

A giggle leaves my mouth as I place the cue stick back in the holder. I turn around and grin, putting my hand out with my palm up. "That will cost you one hundred bucks. You know, for schooling you," I said flirtatiously.

He chortles and shakes his head, closing my palm. Warm tingles spread up my wrist as he asks, "Will you settle for maybe, my number and dinner?"

My heart is thumping faster in my chest, but I tilt my head to the side and pucker my lips, making him think that I'm contemplating his offer. "I guess that'll do." I smile and, as he returns the gesture, his cheeks slightly blush.

"We better get going, Sis. I have work tomorrow," Tarra alludes behind us, but by the look in her eyes, she's happy for me. The huge grin she has is evident enough.

I nod when Drew scans the room, exhaling as if he's frustrated. His eyes drag back to mine and he notices, "Say, it looks like my friend ditched me. Mind if I hitch a ride with you ladies?"

"Sure, it's not like it's out of our way or anything," I say, giggling. "What about your friend though?"

Drew shrugs and waves off the subject. "Nah, he does this all the time. He usually finds someone here and takes them home."

I make a disgusted face.

Poor Drew, he seems so sweet, and yet, he has a douche for a friend.

I grab my keys from Tarra's purse and we walk out of Jax's Bar, towards my truck.

"Are you okay to drive?" Drew asks me.

"Me?" I say. "Oh yeah, I only had two beers and drank like three water bottles. My sister, however..."

We both look at Tarra, climbing into the back of the truck and laying on her belly in the backseat. "Had one too many."

We both chuckle as we drive back to the apartment complex, sharing a couple of not so subtle, silent glances at one another. By the glint in his eyes, I know he feels the connection that sparks between us too.