The sun drenched bleachers were hot to the touch, and I had just lost my only reason to stay at this football game--Mori had already gone home.

I'd only come because she had asked and I was terrified of falling into shaky ground territory with a tenuous new friend, so of course I'd immediately jumped on her offer of attending the first practice game of the season, and hadn't even protested when she told me she had to leave early per her strict grandparents.

Pastels and neons splayed across a watercolor sky broken up by a blinding orange sun, and my book became saturated in honeyed beams of light refracting off the metal bleachers beside me.

A glance at the clock revealed that the game would be coming to a close soon after the sun finished its final waning descent below the horizon line.

The clanging of helmets and stiff plastic padding slamming together on the field below grew distracting enough that I decided to pack up early, but a scuffle on the scrimmage line had me perking up and shielding my sensitive eyes from the blazing ball of fire in the sky to view the action occurring in front of a gasping audience.

Two players were involved in a heated standoff, both from opposing teams. The initial school team had split into two for this scrimmage, much like shirts vs. skins, though they were both very much clothed in this situation.

Spittle was flying, their rage burning hotter than the sunset warm at their backs.

Helmets thrown off, the shorter of the two was the first to shove, and then the ref was there, backing a hand into the shorter one with the red jersey while the one with the blue jersey only shook his head, dark brown curls flying as he stalked away shaking his head as if disappointed in the other's behavior.

I had only been at Hartingrove for a week, so names weren't sticking in my brain, but I was positive they were two of the popular guys, the sporty ones who everyone fell all over in the halls and the cafeteria, two places I tried my best to remain invisible, especially considering the last name that was almost infamous in these rich people circles.

I was just Cami now, no need to announce my last name unless a teacher called out names to check attendance, and if anyone got curious I could always feign indifference. There were millions of people in the country, and Astor could be a popular surname.

The crowd around me let out a collective sigh of relief when the tension receded, but my interest was piqued enough to stick around a few minutes longer to watch the next play unfold, see if the two guys actually came to blows in front of the practice field filled with students, teachers and parents.

The blue jerseys won in the end, and I hadn't taken my eyes off the taller guy the whole time. He was the quarterback for his blue team, but I could tell from his skill that he was most likely the main quarterback for the actual team when they weren't split in half and playing against each other.

Every snap was perfect, each play executed to perfection, every throw a delicate yet powerhouse spiral that landed effortlessly into the hands of an awaiting running-back to sprint it through the end zone.

Grassy clumps of flying dirt pelted the players during the last play, the spotlights shining down hot upon them as their knees quaked from the exertion of holding one another back, but the ball was snuck through the line of players by the blue jersey guy with the gorgeous hair and by the shock on the red jersey's faces, it was a damn good play.

They'd won the scrimmage by three touchdowns, but the last score was clearly an F-You to the player who had instigated the fight.

But as the tall blue jersey guy walked off the field during the extra point kick, red jersey trailed him.

My heart fell to my feet. I knew what was going to happen just as Red Jersey grabbed Blue Jersey by the shiny, reflective material of his shirt and sent him careening into the beverage table, Gatorade spitting everywhere, and then suddenly they were a tumbling fighting messy tangle of limbs and fists and--

And then a sickening crack sounded across the field. Even from my seat, I heard it.

Had his neck snapped somehow? A broken bone?

The game officially over, coaches and parents stormed the field, demanding to know what was going on just as a medic rushed over, the fight broken up quickly as a golf cart drove by on squeaking wheels.

The good thing about this happening on the practice field was that it was so close to the action, which also coincidentally turned out to be a very bad thing, as well, as all the cheerleaders and players had a front row seat to the audience and the faces watching them.

I was so tired of being watched. I wanted to be invisible, live out the rest of my time in Care quietly, no more drama.

I never seemed to get what I wanted, though.

Tucking my books back into my bag, I dialed the number for my new foster mother. She'd been nice enough this week, driving me to school and even bringing me to the game.

Their house was modest, middle class and comfortable and felt like a home--just not mine.

Her phone went directly to voicemail.

Well, there went my ride...

I huffed out a breath as I scrolled through my options.

There was a bus stop a few blocks down, and I could ride it to the street closest to the foster home, then walk from there.

I had no money, so taxi was out of the question, same as any ride share apps--I'd have needed a debit or credit card to link to those in order to even get a driver out here.

I decided sitting out alone on the bleachers, however, in direct line of anyone walking by was not the best course of action.

Maybe I'd just walk to the exit and see about calling my foster mom back then.

I wasn't going to call the foster dad. He was an asshole through and through. Mean, rude, but not abusive. Still an asshole.

If all else failed, it was warm enough, and the neighborhood park seemed relatively safe--it even had a gazebo with a seating area inside. I had my hidden knife in my thigh sheath, courtesy of my favorite foster sister I'd ever had at the last house, so defending myself wasn't an issue, and it would hardly be the first time I'd slept on a park bench.

Care hadn't been all that kind to me in the five years I'd been inside.

Fingers trembling slightly, I zipped the hand-me-down backpack I'd managed to snag from the last home and stood while trying to ignore the ice shooting down my legs.

My heart raced as I took step after step down the metallic steps that rattled like the breath in my lungs, desperate to get away from the strangers with their ever-watchful eyes.

There was the girl who'd knocked into me on accident and hadn't even stopped to apologize the first day, then beside her was the girl who'd knelt down and scooped them up with a what-can-you-do smile and shrug at her friend's behavior and lopped off behind her to catch up.

And then there by the exit, the Red Jersey, speaking animatedly with a coach in official garb, i.e. a black baseball cap, black Nike shirt, Khaki pants and thick looking white tennis shoes completing the look.

Red Jersey was...well, hot. There was no other way to describe him. Sweat slicked the side of his face, his words showing off the pure white of his teeth, and his skin had tanned from the summer sun pounding down on him all season long, but his attitude...

Apparently, the coach wasn't happy, so that made Red Jersey furious.

My stomach seized at the violence displayed on his face, a face so cut and beautiful, he would've been better off with an easygoing smile, a disgusted grimace, a joking grin--anything besides the rage filled sneer that encompassed his features.

"Hartingrove!"

The group of men all turned to the approaching player, Blue Jersey, who apparently had the same last name as the school we attended. Okay, so this was definitely Parker Hartingrove, the Dean's son, and apparently had a family connection to the owners of the school.

Mori had told me as much, at least.

Parker approached Red Jersey and the coach with another official by his side, most likely a medical professional.

There was a white bandage across his head, but he wasn't limping and didn't have any marks on his face.

"Hey, sorry it took so long. Sheila here gave me the all-clear."

I couldn't help but stay hidden in the alcove behind a beam that held up the bleachers--I couldn't risk stepping away and have all of them see me and know that I'd been spying on their conversation the entire time, so I'd wait out their confrontation.

"You boys done with this shit? I can't have this come our first game. We need to get this settled. What's the issue?"

"No issue coach, we're totally fine."

Parker's words seemed to shock everyone in the group.

"Really? Because you were just--"

"Coach Anderson, if I can cut in here...Parker needs to follow up with his primary care physician on Monday morning. He says he has no memory of the fight, or what started it in the first place."

"Really?" Red Jersey guy speaks up, sounding skeptical.

"Yeah. Did I start it? If I did, sorry I guess."

"Wow. If you're apologizing then you really don't know what started it."

"Colton," the coach barked at Red Jersey, letting me know his name so I could stop calling him 'Red Jersey' in my head.

"Don't make this worse than it already is. Parker's willing to get over it, so I expect you to do the same."

"Hey, I wasn't the one who started it! He just got mad at me."

"I don't give two shits who started it! You'll both be on your best behavior next game, next practice, in front of everyone. Are we understood?"

"Yes Coach," the both of them parroted back at the middle aged man who looked, for all the world, a glorified gym teacher who thought too highly of himself.

"Good. Now Parker, head home. Colton, with me for now."

I was just backing away into the shadows as both of them strode their separate ways, but I didn't calculate how visible I'd be once they turned the opposite way--the exact same way that Parker Hartingrove was turning toward me now.

His eyebrows rose as he noticed me, trying to adopt the powers of a chameleon to no avail. I was not, in fact, the silver of the bleacher pole beside me. Damn.

"You know, spying isn't considered very polite."

Oh, so he was talking to me, now.

"So is fighting your teammate in front of a whole crowd, but hey, I'm not one to judge."

The golden, blinding smile he sent me was sure to make me delirious. I needed to pinch myself to make sure this was real.

My arms were crossed around my body and sure enough when my fingers pressed too hard into the skin of my arm, it hurt like hell. So not a dream.

He cocked his head, examining me like I were his prey underneath a microscope, but then his smile turned warm and amused.

"Glad you're not the judgmental type, otherwise I wouldn't ask you for your number."

"Oh, you think you're going to ask me for my number, is that it?"

"I mean, I was going to...but if you don't want me to I can just--"

"Yes?"

He was sweating a little, but it wasn't from the after-effects of the game. Maybe it was from the harsh lights beating down upon us in the practice stadium.

"I'm Parker by the way. You don't go to Hartingrove, do you?"

So he changed tactics. Damn, and I was having fun watching him squirm.

"Just transferred this year. I'm brand new."

"Thought so. Well, what'd you think of the game, mystery new girl?"

I shot him a wink that I didn't use often, only to throw the flirtatious boys off their game.

"Maybe try keeping the fight for the other team? I don't know much about football, just a suggestion, ya know?"

His face grew redder from my words, a sheepish grin appearing on his boyish face.

"I know, I know. To be fair, I totally have no idea why we fought, no one will tell me."

"Ah, standard male testosterone fueled bullshit, huh?"

"Exactly," he said, looking me over more intently as it was my turn to squirm beneath his gaze.

"Wait. You're in my Ethics of History class, aren't you? I knew you looked a little familiar!"

"Maybe? I'm really bad with faces, but I do have Ethics of History third period."

I was rewarded with another blinding grin.

"I knew it! Well, if you have any questions in that course, feel free to find me after class. I'd be happy to help."

I was extremely tempted to roll my eyes.

"Thanks, but history is my best subject, plus I took an elective ethics course online through my old school's free concurrent course program, so I technically already have my freshman year completed depending on if the school I go to will accept the classes as college credit."

A glimmer of something pleasant and wonder flickered across his features as he ran a hand through hair slightly damp with sweat.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Shit. Had he guessed already who I was?

"Nothing, it's just--you're beautiful, funny, and smart. Isn't it illegal to be all three at one time?"

I barked out a surprised laugh myself, then shook my head.

"Apparently not, otherwise Zendaya would be in jail right now."

He was about to respond when Red Jersey--Colton--shouted his name and jogged over to where we were talking.

"Hey man, let me give you a ride home. I don't want you injuring your head any more than you already have."

"Nah, it's fine, my brother is already waiting to drive me back."

The two exchanged wary glances.

"Your brother? Aren't you like, ready to kill him for what he did?"

Colton seemed nervous and fidgeted with his hands, but above all else was the telltale signal of someone feeling extremely guilty and secretive. I knew that look all too well.

"Not enough to remember what even happened. I'll figure it all out once my head stops pounding. Oh, hey, this is my friend Colton. Colton, this is...actually, I never got your name."

"Camille, but I go by Cami."

"Cami. Well, it's nice to meet you. I'll see you third period then?"

"You will," I told Parker, watching as he waved and sauntered off toward a lanky and dark featured person in the shadows, flicking a glowing cigarette butt onto the ground and squishing it beneath a booted foot.

The figure turned, and sharp angular features and black as midnight hair caught a snare of the moonlight and it shone almost as bright as the memory of the flickering cigarette fire in the dusky night.

Parker slapped a hand on his brother's shoulder and they turned as one out of the stadium and I was suddenly left with the realization that Colton was still standing before me and had asked me a question.

"I'm sorry, what'd you say?"

"Nothing. Just wondering why you're still standing around after the game's been over for at least thirty minutes now."

To emphasize his point, the stadium lights flicked off as one, the loud sounds of the massive lights powering down filling the night air with the buzz of quieting electricity and crickets chirping obnoxiously.

Elsewhere, a locust's song bleated into the air, chilling my bones.

"My ride forgot about me."

"Lucky for you I have an opening. Where do you live?"

Absently, I replied, "I don't even know anymore," but he took my strange answer with a shake of his head.

"Lucky for you again, I also have a futon that pulls out into a bed. If you're interested, that is?"

Was I? Who was this person standing before me but a fellow student who I probably shouldn't put my trust in, but it beat going back to that house with people who didn't care about me any more than I cared about them.

"Really? And what about your bed? Is that available, too?"

The wolfish grin that spread across his face was gorgeous, even if I knew the person behind it wasn't so beautiful.

It didn't matter. I'd hardly cared about virginity, so why not a stranger to start me down that path? Why not let go of my childhood and innocence now, rather than let someone take it by force later in life? It was inevitable for someone like me, anyway.

"Seems like I'm the one about to get lucky."

I followed him out to his car, only sparing a glance at the sleek black motorcycle that rumbled out of the parking lot with Parker and his brother on it before sliding into Colton's red Jeep and closed my eyes before sending up a prayer that it wouldn't always be like this, that I'd stop feeling so alone.

Colton's warm hand wrapped itself around mine as he asked me questions about who I was and where I came from, asked about my friends, hobbies, interests, parents, relatives, and I was too heartbroken to tell him the truth, so I lied.

I made up an entire fantastical family, but I was in foster care because they'd died loving me, not because they'd betrayed everyone they'd ever known, including their own twelve-year-old daughter.

I'd had a multitude of friends. I enjoyed makeup and action movies, loved sports and soapy teen shows.

I became a completely different person for Colton, and as I soaked up his story that night, the both of us staying up until the sun rose talking our ears off, I enjoyed this new persona I'd created, the person I wanted to be rather than who I was.

And then the next day I came back, and we sealed the deal with my first kiss.

He didn't know I cried myself to sleep that night in his arms when I gave him my virginity.

Mo never noticed a change in my behavior, and Parker forgot I existed come Monday morning.

It was better this way. With Colton, I was someone else, and to the rest of the world, I was just me, alone, by myself.

Lonely.