But all is ignored because of Bee's constant yammering.

"So you just left her there!?" Bee shrills.

I shrug, hinting to Bee I don't wish to have this conversation. As I guessed earlier, she went drill sergeant and got the kiss out of my throat. Predictable.

"I could care less," I sound eerily impa.s.sive as I mumble emotionless words.

"If you cared less Zivali, you wouldn't have told her where the ice packs are," she retorts, gracefully kicking the soccer ball into the net.

I blink. "That was merely common sense, Bee. Besides, I'm over it." I cross my arms, my tattered leather jacket squeaking from the friction and put all my weight on my right leg; the heel of my left boot digging in the gra.s.s.

Maybe.

I bit my lip. I wasn't kidding when I said I could less. It was just an impulse by being s.e.xually frustrated for the past several months. It's not that I couldn't find the time. My mother installed cameras not long ago for security measures.

Although none are near my bedroom, as she claims - it still bothers me. So for the sake of my mother's eyes and my sanity - I don't do anything.

Besides, last I checked, I wasn't gay and I'm still not.

Currently, Bee and I are at the local park in our area. It's pretty deserted nowadays. An arrest happened here a couple of weeks ago and people are too f.u.c.king scared to just step on the gra.s.s let alone the sidewalk. Bee and I could give a s.h.i.+t less - we don't let some po-po scenario take away one of our spots.

The soccer net, Bee and I bought it here in our early years of high school. Fun fact, we stole it from our school. It felt liberating after the school board fired the best Soccer coach we had.

Some bulls.h.i.+t about her has s.e.xual affairs with a student. She was the sweetest women you could ever have as a coach and was too innocent to do something that would ruin the job she loves. My mother said she couldn't do anything about it when they fired her.

From what she told me, I find it hard to believe for my mother always has her secrets.

Might I add Coach Warner is married and a mother of three kids; her desk was always decorated with something about them, it was her own little piece of home.

But the sight of the pictures always made me sneer, impulsive ones. After seeing them consistently a stoic face became much easier to withhold.

"Come on let's go." Bee snaps me out of my train of thought as she pa.s.sed on by with the multi-colored soccer ball under her arm.

"For?" I question, quickly catching up to her in long strides.  My tone mirrored my frustration.

"Liv, it's been hours - you have to check up on her at some point; it's almost 8:00pm. Isn't your mom having another one of those business conferences tonight?" She points out.

I groaned loudly. I forgot, f.u.c.k. Why do I keep forgetting everything?

Bee grins widely, pearly whites showing at full force as her brown eyes gleam devilishly. If anyone knew Bee as much as myself, they'd know that smile isn't meant to be a good thing. It's malicious.

"Cute," Bee says cheerfully as she reaches over to my head then messes up my hair. She's probably conjuring up a plan as we speak.

I click my tongue, "You just want to get something out of it." I truthfully replied, trying my hardest to seem disinterest. I slap Beverly's hand away and fix up my hair then stuff my hands in my leather jacket.

Bee chuckles loudly by my remark. "Some random new girl from the west just moved into you're house and you kissed her at first sight. Why don't you think I want to, Liv? Mhm?" She acts dumbfounded with a ghost of a smirk lingering along her lips, brunette hair swaying its glossy strands.

I just give her the middle finger to end the conversation.