( º ▌░ ✗ &. just fall out of line )

@heathbar: Ball Is Life

[mileer-blog1]

ball is still life

[mileer-blog1]

           mila held her breath when he reached the locker room, having not anticipated him looking as defeated as he did – or as hesitant, when he saw someone waiting for him; she swore something in his body language changed when he realized it was her, but that was probably wishful thinking (that she shouldn’t even be doing anymore.)            when he kept walking, she let out the breath she’d been holding before following his lead, letting the locker room door slam shut behind them. it was weird to be in here, in a locker room, when it was so quiet. if it’d been anyone else, she probably wouldn’t have been.            but it wasn’t anyone else.            leaning against the wall beside him, she was glad she still had her pom-poms. they gave her something to do with her hands instead of putting a hand on his arm, or rubbing his back, or laying with his hair; something to do with her hands besides comfort him with them, even if that was what she would usually do for her friends.            but he wasn’t just any friend.            so she kept her hands to herself and  l i s t e n e d. he didn’t seem to need her to talk back, which was a relief; even as whipped as she still was, if he’d needed someone to talk him down, she wasn’t sure she would’ve been able to give a convincing performance.           even when he turned it back on her, she only nodded (she knew.)

[heathmcrtin-blog]

           heath straightened his neck until he was looking directly at the wall in front of him instead of at the floor. he still didn’t want to look at mila. looking at her would make it uncomfortably real, instead of like he was just talking to the wall and mila happened to overhear. then he would be confessing to her, openly telling her his inner thoughts without the confidence ( and SLOPPINESS ) brought to him after he’d downed enough alcohol.

           and so he kept staring at the wall instead of meeting her eyes, which were sure to be brown and shining and warm, not that he would ever n o t i c e.

          “even if there were scouts, there probably weren’t more than one or two,” he continued, even managing to convince himself a little bit. “it’s too early in the season. even if i fucked up enough to not be considered for their programs, there are still plenty of places that won’t hear about it. i’ll be fine.” he nodded, satisfied. 

[mileer-blog1]

ball is still life

              “be AGGRESSIVE be be AGGRESSIVE.” at the sound of the whistle, the cheerleaders stopped mid chant, some of them dropping their pom poms to their sides, others crossing them behind their backs; and then there was mila, not giving a fuck where her pom poms fell as her eyes stayed locked on the player who’d caused the ref to blow his whistle.               32. though she’d watched heath charge directly at the other guy, she still found herself scowling at the ref; an expression that remained thinly-veiled for the rest of the game because, (in her totally unbiased opinion) when martin went at someone, they usually deserved it.               it wasn’t until he was  b e n c h e d  that the faintest doubt entered her mind. and, even then, she didn’t try to hide her pouting, crossing her arms and trying (and failing) to catch heath’s eye until the fuckin’ alternate tried to console her. ew. she shook the girl off, took a deep breath, and called out the next cheer.              the rest of the game dragged on, mila having to fight to stay focused on the court and not the sidelines. by the time it mercifully ended she didn’t even know what the score was; even if they’d won, it wouldn’t have mattered to her. she still would’ve headed straight for the locker room, shooing summer away with a pom pom and waiting for martin.                always waiting for martin.

[heathmcrtin-blog]

             he tensed as he approached the locker room and saw a pair of white sneakers -- but as he raised his eyes to find dark hair instead of blond, he relaxed. heath didn’t say anything as he approached mila, merely giving her a look before heading straight into the locker room, expecting her to follow behind him.               a million thoughts were swirling through his head, mostly about what he’d just done. he’d get reamed out by coach, that wasn’t even a question -- not that that was much different from usual, but practice would certainly be a new level of hell after he’d pulled this stunt. he was more concerned about the bigger ramifications -- namely, college. it was so early in the season, but you never knew who was in the crowd. pressing his hands to the cool tile of the locker room wall and letting his head hang slightly, heath breathed out slowly to the soft sound of mila’s sneakers on the floor.               “i...” it was hard for the words to come out. he didn’t talk about feelings, not when his parents didn’t care and the kids were too young and instead he just kept it in. “i’m worried. about college. about... that,” he said, lifting a hand to gesture vaguely back in the direction of the gym. “you know?”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

ball is life | task 02

Dear Heath,

You’ve had an easy couple of weeks, haven’t you? I mean, despite your friendships with Oliver and Mila being permanently tensioned, you’ve kind of just been smooth sailing, right? But don’t worry, we’re here to make sure that doesn’t continue for a second longer. So here’s the deal: Simon says to get yourself ejected from a game -- do whatever you need to. All we want is for Oakview’s basketball team to feel a great drop in morale because if our very own captain Heath Martin isn’t in the game, then how ever can we win? -S

What Heath realized, as his stomach sank slightly, was that Simon wasn’t wrong -- basketball was one of the most important things in his life. He knew his grades weren’t as good as they could be, and if he wanted to get any kind of scholarship, it was going to have to be for basketball. Getting ejected from a game was not a good way to present himself, and he just had to hope that it was too early in the season for major recruiters to be attending games yet. He had to be careful, either way, to just get ejected for this game and have no further consequences -- formal ones, at least. He could start a fight, but then he’d get suspended for a game, and that would just make things worse. Eventually, he decided just to take Simon’s advice and antagonize the referees. Two technicals and he was out. 

“Fuck this,” he grumbled the first chance he got, right after a call that could’ve gone either way, and the referee’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Watch your language,” the ref said sharply, pointing a finger at him. “Consider this a warning. One more of those and I’m giving you a technical.” Heath simply ground his teeth and turned away, not wanting to appear apologetic or regretful (God forbid). Instead he jogged to where Price was waiting for him, receiving the inbound pass and taking it down the court, calling out the play as he went. When he reached the opponent charged with defending him, he continued dribbling, dropping his shoulder and ramming hard through the guy as he passed. The player was on the floor, the whistle was blown, and Heath was charged with, well, a charge. 

“What the fuck was that for?” he snapped at the same referee, and he was instantly rewarded with the man’s hands sharply jabbing together in a ‘T’ shape. 

“White, number 32, technical. One shot,” the man said to the table as his partner set it up. As an opposing player took his shot, the Oakview coach sharply gestured for Heath to come to the sideline.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Martin?” he barked, face red and angry. “Stop being an idiot and play the damn game. Go.” The opposing team received the ball, and Heath resumed his task. The game continued on and Heath continued to make an ass of himself, nearly fouling out before halftime and huffing at the referees every time they came near him. 

Finally, shortly after the second half of the game began, his time to finish it off seemed to come. One of their opponents blatantly fouled Morales -- and even as his ears strained for it, Heath heard no foul called. And so he marched over to the referee, his arms held out as he raised his voice. “How much’re they payin’ you, huh? ‘Cause you’re doin’ a fuckin’ great job of catering to these douchebags. How about callin’ something our way for once? Can you manage that, or do you need some fuckin’ help pulling your head out of your ass?” The referee, fuming by now, again snapped his hands in that dreaded ‘T’ motion, and Heath almost sighed in relief. Two technicals. He was out. 

“EJECTED. Coach, please remove your player from the court,” he announced, and ripples of whispers ran through the crowd. Heath stalked off the court and past his team, who stared at him with shocked expressions as he slammed himself down onto the end of the bench. The freshmen, who were closest to his end of the bench, scooted as far away as possible at kept glancing at him like he’d last out at them if they so much as breathed. 

“I’ll deal with you later,” Coach had told him, barely able to look at him as he stewed in his place on the bench. He could barely watch the rest of the game as his team struggled without his leadership, Price attempting to fill his role but unused to calling the shots without Heath to consult first. They fell apart, and the second the game was over, Heath was on his way to the locker room. 

He just hoped the intense amount of work he’d certainly be doing next practice would be the worst thing that resulted from this.

[mileer-blog1]

         “in some cases, yeah.”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

“you sound like you have this issue a lot.”

[mileer-blog1]

          “and a half.”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

“an important distinction.”

[scarlettcolemean-blog]

     “homecoming is over, people. so stop with the fucking junior-senior wars. move on.”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

“don’t tell me what to do, coleman.”

[mileer-blog1]

          “i know you are, but what am i?”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

“twelve years old, apparently.”

[mileer-blog1]

          “i’m professional,” mila insisted, releasing the balloon in his face.

[heathmcrtin-blog]

heath batted the balloon away, but there was a smile on his face. “you’re an idiot, that’s what.”

[mileer-blog1]

          “unless i fouled you for obstructing mine.”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

“as a referee, you should know that you’re not supposed to be coming into contact with players. please try to stay professional.”

[mileer-blog1]

           “i’d be a great ref.”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

“it would be nice to be able to easily be able to see over your head. unobstructed view of the whole court.”

[mileer-blog1]

          “is this how you talk to refs? explains a lot.”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

“this is me being polite. be glad you’re not a ref.”

[mileer-blog1]

        “but can you say it with a straight face?” mila asked, purposely inhaling more helium before speaking to sabotage him.

[heathmcrtin-blog]

“hey, fuck you. that shit was unfair and you know it.”

[mileer-blog1]

          “what abs?”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

“shut up. i am a fit and healthy individual.”

[mileer-blog1]

          “they’re not helium,” mila said, snagging a balloon from the up-sized bouquet of them someone’d left on stella’s locker. untying the end of it, she pinched it between her fingers and brought it to her lips, sucking in. “see?” she said, her hand flying to her mouth as she realized the pitch of her voice was, in fact, much higher. “oh my god.”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

heath let out a burst of laughter at mila’s voice and expression, the satisfaction of being right only made even better by the fact that she currently sounded like a chipmunk. “told you so. but please, keep talking -- laughing is good for my abs.”

[heathmcrtin-blog]

✿ & - summer

✿ — a suggestive text

TEXT SENT TO: summer ☀️

[ 9:45 PM ]

my family’s out for the night. you should come over

& — a loving text

TEXT SENT TO: summer ☀️

[ 2:37 PM ]

you looked hot today

[heathmcrtin-blog]

✉ ⁇ ✘ # $

✉ — a text that wasn’t sent

TEXT SENT TO: gossip girl

[ 9:45 AM -- not delivered ]

had a dream last night that cruz punched you in the face it was fucking awesome

?? — a drunk text

TEXT SENT TO: gossip girl

[ 2:12 AM ]

didd u stfuf teh ballot bxoes cuz i definteily didnt vote f or u

✘ — a hateful text

TEXT SENT TO: gossip girl

[ 8:12 PM ]

please stop being in my presence

# — a random text

TEXT SENT TO: gossip girl

[ 3:30 PM ]

how many hours a day do you spend on your blog

$ — an accidental text (meant for mila)

TEXT SENT TO: gossip girl

[ 1:06 AM ]

pls come pick me up im at bens

[heathmcrtin-blog]

✆✉⁇ø♀

✆ — a morning text

TEXT SENT TO: cruz

[ 11:37 AM ]

thanks for last night miss president

✉ — a text that wasn’t sent

TEXT SENT TO: cruz

[ 4:22 AM ]

why not me

?? — a drunk text

TEXT SENT TO: cruz

[ 1:18 AM ]

wherr r u

[ 1:20 AM ]

pls dint leaeve me h ere

ø — a late night text

TEXT SENT TO: cruz

[ 2:46 AM ]

thnak u for taknigg me hoem

[ 2:46 AM ]

u knwo i t menas a lot

♀ — a heartbreaking text

TEXT SENT TO: cruz

[ 12:14 AM ]

don’t worry about me tonight im going to summer’s place