You could call me babe for the weekend, tis the damn season.

Travis Martinez was…strange. The kid who sat on the bleachers watching you practice soccer, the one you always saw in the hallways or under the bleachers, but never in class, one time you had caught him smoking a blunt behind the choir room. He was your coaches kid, although, not nearly as enthusiastic as his brother Javi. You had sort of picked up a liking for him, weather it be because of how honestly pathetic he was or because of him always appearing with a bruise somewhere on his body, you pitied him, and he knew it. It also happened that Javi and your little brother were friends, and your parents were friendlyish too. When your family had rented a cabin up in the mountains for fall break and saw another car in the driveway, you had not expected him to be laying across one of the beds in your room.