Jackson Whittemore was once the star player on the Beacon Hills lacrosse team. He watched as you took his spot. He went from being number one to number two. He heard the chants of support you received during game nights.

He could only gaze at you with venomous eyes, hiding the underlying sadness behind his anger. He wanted to be something; he had the potential, but you took it away from him. He thought you must have used some sort of advantage. No matter how many times he cornered you in empty hallways, you never revealed your secret.

Today after practice, you were dripping with sweat on your way to the boys' locker room to take a shower. Jackson followed suit. Soon after your refreshing shower, you emerged from the shower area, wrapping a towel around your waist and making your way toward where most of the other boys were either changing or chatting. There was Jackson, but you didn't notice him. However, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

Jackson: "Idiot." he muttered under his breath, observing as you got dressed. He rolled his eyes, changing into fresh clothes. By now, everyone else had left the room, leaving just the two of you. The tension was thick. It would have been cute if he didn't despise you so much.