Hey, Babe

"Hey, babe."


That's all he ever calls me now. Babe. Like I'm just another chick to him.

Then again, I kind of am. Just another one of Bishop's girlfriends. Soon to be just another one of Bishop's ex-girlfriends in everybody's eyes, and that was probably true.

We'd had the fairytale relationship – until we actually had one.

Bishop is the captain of the football team. He is athletic, lean, built. His is a body that men and women want for themselves and to themselves. It doesn't hurt that he's also exceptionally good-looking. Having short, cropped hair only makes his strong features stand out more, and his hazel-green eyes are usually the first ones to knock a girl dead. Add the killer smile and the baritone voice, and people fall over themselves just looking at him.

I am the rather opinionated girl next door. I'm best friends with one of his teammates' girlfriend, so I occasionally got invited to a football game and an after-party. Typically, I'm not the gorgeous wet dream, but I'm not the monster under the bed, either. My friends have always claimed that if Bishop's the guy who has the most amazing eyes, then I am the girl counterpart. I suppose it isn't everyday that one can meet a person with blatant heterochromia. My right eye is crystal blue, while my left is a translucent gray. When I'm really pissed or sad, they turn more solid; when I am really, really angry or emotional, they turn a very dark shade of gray. People find it fascinating, I find it disturbing. Thankfully, I am usually more apathetic and distant, and I've only been very, very angry once before, so it isn't like it happens on a regular basis.

But now, I can practically feel my eyes solidifying. Babe. Again. It's like he doesn't even know my name anymore.

"Hi," I reply noncommittally, waiting to see if he'd notice. No, of course he doesn't. He doesn't even notice that I haven't said his name in a while, and that I haven't greeted him with the usual hug and/or kiss whenever I see him. All he sees is the new sophomore cheerleader who passes by us while giving him an obvious look, despite the fact that his girlfriend is right next to him.

I just close my eyes and slam my locker. Without opening my eyes, I know Bishop has just jumped a foot into the air, and the girl has just scurried away.

Not exactly known for being the nicest of girls, I had been the cause of a few meltdowns of cheerleaders and haters when Bishop and I were first seen in public. I never understood the opposition of a jock dating a non-airhead, and I made that perfectly clear to everybody else.

Too bad my defense is worth nil now, I think bitterly. The stereotypes seem to be going strong as ever, cheating-jock-boyfriend included.

When I finally open my eyes, Bishop is talking to his teammates, as if nothing even happened. I leave for my first class on the first day of the week and don't look back.


He had approached me at the party after winning the football tournament, and after getting the Athlete of the Year Award.

"It's Lexie, right?"

I'd caught my breath back then, my first time getting up close with the school God himself. His eyes really were amazing. Then I'd noticed the cup of beer he was holding out. Everyone knew I didn't drink not only because I was underage but also because I just didn't, the same way they knew no one except my best friends called me Lexie.

Meeting his eyes straight on, I'd enunciated, "It's Alexa."

I had turned on my heel and left him by that crowded living room, but kept on thinking of him the whole night, anyway. Bastard.



I look up to see a dark-haired athlete leaning over me. "Oh, hey, Joel," I grin at the basketball star. "Need help in Calc again? Seriously, why are you in Advanced if you don't get it?"

His trademark smile flashes widely. "I am seriously hurt by your assumption that I only talk to you to get some help, and that I don't get Math." When I raise my eyebrow, he concedes. "Okay, yeah, I was goin' to ask for your homework, but I was also going to ask you if you wanted to get somethin' to eat later." My eyebrow doesn't go down. "In a strictly-friends way only, of course. I wouldn't want that man of yours on my heels. He runs really fast."

My laugh is genuine and ironic at the same time. "He is on the football team, y'know. All legs. And as for that free dinner, where?"

He names a restaurant near my place, and I nod. Dinner out of my house? Heck yeah. Bishop and I haven't gone out in three weeks, and I'm not going to mope every night in my house because of him. (Starting now, anyway.) Joel also happens to be my classmate in a bunch of other classes, so I know he's a really nice guy who has a brain. He has actually been one of my better male friends this senior year.

"Great, I'll pick you up – I mean, I'll meet you after school by the parkin' lot, okay?"

"See you later."

I never even notice that he doesn't ask about Calculus.


Bishop had been persistent, no matter how many scathing comebacks and unreasonable excuses I came out with. Still, he'd given me flowers on Valentines' Day, as well as a homemade card (that I had framed but is now missing since I threw it into my disorganized locker after the first week he called me babe), and had punched out the guy who called me a bitch because I called him an a-hole after pushing a girl out of the way and not even bothering to help her up.

Despite the fact that I had gone out with another guy while he was "courting" me, he didn't give up. Needless to say, that going-out-with-another-guy thing ended with one date. I'd thought of how it would feel like to be on a date with Bishop the whole time I was with the other guy.

I was still aloof to the point of Arctic cold. He called it my mysterious charm. I socked him in the arm. He said he liked a girl with guts. There'd been a bit of squabbling, but he saw it as lover's quarrels. Yes, he got to me.

When I had overheard him telling his friends to back the hell off after they talked smack about me, I ran up to him and told him, in not so many words, that I liked him, too.

After that, we'd been inseparable. We hung out all the time, whether doing homework or going to the mall with my best friend and his teammate. We were perfect together, said the romantics and idealists, something out of a chick-lit book. Finally, the ultimate playboy is settling down, as well as the easily-overlooked, cold girl.

Junior year had ended on an all-time high. Summer continued and ended pretty much the same way. Too bad they had to end, because the start of senior year is promising to be an all-time low.

A/N: Okay, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but then it got too long. So there it is, the first in what will probably be a four-part short story.

I hope you all enjoyed it. If you did, that review's a click away.:))

- che