My Accidental NFL Boyfriend

                Trent pulls out a cigarette from his pocket, staring at the flame from the lighter for second before pushing it against the top.

            “Roll down the window,” I order, “I hate smoke.”   He grins as he places the butt against his lips, blowing the smoke directly into my face. The lines in the road looked so fuzzy it was hard to decipher if they were solid or dotted.

            “Trent, is this a passing zone?”

            He shrugs, “I don’t know, you’re the driver.”

            “Well, pray a glory be,” I say as I spin the wheel and pass the annoying smartcar in front of me. The gas was like butter, and I hadn’t noticed I was quietly edging it forward before I got stuck in New York traffic. Groaning, I slam my hand on the wheel, staring at the long lines of cars in front of me angrily.

            “Jayla,” Trent says, “Look, another nice car.”

            I turn and see one of Caleb and one of his girl friends, in his beautiful Royce, staring ahead of him as frustrated as I was. I couldn’t place a name to a face, but I had to get out of here before he realized this was his stolen car and I was in it.

            “Buckle up,” I holler, jamming on the gas and going for the curb. The football player looks up alarmed, his eyes focusing on me, as he slowly pulls out his phone.

            Shit.

            I speed on the grass, glad I was on the freeway, passing the traffic jam. Horns were laid on in my direction. I hear that dreadful alarm and flashing lights.

            “Shit,” I yell, looking at Trent. Trent only shrugs, “I guess they’ll put us in jail together.” He trails his fingernails across the window.

            “WHAT DO I DO?!”

            “Pull over!”

            The grass seemed so far away, and I was edging closer and closer into incoming traffic.

            “SLAM ON THE BREAKS!” Trent screams. My bare foot slides and slams on the brake, sending us lurching forward in our seats and my body through the windshield. It hadn’t even registered that I needed to put my seatbelt on, too. I never had gotten in a crash before, and wasn’t even thinking about it before I pulled out of that parking lot minutes ago. Buckle up, kids.

            Pain pulsed through my body in an alarmingly fast rate. It spread from my head down to the tips on my toes still inside the car. Holy shit, ow. I was hanging out of the windshield, my hips firmly planting in the middle of the car and the outside.

            “JAYLA!” Trent screams.

            I lay on the top of the beautiful car, the windshield glass pricking my bare arms. I couldn’t move; I was stapled down with pain. The two cop cars pull to a halting stop beside us, fat little men running out before my vision became so blurred I couldn’t see my own blood pooling around me.

            “Jayla!” a familiar voice screams from afar.

            “It hurts, Trent,” I cry, as I hear ambulance alarms and paramedics rushing toward me.

            “Jayla!” Trent yells, but he seemed so far away. Everything was swirling so fast away from me, I felt as if I was drowning. Deeper and deeper I went, like a weight stuck to my leg, unable to stop sinking and slowly leaving the light.