The Story of Us
Football Games
“I ate that poisoned apple that made me sick of being Eve…do you think I walk around with a bull’s-eye on my heart?”
“Come on, mom. We have to get there before it ends so that I can get the extra credit,” I said, hurrying my mom to drive faster. My homeroom teacher Miss Perry, to encourage the high school students to come to the football games, offered anyone who came to the game on Saturday extra credit in her English class.
“We’ll get there, Marlene, but we can’t stay long, we have to get back to the house because someone is coming by to look at it,” she explained to me. Saturdays were the days my mom, dad, and I went to paint and fix up the new house we bought to make some extra money by renting it out. I wanted extra credit, so my mom agreed to drive me after my dad left in the afternoon to go to his part-time job as a pizza delivery man.
Since someone was coming over this evening to look at the house my dad wanted us to stay there and paint while we waited for them, so we knew my dad would be opposed to us going, that was why we were late.
When we finally got there we paid the two bucks each and walked to the grass surrounding the field. Since our school didn’t have much money we didn’t have bleachers, so we had to sit on the grass or bring our own chairs. I sat down and sighed. I didn’t really like football all that much; I was just here to get the extra credit. Miss Perry spotted me and walked over.
“Nice to see you here, Marlene and Mrs. Stevens,” she said.
“You too. Marlene wanted to come to get the extra credit,” my mom said with a smile. Miss Perry laughed.
“Don’t worry, I have a list over there on my chair, I’ll mark her down.” With a nod she walked back to chair. I turned my attention back to the game going on. I didn’t know who was winning, or who the players even were. I looked around for Bryce on the field. I knew he was on the team, they made a point of announcing the players at the beginning of the school year a couple weeks ago, but I couldn’t really remember his numbers. I sighed. What was I doing? Why did I always find myself looking for him, or wanting to see him?
Suddenly I spotted a skinny white boy or at least, the skinniest on the team. Number 17. I almost laughed. Seventeen, which was how old I was now. I watched as the coach called him over and put him in. I watched him running around with the other players, but rarely passing or even catching the ball.
I leaned back and started to make a grass bracelet out of the long grass that grew around us, braiding it then tying it off when I was done.
It would have been more exciting if Nick was on the team. Last year one of the teachers had approached him about joining the football team this year, but I guess he never had. I couldn’t really imagine him playing it either; he was very lean, almost bordering scrawny, but then again, that’s what I always loved in a guy. He also knew how to play guitar, and he wore a leather jacket. He was like a mix of a bad-boy and a rocker, and that was why I could never understand my feelings for Bryce. He was a total jock, nothing like Nick, but then again, that was sometimes a good thing. Nick had a very quiet personality, while Bryce was more outgoing, yet he spoke with sophistication. He was like a mix of a nerd and a jock, and that was one of the strangest combinations I ever saw, yet it intrigued me more than a lot of the other guys in the school that fit into a certain stereotype.
I looked down at the braided bracelets in my hands and threw them back into the weeds, then turned my attention back to the game. When would I get over this boy?
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I remember one time when Bryce told me he liked to shoot targets. He said he first learned when he young and he saw his neighbors trying to shoot cans off the fence near his house. They weren’t doing so well, and when Bryce went over to get a better look they offered to let him try. He took the gun and fired nine shots. After he was done he handed the gun back to his neighbor as he started at the small Bryce in amazement. There were only nine cans on the fence when he started. There were none when he was done. He said he discovered what he wanted to do with his life that day: join the Navy SEALS.
I had a bulls-eye on my heart, and Bryce had a pistol. Why did he have to be such a good shooter?
“Come on, mom. We have to get there before it ends so that I can get the extra credit,” I said, hurrying my mom to drive faster. My homeroom teacher Miss Perry, to encourage the high school students to come to the football games, offered anyone who came to the game on Saturday extra credit in her English class.
“We’ll get there, Marlene, but we can’t stay long, we have to get back to the house because someone is coming by to look at it,” she explained to me. Saturdays were the days my mom, dad, and I went to paint and fix up the new house we bought to make some extra money by renting it out. I wanted extra credit, so my mom agreed to drive me after my dad left in the afternoon to go to his part-time job as a pizza delivery man.
Since someone was coming over this evening to look at the house my dad wanted us to stay there and paint while we waited for them, so we knew my dad would be opposed to us going, that was why we were late.
When we finally got there we paid the two bucks each and walked to the grass surrounding the field. Since our school didn’t have much money we didn’t have bleachers, so we had to sit on the grass or bring our own chairs. I sat down and sighed. I didn’t really like football all that much; I was just here to get the extra credit. Miss Perry spotted me and walked over.
“Nice to see you here, Marlene and Mrs. Stevens,” she said.
“You too. Marlene wanted to come to get the extra credit,” my mom said with a smile. Miss Perry laughed.
“Don’t worry, I have a list over there on my chair, I’ll mark her down.” With a nod she walked back to chair. I turned my attention back to the game going on. I didn’t know who was winning, or who the players even were. I looked around for Bryce on the field. I knew he was on the team, they made a point of announcing the players at the beginning of the school year a couple weeks ago, but I couldn’t really remember his numbers. I sighed. What was I doing? Why did I always find myself looking for him, or wanting to see him?
Suddenly I spotted a skinny white boy or at least, the skinniest on the team. Number 17. I almost laughed. Seventeen, which was how old I was now. I watched as the coach called him over and put him in. I watched him running around with the other players, but rarely passing or even catching the ball.
I leaned back and started to make a grass bracelet out of the long grass that grew around us, braiding it then tying it off when I was done.
It would have been more exciting if Nick was on the team. Last year one of the teachers had approached him about joining the football team this year, but I guess he never had. I couldn’t really imagine him playing it either; he was very lean, almost bordering scrawny, but then again, that’s what I always loved in a guy. He also knew how to play guitar, and he wore a leather jacket. He was like a mix of a bad-boy and a rocker, and that was why I could never understand my feelings for Bryce. He was a total jock, nothing like Nick, but then again, that was sometimes a good thing. Nick had a very quiet personality, while Bryce was more outgoing, yet he spoke with sophistication. He was like a mix of a nerd and a jock, and that was one of the strangest combinations I ever saw, yet it intrigued me more than a lot of the other guys in the school that fit into a certain stereotype.
I looked down at the braided bracelets in my hands and threw them back into the weeds, then turned my attention back to the game. When would I get over this boy?
=======================================
I remember one time when Bryce told me he liked to shoot targets. He said he first learned when he young and he saw his neighbors trying to shoot cans off the fence near his house. They weren’t doing so well, and when Bryce went over to get a better look they offered to let him try. He took the gun and fired nine shots. After he was done he handed the gun back to his neighbor as he started at the small Bryce in amazement. There were only nine cans on the fence when he started. There were none when he was done. He said he discovered what he wanted to do with his life that day: join the Navy SEALS.
I had a bulls-eye on my heart, and Bryce had a pistol. Why did he have to be such a good shooter?
♠ ♠ ♠
Ok, I know this chapter and the last kinda sucked, or at least, weren't my best work, but the chapters will be getting better, and longer too, I just needed to get some backstory out of the way before I get into the real story, which will be the next chapter, so stay tuned! =DBtw, I case anyone was wondering the lyrics from the last chapter at the top were from the song Chemicals React by Aly and AJ, and the one's at the beginning of this chapter were from the song Miss You Being Gone by The Band Perry. Go check 'em out, they're pretty good.