For Fair Love
one
“Chastity! You’ve better have done your homework!” Grans lifts her voice as I stand by the door.
“Yes, Grans,” I tell her.
I open the front screen door. It’s cloudy in Bradford.
“Don’t go out so far, eh, child!”
“Just the field I’m going, Grans.”
She mumbles something, but I close the door behind me and run down the steps.
I have my football in my hands. I walk to the plain field a block away from my home. I kick my ball around, blowing off steam from the events of the day. I practice my skills alone until the sun yawns itself down the sky. Feeling a little better, I give my ball one big kick in the air. It flies all the way back to the walkway. It rolls away and I sigh. I begin to jog to fetch it until a young man appears on the boulevard rolling my ball with his feet. I frown a bit, not knowing what to do.
“Eh!” I call out from the middle of the field. I see his head shoot upward, looking at me. “That’s my football.”
He has raven hair and round eyes. He wears a denim blouse with the sleeves rolled up. He walks up to me with my ball and smiles.
“Mind if I play?”
I do need a challenge…
“Are you any good?” I ask, folding my arms.
He passes me the ball with a large grin. I feel as though I’ve seen him somewhere before.
“I like your accent,” he compliments.
I try to repress my blush and say, “Are we playing or what?”
I kick the ball and run with it across the grass. We play a one on one match for a good while until my knees ache. The lampposts start to light up. We both sit on the field, side by side, breathing heavily from our runs. I feel so much better and completely forget all my troubles. I pull my knees up to my chest.
“You’re pretty good,” the young man says, nodding his head.
I let a smile slip on my face.
“I play for my school’s team,” I say, picking at the grass blades. “I’ll be competing in the nationals soon.”
“Cool—I never asked your name.”
I can’t help but look in his face. He looks so familiar. I know I’ve seen him before. He’s so handsome, almost like a celeb…
“Chastity. Though, everyone calls me Chas.”
“Chas,” he sings out, “Cha-cha-cha-chas.”
I giggle, “And you are?”
“Zayn,” he says.
Uh-Oh.
“Zayn—Like from the band? Oh, I knew I recognized you! Holy bonkers, what are you doing up here?” I begin to freak out.
He laughs, “I’m just chilling in my old neighbourhood.”
“Eh, can’t believe you’re Zayn… Where are your chaps?”
He shrugs his shoulders, “Around, I guess. We finally get a break from, you know, work and stuff. So I decided to stroll.”
“Eh, that’s cool,” I say.
“I like your accent,” he says to me, “It’s not the Bradford accent, though.”
“No, I’ve grown up around the north, so talk weird,” I clarify.
“You don’t talk weird. I like it, anyway,” he says. “Well, I better be going.”
I nod, understanding. We both stand up and walk to the pavement. Before he goes, I give him one good look.
“Mind giving me an autograph?” I ask.
He bends his brows in confusion, “I don’t have a pen on me.”
“No, just an imaginary one, right here,” I say with a smile, pointing at the back of my hand.
He grins and pretends to write on my hand.
“There you go,” he says.
“Thanks.”
I pick up my ball and turn to home.
“Chas,” he calls, “I’ll see you here, tomorrow,” he waves goodbye.
“Uh, yeah,” I say.
“Yes, Grans,” I tell her.
I open the front screen door. It’s cloudy in Bradford.
“Don’t go out so far, eh, child!”
“Just the field I’m going, Grans.”
She mumbles something, but I close the door behind me and run down the steps.
I have my football in my hands. I walk to the plain field a block away from my home. I kick my ball around, blowing off steam from the events of the day. I practice my skills alone until the sun yawns itself down the sky. Feeling a little better, I give my ball one big kick in the air. It flies all the way back to the walkway. It rolls away and I sigh. I begin to jog to fetch it until a young man appears on the boulevard rolling my ball with his feet. I frown a bit, not knowing what to do.
“Eh!” I call out from the middle of the field. I see his head shoot upward, looking at me. “That’s my football.”
He has raven hair and round eyes. He wears a denim blouse with the sleeves rolled up. He walks up to me with my ball and smiles.
“Mind if I play?”
I do need a challenge…
“Are you any good?” I ask, folding my arms.
He passes me the ball with a large grin. I feel as though I’ve seen him somewhere before.
“I like your accent,” he compliments.
I try to repress my blush and say, “Are we playing or what?”
I kick the ball and run with it across the grass. We play a one on one match for a good while until my knees ache. The lampposts start to light up. We both sit on the field, side by side, breathing heavily from our runs. I feel so much better and completely forget all my troubles. I pull my knees up to my chest.
“You’re pretty good,” the young man says, nodding his head.
I let a smile slip on my face.
“I play for my school’s team,” I say, picking at the grass blades. “I’ll be competing in the nationals soon.”
“Cool—I never asked your name.”
I can’t help but look in his face. He looks so familiar. I know I’ve seen him before. He’s so handsome, almost like a celeb…
“Chastity. Though, everyone calls me Chas.”
“Chas,” he sings out, “Cha-cha-cha-chas.”
I giggle, “And you are?”
“Zayn,” he says.
Uh-Oh.
“Zayn—Like from the band? Oh, I knew I recognized you! Holy bonkers, what are you doing up here?” I begin to freak out.
He laughs, “I’m just chilling in my old neighbourhood.”
“Eh, can’t believe you’re Zayn… Where are your chaps?”
He shrugs his shoulders, “Around, I guess. We finally get a break from, you know, work and stuff. So I decided to stroll.”
“Eh, that’s cool,” I say.
“I like your accent,” he says to me, “It’s not the Bradford accent, though.”
“No, I’ve grown up around the north, so talk weird,” I clarify.
“You don’t talk weird. I like it, anyway,” he says. “Well, I better be going.”
I nod, understanding. We both stand up and walk to the pavement. Before he goes, I give him one good look.
“Mind giving me an autograph?” I ask.
He bends his brows in confusion, “I don’t have a pen on me.”
“No, just an imaginary one, right here,” I say with a smile, pointing at the back of my hand.
He grins and pretends to write on my hand.
“There you go,” he says.
“Thanks.”
I pick up my ball and turn to home.
“Chas,” he calls, “I’ll see you here, tomorrow,” he waves goodbye.
“Uh, yeah,” I say.