Chapter 3 of Twilight!Footie!verse
Chapter 2 [with link to Chapter 1]
3
Soccer practice went surprisingly well. I hadn't done much physical activity over the summer. I wasn't exactly “fit”, but apparently it was good enough. I was informed I'd earned a spot on the team regardless of the fact that I'd arrived late, and thanked the coach profusely for the chance to play. I dumped my stuff in the truck as soon as practice was over and had arrived at my car, and then remembered the incident with Victor at the front desk. I tried not to think to much of it again, but still couldn't get out of my head the fact that I'd been flat-out insulting, or almost, and I hadn't even spent a full day at school.
I arrived home at around five-thirty, and Dad was already preparing supper.
“Heya, Bells,” he said, looking up from the frying pan as I walked in the door.
“Hi, Dad,” I replied, and headed upstairs. I checked my e-mail as quickly as I could with the dial-up, sent some messages to my mother who was asking how I was doing. I tried to be as vague as I could while sending a hint that I was quite content, regardless of how true it was or not. It was at least better than dealing with her messed-up life.
I headed downstairs again, and plopped down in front of the TV, checking to see if there was anything interesting on. All my dad seemed to receive were sports stations; I guessed he'd planned it out that way on purpose, and the only sport I was ever in the mood to watch was soccer, which didn't play on Tuesdays. I slid off the couch and headed into the kitchen again, and tried making small conversation while Dad finished preparing supper.
“How was your first day of school?” he asked.
“It was fine. The kids were nice, and I made the soccer team,” I replied. I didn't say anything about the Victor incident. It was probably me just being a melodramatic teenager.
“That's great, Bella.”
“Yeah, well, I guess with the amount of people this school has they could always use an extra person on the squad. I'm nothing special.”
“Oh, don't say that,” he rebuked, sneaking a glance at me over the fish fillets he was frying.
I simply looked down and didn't respond. It wasn't something I was willing to discuss. Dad was good at pretty much everything; he'd been asked to transfer to other towns and work as Chief of Police there, but had adamantly refused to move. He'd also won various soccer championships in high school. I'd gotten my mom's nonchalant attitude toward sports, but at least she never discouraged me from trying out or anything, and soccer was the only sport I bothered with anyway. It was a lot of running and a lot of strategy, but it was relaxing. For ninety minutes all I had to think about was keeping my eye on the ball and making sure that the other team never got it. My favorite position was right and center; midfield, and even though I was rarely in the zone to be able to score a goal, my previous teammates had always valued my ability to know where the ball was going to go and how to get it to a teammate without the other team catching it. I took pride in myself whenever I manage to get the ball to one of the strikers without interference.
The next day was the same ol' same ol', except with one minor difference. Victor Alonso was nowhere to be found. His “siblings” were there, all four of them, all grouped together and minding their own business. The couples. Bojan also kept following me around, as well as Eric who seemed to dislike the attention Bojan was giving me. At least he wasn't ignoring me though like Victor. So either he had some kind of stick up his ass and I, for some reason, was too far down on the social chain to merit his attentions, or he was just really, really weird. Or I did smell and Bojan had no sense of smell. I decided for the former and that Victor was just an uptight loser to needed to be around people in the top tier of society. I had to deal with those people in Phoenix and frankly, the fewer I had to deal with, the better. Although part of me did secretely wish that His Hotness would have softened up overnight and would offer me a ride in that smooth, sleek, silver Volvo of his that he drove to school. Thanks for rubbing it in.
After Biology, which was nice because I could relax without sensing Victor's tension (and seeing his muscles and veins stick out of his shirt like that, not going to lie) pressing on me and making me more uncomfortable than I already was in a new school, Bojan informed me of a trip to the beach coming up in a couple weeks. A Washington State beach in September. How thrilling. But I obliged, figuring I could use as much of a social life as I could get, even though it would probably just be with the same people as always; the people I sat at lunch with. After PE I headed off to soccer practice with a lighter head than the day before.
I got home, and found Dad making fish fillets again.
“Dad,” I said, having just barely walked in the door. “Fish fillets? Again? For real?”
“You don't like fish?” I could sense some pain in his voice, as if I'd offended him.
“It's not that; I don't mind fish. It's just that...we've had fish fillets three times the last three days.”
“Oh. Sorry, I never noticed.”
“It's alright. How about I make dinner tomorrow?” I offered. He smiled.
“Sure,” he replied. I could sense the relief in his body. I headed upstairs to drop off my stuff in my room when I heard him calling up the stairs.
“Yeah?” I called back, heading back downstairs.
“I recorded a little something for you earlier that you might enjoy,” he said, and pointed to a video tape he'd left on the kitchen counter.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Stick in the VCR. It'll be our dinner-time entertainment,” he said. I smiled and headed over to the living room, and did as instructed. Two seconds later, the opening chords for the Champions League anthem pounded out.
“You get Champions League out here?” I yelled over the TV. The Champions League, for all those not in the know, which I'd imagine would be most people out there in the grand ol' US of A, was a European mini-league in which the best teams from various countries in Europe competed with each other. The winner won a beautiful trophy to display in their stadium and worldwide recognition. Bar the US of course, because this country had no love for world soccer. Or football, as I used to refer to it in Phoenix when the football team took up everyone's brainwaves, like the British did. The matches were usually played on Wednesdays, while the teams' regular season matches were held on Saturdays and Sundays. And my dad had recorded a game for me. They were currently in group stages, the Round Robin, trying to accumulate points so they could move on to the knock-out round.
“Who played?” I yelled again.
“You'll see,” was the response.
“Oh, sweet,” I breathed, seeing that he also remembered my allegiance. Barcelona. I couldn't really explain why I'd fallen in love with the team from Barcelona, Spain, but the fact was that I had, even though I'd never been to Spain and had never really understood the way Spanish soccer worked, but what I did know what that their Spanish arch-rivals in Madrid seemed to have a huge fanbase in Phoenix, and I'd always been one to go against the grain. So Barcelona it was, and I took pride in being different.
Before the game had even begun I'd managed to fall asleep. I woke up during half-time and found a cold fish fillet in front of me.
“Why didn't you wake me up?” I asked Dad, who was sitting on his la-z-boy rocking back and forth. He looked over at me.
“I figured I'd just let you sleep. You were out.”
“Um...yeah...” I got up to put the fish in the microwave.
“Dad?” I asked when I headed back into the living room.
“What's the deal with the Alonsos?” If he'd been eating he probably would have choked. He stopped rocking, and sat still and silent. He looked over at me.
“What about them?”
“Well, no one seems to get along with them; they don't seem to have any friends here,” I said.
“Bella, one thing you have to know is that people are always going to be afraid of those who are different, and the younger the worse.” His voice was stern and forceful. I'd clearly brought up a hot topic with him. His voice softened, however, as he continued. “Dr. Alonso is probably one of the best doctors in the country. He works all possible hours in the ER and never complains. He'll work the graveyard shift as though it were an afternoon shift, that's how dedicated he is. He took in Xavi and Rosa when their parents were lost and gave them the home they deserved. As for the others, his adopted children, I've never known any teenagers who behave as well as they do. They're all extremely respectful and there has never been any problem. Ever. People are jealous and they ask questions. The problem with being in a small town is that everyone talks. And there is no reason for anyone to talk about the Alonsos.” I was surprised at the sincerity in his voice. He clearly knew Dr. Alonso personally or something, because he spoke about him with authority.
“They...seem nice...” I stammered, sneaking a glance over at him, my head still bent down over my fish. “And they look good, too...” Yeah, Bella, leave it all to the physical.
“Oh, you haven't seen the doctor yet!” Dad laughed. “In fact, you should see the way the nurses react around him.” I let out a small chuckle, imagining a gaggle of nurses fawning over someone who looked like an older version of Victor. “At least he's very happily married. And he's certainly got quite a looker in Esmeralda.” He didn't say anything else the rest of the evening, as the game started back up again and we watched in virtual silence, besides the cheering. Turned out my dad had been a Barcelona fan all along.
Please comment, guys! Even if you hate it. I need feedback. o___O
3
Soccer practice went surprisingly well. I hadn't done much physical activity over the summer. I wasn't exactly “fit”, but apparently it was good enough. I was informed I'd earned a spot on the team regardless of the fact that I'd arrived late, and thanked the coach profusely for the chance to play. I dumped my stuff in the truck as soon as practice was over and had arrived at my car, and then remembered the incident with Victor at the front desk. I tried not to think to much of it again, but still couldn't get out of my head the fact that I'd been flat-out insulting, or almost, and I hadn't even spent a full day at school.
I arrived home at around five-thirty, and Dad was already preparing supper.
“Heya, Bells,” he said, looking up from the frying pan as I walked in the door.
“Hi, Dad,” I replied, and headed upstairs. I checked my e-mail as quickly as I could with the dial-up, sent some messages to my mother who was asking how I was doing. I tried to be as vague as I could while sending a hint that I was quite content, regardless of how true it was or not. It was at least better than dealing with her messed-up life.
I headed downstairs again, and plopped down in front of the TV, checking to see if there was anything interesting on. All my dad seemed to receive were sports stations; I guessed he'd planned it out that way on purpose, and the only sport I was ever in the mood to watch was soccer, which didn't play on Tuesdays. I slid off the couch and headed into the kitchen again, and tried making small conversation while Dad finished preparing supper.
“How was your first day of school?” he asked.
“It was fine. The kids were nice, and I made the soccer team,” I replied. I didn't say anything about the Victor incident. It was probably me just being a melodramatic teenager.
“That's great, Bella.”
“Yeah, well, I guess with the amount of people this school has they could always use an extra person on the squad. I'm nothing special.”
“Oh, don't say that,” he rebuked, sneaking a glance at me over the fish fillets he was frying.
I simply looked down and didn't respond. It wasn't something I was willing to discuss. Dad was good at pretty much everything; he'd been asked to transfer to other towns and work as Chief of Police there, but had adamantly refused to move. He'd also won various soccer championships in high school. I'd gotten my mom's nonchalant attitude toward sports, but at least she never discouraged me from trying out or anything, and soccer was the only sport I bothered with anyway. It was a lot of running and a lot of strategy, but it was relaxing. For ninety minutes all I had to think about was keeping my eye on the ball and making sure that the other team never got it. My favorite position was right and center; midfield, and even though I was rarely in the zone to be able to score a goal, my previous teammates had always valued my ability to know where the ball was going to go and how to get it to a teammate without the other team catching it. I took pride in myself whenever I manage to get the ball to one of the strikers without interference.
The next day was the same ol' same ol', except with one minor difference. Victor Alonso was nowhere to be found. His “siblings” were there, all four of them, all grouped together and minding their own business. The couples. Bojan also kept following me around, as well as Eric who seemed to dislike the attention Bojan was giving me. At least he wasn't ignoring me though like Victor. So either he had some kind of stick up his ass and I, for some reason, was too far down on the social chain to merit his attentions, or he was just really, really weird. Or I did smell and Bojan had no sense of smell. I decided for the former and that Victor was just an uptight loser to needed to be around people in the top tier of society. I had to deal with those people in Phoenix and frankly, the fewer I had to deal with, the better. Although part of me did secretely wish that His Hotness would have softened up overnight and would offer me a ride in that smooth, sleek, silver Volvo of his that he drove to school. Thanks for rubbing it in.
After Biology, which was nice because I could relax without sensing Victor's tension (and seeing his muscles and veins stick out of his shirt like that, not going to lie) pressing on me and making me more uncomfortable than I already was in a new school, Bojan informed me of a trip to the beach coming up in a couple weeks. A Washington State beach in September. How thrilling. But I obliged, figuring I could use as much of a social life as I could get, even though it would probably just be with the same people as always; the people I sat at lunch with. After PE I headed off to soccer practice with a lighter head than the day before.
I got home, and found Dad making fish fillets again.
“Dad,” I said, having just barely walked in the door. “Fish fillets? Again? For real?”
“You don't like fish?” I could sense some pain in his voice, as if I'd offended him.
“It's not that; I don't mind fish. It's just that...we've had fish fillets three times the last three days.”
“Oh. Sorry, I never noticed.”
“It's alright. How about I make dinner tomorrow?” I offered. He smiled.
“Sure,” he replied. I could sense the relief in his body. I headed upstairs to drop off my stuff in my room when I heard him calling up the stairs.
“Yeah?” I called back, heading back downstairs.
“I recorded a little something for you earlier that you might enjoy,” he said, and pointed to a video tape he'd left on the kitchen counter.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Stick in the VCR. It'll be our dinner-time entertainment,” he said. I smiled and headed over to the living room, and did as instructed. Two seconds later, the opening chords for the Champions League anthem pounded out.
“You get Champions League out here?” I yelled over the TV. The Champions League, for all those not in the know, which I'd imagine would be most people out there in the grand ol' US of A, was a European mini-league in which the best teams from various countries in Europe competed with each other. The winner won a beautiful trophy to display in their stadium and worldwide recognition. Bar the US of course, because this country had no love for world soccer. Or football, as I used to refer to it in Phoenix when the football team took up everyone's brainwaves, like the British did. The matches were usually played on Wednesdays, while the teams' regular season matches were held on Saturdays and Sundays. And my dad had recorded a game for me. They were currently in group stages, the Round Robin, trying to accumulate points so they could move on to the knock-out round.
“Who played?” I yelled again.
“You'll see,” was the response.
“Oh, sweet,” I breathed, seeing that he also remembered my allegiance. Barcelona. I couldn't really explain why I'd fallen in love with the team from Barcelona, Spain, but the fact was that I had, even though I'd never been to Spain and had never really understood the way Spanish soccer worked, but what I did know what that their Spanish arch-rivals in Madrid seemed to have a huge fanbase in Phoenix, and I'd always been one to go against the grain. So Barcelona it was, and I took pride in being different.
Before the game had even begun I'd managed to fall asleep. I woke up during half-time and found a cold fish fillet in front of me.
“Why didn't you wake me up?” I asked Dad, who was sitting on his la-z-boy rocking back and forth. He looked over at me.
“I figured I'd just let you sleep. You were out.”
“Um...yeah...” I got up to put the fish in the microwave.
“Dad?” I asked when I headed back into the living room.
“What's the deal with the Alonsos?” If he'd been eating he probably would have choked. He stopped rocking, and sat still and silent. He looked over at me.
“What about them?”
“Well, no one seems to get along with them; they don't seem to have any friends here,” I said.
“Bella, one thing you have to know is that people are always going to be afraid of those who are different, and the younger the worse.” His voice was stern and forceful. I'd clearly brought up a hot topic with him. His voice softened, however, as he continued. “Dr. Alonso is probably one of the best doctors in the country. He works all possible hours in the ER and never complains. He'll work the graveyard shift as though it were an afternoon shift, that's how dedicated he is. He took in Xavi and Rosa when their parents were lost and gave them the home they deserved. As for the others, his adopted children, I've never known any teenagers who behave as well as they do. They're all extremely respectful and there has never been any problem. Ever. People are jealous and they ask questions. The problem with being in a small town is that everyone talks. And there is no reason for anyone to talk about the Alonsos.” I was surprised at the sincerity in his voice. He clearly knew Dr. Alonso personally or something, because he spoke about him with authority.
“They...seem nice...” I stammered, sneaking a glance over at him, my head still bent down over my fish. “And they look good, too...” Yeah, Bella, leave it all to the physical.
“Oh, you haven't seen the doctor yet!” Dad laughed. “In fact, you should see the way the nurses react around him.” I let out a small chuckle, imagining a gaggle of nurses fawning over someone who looked like an older version of Victor. “At least he's very happily married. And he's certainly got quite a looker in Esmeralda.” He didn't say anything else the rest of the evening, as the game started back up again and we watched in virtual silence, besides the cheering. Turned out my dad had been a Barcelona fan all along.
Please comment, guys! Even if you hate it. I need feedback. o___O