WALLFOWER

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"WALLFOWER"
 

PART ONE: THE DISCOVERY

(8 CHAPTERS ARE IN PART ONE)

 

Chapter 1: Michael

 

        I sprinted, running after the ball that was passed to me. I heard the other players ragged breathing as he tried to keep up with me. I pushed harder goal in my sights. With a well-rehearsed skip step, I had the ball set up with my left foot. I shot. Seconds seem to turn into hours as the ball narrowly misses the goalies mitts and enters the front top corner of the goal. The crowd instantly rises onto its feet and cheers. I cheer along with them and run back to center field. Right as the opposing team kicks the ref blows his whistle ending the game. The game won at 1-0 for the Wolves. My goal being the winning and only goal.

       Oh yeah, life was great. In the locker room, the other guys patted me on the back, and my goal was constant buzz. It was even more amazing than it was, because I was playing professional soccer as a Junior in High school. My family moved from Italy to the USA because I'd been offered a good deal with my position on the Wolves' professional soccer team.

       Coming here, meant learning a new language, and being around new, strange different people. So far, we'd just moved in, my dad and I met the team, and I won this game. Tomorrow was my first day of American High school, and I was honestly scared to my bones. I hoped I could find someone to be my friend. If not,school would, even if it were just a term and a half, be torture. I said farewell to the guys, and headed to the parking lot. The fans still streaming out of the stadium. I unlock my car, climb in, throw my duffel bag on the back seat, and start the short-ish drive to my knew house.

       My mother left my father after I was born.I assume she died, but I have never had it set in stone that she did. I never knew her. My father never bothered to remarry or date other women after she left either. I understood, I didn't mind. I didn't mind that I was lacking a motherly figure in my life.  As long as I have my father that is all I need. We got along okay.

      My father got a job here as a high standing doctor at the hospital up the way, past the stadium, where we players go when seriously injured. The 14-24 hour days were to be an adjustment, from his previous 18 hour days. That being said when I got home his truck was in the driveway. Exiting my car I enter the house which has been crowded with moving boxes.

     The smell is delicious. I find my father in the kitchen cooking a pasta dish. I clear my throat be fore saying, Italian still licking my words, "Father, I am home, we won. I scored the only point."

       "That is my boy!" He replies enveloping me in a hug, "I am so proud of you!" I break the embrace and smile, before heading upstairs to put my duffel in the wash, and to change, after a shower, into sweats, instead of shorts. I come downstairs a short time later, and see my father already sitting and eating at the table. I sink into the chair next to him, and we eat.

     Sometime later, after my father retired for the day, I find myself sitting at the tiny desk in my room, unable to sleep, dreading school. Pacing back and forth, I couldn't seem to find anything to calm myself, so I started humming a song I sang for a competition last year, a lullaby. It didn't calm me, but it did put my mind at ease. It was a very mindless thing for me to do. Soon, I felt at ease enough to lay down, and before I knew it, I was sleeping; a dreamless sleep. I was still worried about tomorrow, but I was grateful for the sleep I got. Little did I know but I would need it, a lot.

         I wake up the next morning to the smell of pancakes, and starle myself into a sitting position, not knowing where I am, just to groan and fall back when I recall that I am in California. I am no longer in the well-known area of Italy I grew up in. I sigh, rollover, and get up.

     After a quick shower, I head downstairs in dark jeans, designer tennis shoes, and a black and white plad button up polo-shirt. A plate of pancakes lay on the table, along with a note. I reach, grab a few pancakes, and the note before heading out to my car. I opened the driver door reading the note. It was a list of things to unpack today after school. I got i the car and shut the door when I heard a gunshot and scream simultaniously from a house three doors down to the right of our house. I sat still in te car watching the house as a girl with firey red hair ran out. I started my car, and pulled out into the street. She wore well-worn, faded, fitted jeans, and a loose-fitted purple blouse. she had on a pair of old tennis shoes, and hiked a canvas bag onto her shoulders. I pulled up to the curb a few yards infront of her, and rolled down my window. I said to her, loudly, so she would hear, "Hey, do you wnat a ride?" My Italian accent coating my words. She peers in at me, and nods, climbing in. She shuts the door, and we head to school.

         "Are you new around here? 'Cuz I haven't seen you around before." She spoke with a quiet, timid voice of one who knows what it was like to be heard and punished for it.

    "no I just moved into the area," I reply as I pull into a parking spot, and turn off the car. The girl hops out and is gone, before I have the moment to realize I didn't get her name. I sigh and head into school.