DISCLAIMER: There is no disclaimer except that if this resembles Twilight, New Moon, or Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer it's because I'm addicted to Edward Cullen.
Zorah was a flash of golden hair and razor sharp turns and twists. She knocked people out left and right.
The final task was to outdo Miranda with her stylish, flippant hair and idiotic way of breathing and her life would be set, but of course, Miranda saw her one weakness.
Zorah's left knee, damaged from when she was young, was her counterpart in her game. It was the knee that she bounced the ball with
and it was the knee of the leg that guarded that ball at all times. There was a rule against knowingly taking someone out because of a known injury, but
who was really stopping the bestest, most perfect person ever? No one. With a swift downward kick, Zorah Christina Sparacello was down and silent.
The crowd, silent, Miranda, wailing fake apologies, and her coach, crushed because one of her star players was just taken down by the other star player.
Zorah's parents rushed to her aide. Her darling, overprotective parents who ever since the events of her childhood, never seemed to have ever left her alone.
Besides the fact that she was nearing eighteen, a girl just needed to breathe, so as soon as she saw them heading over she was begging that she die.
"Honey! Oh geeze! Are you okay?" Her mother, Adelaide, stressed, going over worst case scenarios in her darling little head.
"Mother, yes, I'm just fine, probably just re-tore the ligament. I'll be in next season, just right." Zorah hated seeing her mother in such a state
and tried her best at downplaying the pain, but of course...
"Oh no you won't!" Her coach interrupted, "At leas not on my team and under my conditions. The most you could become is a towel girl. Sorry, Zoe." Her coach gave her a tired smile that was drenched with apologies and sorrow. Zorah had balanced out the team with her sense of fair game and with Miranda's ego the team
was sure to win every time and now that was all gone. Her coach turned to leave as did the rest of the gathering crowd and Miranda Miller immediately
stopped her apologizes and began, instead, sneering and mock crying. Zorah had never felt such intense loathing. Suddenly, out of her peripheral vision,
Zorah caught sight of the most stunning man she had ever laid eyes on.
Other males might call him a lightweight, but from her experience of guys, she could tell he could pull his own and that he was made of muscle if not
of something stronger. He stood out like a rose in a ream of daises within the crowd because, of all the normals just standing around awing over a
wounded soccer player, he was the only one who looked apathetic, a quality Zorah found in herself, or at least thought that she did, and few others
that she liked immensely. This was the first thing that occurred to Zorah. It didn't occur to her until much later that what also got her attention was the
pale skin that radiated ice and the eyes that were almost black, but couldn't be, right? What kind of human has eyes that are completely black?
Maybe it was because he wasn't human, but that didn't occur to Zorah either. It also didn't seep in that she felt suddenly vulnerable to prying all of a sudden,
and if it did seep in, she just attributed it to the torn ligament. Of all the things to happen within ten minutes, she didn't think that laying eyes on a vampire would
be one of them.
As quick as Zorah had noticed him was as quickly as he slipped back away and Zorah's attention was drawn back to her teary-eyed mother and
stone-faced father, Mitchell.