CH.1 Home Ain't Home
A suddenly cool breeze rippled and ran across the field as Coach Newton left it and went into the gym building for the final time that day. Practice had ended an hour earlier, but I was still there practicing. Grandma Cynthia and my Coach have pretty much adapted to my odd schedule, not that I'm intimidating. Its just that since my mother died of drug over dose, they want to make 'nice nice' with me to make sure I'm still stable and sober, and that I stay that way. So if I act depressed I can get anything I want. Brilliant, am I not?
"Mary, please, your grandmother is here now. Go home." Coach Newton said as she reappeared out of the red brick high school. "I sure you have plenty of homework to do over break." I sighed, she new I'd leave when I wanted too, why can't I just kick some soccer balls in peace?
I turn and answered in the most polite fake voice I could muster "Okay coach. Just one more shot. I don't know how much practice I'm going to get in over break." Resigned, she nodded, and then started walking down the field to the parking lot just beyond it.
I checked the ball's position one more time, backed up a few yards, paused, then took off towards it in a sprint. Within the next few milliseconds my foot collided with the soccer ball, causing it to hurdle toward the corner of the goal. I stood fuming and watched the ball fly, all my anger propelling it.
"That's quiet a kick you have little girl" A cold voice coed in my ear. It felt like ice. It felt like icy hands caressing my shoulder.
I gasped and spun, my eyes searching for the source of the cold.
No one was there. Was it just the wind? Yes, I convinced myself, just the wind. It had to have been the wind.
A 'bing' of metal signaled that my shot had missed. I watched the ball slowly roll back to me. As it reached my feet I bent and picked it up.
I sighed. Time to fulfill my coach's wishes. I grabbed my bag as left the field, and trudged into the parking lot.
The 2005 BMW was still warm; Grandma Cynthia must have just arrived. I did have my license, but due to the fact that Grandma Cynthia doesn't think anyone can drive until they're at least eighteen, we only had one car. Well at least my grandma had good tastes in cars. I opened the grayish-blue door, and slid into the leather passenger seat. I plopped my bag on the floor in between my feet while the ball I threw into the back seat. Then I pulled my red brown hair out of the tight ponytail that restrained it, to let it hang in a wavy mass around my shoulders.
"How was practice, honey?" Asked Grandma Cynthia casually. "You seem to be having fun getting into sports." Grandma Cynthia was too nice. The only time I heard her ever raise her voice was a time before I came to live with her I only visited her once, when I was six, but all I can remember is her and my mother arguing and her insisting, "She is alive! I swear! I swear on my life, she is alive!" Lovely memory isn't it?
I half smiled and lied "Yeah fun." I only did sports to get out anger. Beating up other players and the ball is what I live for. I laughed to myself thinking about it.
I looked out the window. We were driving on the highway, well on the way to the house; it was a 45-minute drive from school. I reach for the radio, and hit the 'on' button. The news came on. Good enough. Better than silence.
They were reporting on homicides in Seattle Washington, again. It's been all over the news for the past week. The newscaster drabbled on and on as we traveled closer to "home". The noise from the radio didn't help the awkwardness in the car one bit. It had been over a month since I moved in with her, but still the awkwardness between us never left.
My thoughts on how a 16-year-old girl's life should be were interrupted by something; more like someone I saw in the road through the windshield.
It appeared to be a he, from the muscular shoulders, and the way he was dressed. But what caught my attention was how gorgeous he was. His short blonde hair blew ever so slightly in the wind, his skin looked like porcelain, while his face had beautiful features that were perfect on him. He looked like an angel…an angel with a cruel smile and pure red eyes. He crouched a hunter's crouch.
Well shit sure does happen; one minute an angel is about to get run over, and the next a demon is about to attack my car!
