Bleh, this one was just one that I wrote when I was on the edge of boredom. It was sweet and simple, (I hope) and fun to write. Short, though. Oh, and by the way, this is Suzanne Collins work.
8 Years Old.
Raindrops fall on my face as I shake my dark brown hair from my face, the ball under my feet. Every move I make depends on this game. I'm dribbling the ball past the other players until I see her.
She's out in the stands, her soft blonde hair waving around her shoulders. She sees me and she gives me a smile. It runs a shudder through me and I can't turn away. I trip over the ball, and do a summersault. I twist my ankle and bolt of pain shoots through it.
It's it, though, for the game. We lost, which means we won't be in the finals this year. The other team players watch the timer count down, 5 4 3 2 1. It's over. Some of my team mates shove me a little as they leave the field. I lay on the ground, eyes closed and grimacing as the sky pelts me with raindrops. Each one feels like acid and they burn through my skin. I finally open my eyes and try to get up. I'm on the verge of tears, they're excitedly lining up at the edge of my eyes.
"Don't do that," a soft voice whispered behind me. It's her, and the winds blowing her hair into her face, but her cheeks are red. She comes next to me, kneels down and brushes the soaking strands of my hair off my face. "You'll twist it even more. Here, let me take you to my mom." I know enough to know her mom's sort of a doctor.
She wraps her arm around me and helps me up. Her touch sends a tingle down my spine as I blink back tears. I wobble on my one foot and we jump back all the way to her house. We finally talk, for once, laughing and crying at the same time. We tell each other stories, funny ones and sad ones, we tell each other secrets. In five minutes, I know more about her than I ever knew before. It makes me love her even more. I long for her as I try to sleep, every thought on the girl with the dandelions.