be. I thought I’d have all this time to explore and party, revel in my new celebrity status, but no. Coach has us working day and night, always staying on top of us. Between that and trying to keep my anger at bay from previous incidences . . . not that those certain previous incidents shouldn’t even matter.
The universe has a funny way of slapping you around when you’re down, I’ve come to realize. I never gave much thought to it before, but it really does. And when I look up over the crowd of people gathered around the outside of the basketball court fence and see the reason behind those certain past occurrences standing there staring at me from between the chain links in the fence . . . I just have to wonder if someone is in screwing with me right now.
I do a double take carefully, not wanting to let on that I see her. And yes, it’s definitely Ramona. That girl from that one time that meant nothing to me, honestly.
It’s kind of funny that I recognize her that quickly, because from what I can tell, from what she’s told me anyway, she always tries to hide herself so that no one sees her, even when she does it unintentionally. I don’t know why people do that, because I like being out where everyone can see me. I have no problem admitting that, so how come she does?
She’s got her arms crossed across her dark green hoodie, looking kind of suspicious if you ask me. Did she follow me here? Or is this just another one of those freak occurrences that the universe just loves playing on me? I don’t know her all that well, but I have a feeling that she wouldn’t do something like trying to find me, especially since she wouldn’t know where to start. The idea of her stalking me is sort of funny in a weird way.
I think about the way she acted toward me in the coffee shop, pretending not to know who I am. It stung, I’ll finally admit it. And yeah I didn’t do the thing where I forgot about her, even though I should have. I kept thinking about it for the next few nights easily. It was the last thing I thought about before I went to bed and that was in the middle of our first friendly scrimmage. I should’ve been focused more on soccer, but instead my mind kept wandering off to her every night. It stopped after a while, but I have a hunch that it’s going to start back up tonight.
I stretch from one side to the other, trying not to look like I’ve seen her. I don’t want her to know that I’m paying attention. She switches her weight to her right hip, pulling her body around her even tighter. What she’s looking at exactly? I can’t tell from way over here, but it almost looks like she’s debating something.
I shouldn’t care. She fucked up and maybe now she wants to make up for it—why, I don’t know. It’s stupid to want to talk to her or see her. I don’t play games like that.
But . . . it would be pretty funny to sneak up on her and scare the shit out of her. And the more I think about it, the more I’ve decided that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I do one more stretch, my arms reaching toward the sky before I fake check my phone and jog off in the opposite direction. But instead of heading down past the court, I sneak around the outside bush line where thick green bushes cover my way. I slowly creep around the edge of them, skirting through the next row of bushes until I’m only ten feet away from her back. I know I look like a total psycho standing here crouched down right behind a young girl, but I’ll accept the risk in order to get a good laugh any day.
One thing people learn about me quickly on the field is that not only am I fast, but I’m silent too. I have a way of walking on my feet so that you can’t hear me coming, even if I’m walking across leaves. I don’t know how to explain it. Weight distribution, maybe? Either way, I’m right up behind her now, only a couple feet away. She’s still standing there looking out the fence as if she’s thinking.
“Hello,
The universe has a funny way of slapping you around when you’re down, I’ve come to realize. I never gave much thought to it before, but it really does. And when I look up over the crowd of people gathered around the outside of the basketball court fence and see the reason behind those certain past occurrences standing there staring at me from between the chain links in the fence . . . I just have to wonder if someone is in screwing with me right now.
I do a double take carefully, not wanting to let on that I see her. And yes, it’s definitely Ramona. That girl from that one time that meant nothing to me, honestly.
It’s kind of funny that I recognize her that quickly, because from what I can tell, from what she’s told me anyway, she always tries to hide herself so that no one sees her, even when she does it unintentionally. I don’t know why people do that, because I like being out where everyone can see me. I have no problem admitting that, so how come she does?
She’s got her arms crossed across her dark green hoodie, looking kind of suspicious if you ask me. Did she follow me here? Or is this just another one of those freak occurrences that the universe just loves playing on me? I don’t know her all that well, but I have a feeling that she wouldn’t do something like trying to find me, especially since she wouldn’t know where to start. The idea of her stalking me is sort of funny in a weird way.
I think about the way she acted toward me in the coffee shop, pretending not to know who I am. It stung, I’ll finally admit it. And yeah I didn’t do the thing where I forgot about her, even though I should have. I kept thinking about it for the next few nights easily. It was the last thing I thought about before I went to bed and that was in the middle of our first friendly scrimmage. I should’ve been focused more on soccer, but instead my mind kept wandering off to her every night. It stopped after a while, but I have a hunch that it’s going to start back up tonight.
I stretch from one side to the other, trying not to look like I’ve seen her. I don’t want her to know that I’m paying attention. She switches her weight to her right hip, pulling her body around her even tighter. What she’s looking at exactly? I can’t tell from way over here, but it almost looks like she’s debating something.
I shouldn’t care. She fucked up and maybe now she wants to make up for it—why, I don’t know. It’s stupid to want to talk to her or see her. I don’t play games like that.
But . . . it would be pretty funny to sneak up on her and scare the shit out of her. And the more I think about it, the more I’ve decided that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I do one more stretch, my arms reaching toward the sky before I fake check my phone and jog off in the opposite direction. But instead of heading down past the court, I sneak around the outside bush line where thick green bushes cover my way. I slowly creep around the edge of them, skirting through the next row of bushes until I’m only ten feet away from her back. I know I look like a total psycho standing here crouched down right behind a young girl, but I’ll accept the risk in order to get a good laugh any day.
One thing people learn about me quickly on the field is that not only am I fast, but I’m silent too. I have a way of walking on my feet so that you can’t hear me coming, even if I’m walking across leaves. I don’t know how to explain it. Weight distribution, maybe? Either way, I’m right up behind her now, only a couple feet away. She’s still standing there looking out the fence as if she’s thinking.
“Hello,
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