I waited for the last bell of the day to ring with desperate boredom. Each minute dragged on for what felt like hours. When the bell to dismiss class rang, I would leap from my seat, to the door, and run to the next class. I took a few wrong turns, but I usually got to my next class before the hallway was filled.

When the glorious final bell came, I ran out of the school with joy, jumping up and hitting every door frame and ledge I passed.

I laid out on the grass, waiting for Nick to come out. He was usually pretty slow when it came to packing up after class.

Nick walked out of the building, scrunching his eyes in the summer sunlight. I jumped up excitedly, running up to him and punching his shoulder.

"What the heck, man?" He asked. "You're not usually this happy."

"I'm just glad to be out of there." I said.

We started walking home. Nick said thanks to the crossing guard without thinking about it. We both lived a bit far out, past the lake. But it was just over a mile, so we walked. The scenery helped calm my nerves and get some energy out.

"So, weren't you supposed to be in detention with that blonde chic?" Nick asked.

"Maybe." I responded casually, avoiding his gaze.

"You can't just ditch like that."

"I know, I know. But don't you think detention was uncalled for? Miller is a crazy old lady with a bad temper; she would give out detention for tying your shoes during a lecture."

"You spit a dip wad at the girl!" Nick said loudly, throwing his arms up for a dramatic effect.

"I would have gotten away with it if she hadn't thrown it back at the teacher! Then we both would be out of detention!" I said.

"Justin, don't you think this all could have been avoided if you kept paper out of your mouth?" Nick asked.

He was right, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it. My mom would definitely scold me if she had seen it. I would never hear the end!

"I wonder what she's thinking right now. She's probably in detention, in a tizzy 'cause you ain't there to suffer as well." Nick awed, trying to annoy me.

I felt a spot of guilt, but it got chased away by my pride. "Whatever; maybe that will teach her to just chillax." I said, imagining Misty with a snarl on her face in detention.

"Whatever floats your boat." Nick said.

We walked quietly for most of the way, enjoying the reflection of the mountains on the lake till we saw a dead squirrel on the dirt path. Then we got on talking about roadkill.

"One time I saw a full-grown buck in the middle of the parking lot of Walmart. It was covered in flies and there was a bullet hole in his eye. Probably fell out of a hunter's truck. I considered cutting it's horns off; they were like a six-point or something, but mom wouldn't let me." I boasted.

"Oh really?" Nick said. "We were on the freeway to Montana, and there was a nine-point buck tied to the roof of a minivan! The ropes slipped somehow and they whole thing just flew off! We pulled over right before we hit it!"

I was hurrying up to finish my story about a dead cow of the freeway when we neared my house. We stood on the lawn for a few minutes before we actually said bye and I went into my house. It wasn't very fancy; a single floored, brown house with a creaky door and rusted sinks. But at least it had a roof and running water.

"I'm home!" I called out to no one in particular, kicking off my shoes and throwing my backpack on the floor.

The aroma of creamy potato, mayonnaise and cheese filled the house. I immediately knew Mom was cooking some kind of casserole.

She was in kitchen, crumbling cheetoh puffs over some kind of five-layer abomination with my four year old sister, Drew, on her hip.

"Hey, bud! How was school today?" She asked. "Did you stop by the office to drop off your fees?"

"Um, no, I forgot. And school was boring, as usual." I said, pulling out a chair.

"Justin, you've had the money in your bag for three days! If you don't give it to them, it'll get stolen. Unless you want me to bring it down . . ."

"No!" I blurted. "That's all right, I'll try to get it tomorrow." If she went down and talked to them, they would definitely tell her about detention.

"There is no try, you must do it!" She said.

"Okay, okay, I will! So what's for dinner?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"American casserole. And also, you have soccer practice in an hour. Do you have any homework that needs to be done?" She asked, staring straight into my soul. Her glasses made her eyes look concealing, but she could really stare.

"I did it all at lunch." I said, half lying. I didn't do it all, but I did most of it. I could easily do my math homework in homeroom.

For half an hour, I played video games in my room till mom made me get dressed in my uniform. (Doesn't that woman know I don't take twenty minutes? I'm not a girl getting ready for PE . . .)

It started to rain on the way to practice. Drew would drag her fingers on the window and lick them, hoping to get a drop of rain.

The school team practiced on the library's field, because recently our field was discovered to be an Indian burial ground, and some parents complained it was disrespectful to play soccer on long-dead Native Americans. So, the library lent us their field till we could find somewhere else to play.

The field was pretty simple; a half-way line spray painted between two goals. It wasn't as big as the other field, which made for uncomfortably packed games and drills, but it was okay.

Mom dropped me off, and she luckily didn't come out to talk to the coach. "I'll be back at five-five. Be back here by then, or I'm leaving you!" She said.

"Okay, thanks mom." I said, avoiding her stare.

I ran to the pack of green and gold players gathered on the field, my ball tucked under my arm. A few spectators, mostly friends, siblings and moms, had gathered.

Our coach, Kalee, took role. Everybody was there excluding a few guys, which was good considering the majority of the team wasn't there often.

Kalee was the type of coach that should be working with a team in the NBA, but somehow she got put up with a bunch of average teenagers. She was middle aged with peppered hair, but her eyes were hard. It would have been fun to try and push her buttons, but she silently promised death to whoever opposed her. She was one of the few humans alive that I obeyed willingly.

"We'll start off the day with some warm-ups. I assume you're all stretched?" Kalee asked. I wasn't, but who cares?

The others nodded. "Alright. Butt-kickers down and back!"

We worked through the drills, and each one was sucked more than the last. Lunges? Bear-walk? Give me a break!

But once we got finished with kicking the balls around, we started actually playing. The rain had stopped, and we split the team in half and were told to just play soccer normally, the way we would at a game. I was on a team of five and the other team was six, but we had Gordan on our team. He was super fast, and could kick a ball from one goal to the other. I got put on offense, my favorite spot.

As soon as Kalee blew the whistle, I felt my heart pounding. I ran out in the other team's field as soon as the ball was kicked, reminding myself to stay open. It was exciting to chase the ball around and make sure it didn't go back to our side, but I never found a clear shot to make a goal. Usually another guy would hang by the goal, then they would shoot it to him and we'd score. Or we wouldn't.

And surprisingly, I didn't care too much about scoring or not scoring. I didn't even care about kicking the ball towards the goal. All I cared about was protecting our field, and running from one spot to another. It felt so good to do something fun, and something that I enjoyed. It didn't feel like I was doing anything; it was as if I was flying over the ground. Some sort of primal instinct awakened in me whenever I played soccer.

I was running with the ball to get out of a cluster of other players when a foot streaked the ball away from me. I was about to kick the ball but my foot landed on flesh. I tripped, landing on my knees and palms, and the ball was gone from me.

I growled in frustration. Stinging pain bit my palms as I got up. The guy who had taken it from me had kicked it to the other side of the field, towards my goal.

It wasn't my job to defend the goal, so I examined my hand closer. Skin had been scraped away, leaving a grass-stained gash. Blood collected slowly, but I licked it away and tried to ignore the pain. I had to be ready for the ball to return to me.

It didn't. Some guy who I believe was named Hunter kicked the ball into the goal and the game reset.

Luckily I didn't fall again throughout the rest of practice, but I had a less than enjoyable time. I was constantly licking my scrape so blood wouldn't stain my uniform or any of the other players. I should have asked for a bandaid, but I was too prideful. I didn't know if Kalee even had any.

I was relived when the other team scored the tenth and final point. It wasn't very fun anymore. My pain had faded mostly, along with my competitive edge.

I noticed Hunter was talking with a girl on the side lines. I didn't want to stare, but I wondered who it was. Was she his sister? His girlfriend?

On closer inspection, I came to the conclusion that it was Misty. She had her hair up in a bun still, but she had changed into a graphic tee and jeans. I felt a sting of both anxiety and hate when I saw her, but I pushed it down.

She congratulated him, and they talked with their friends.

After practice we went to get snow cones from the snow shack by the library. (Kalee described that dogs sustain positive behavior if they are given food after. Apparently, teenage boys think like dogs.)

Misty came with us because she had nothing better to do. She kept casting furtive glances at me, but she never said anything. She was probably rabid with hate because I wasn't in detention. I was glad she didn't talk to me, but I almost wished she would just yell at me or something. The silence was driving me insane.

The snow cone shack was pretty simple. Ten basic flavors, and two sizes; small and smaller. A tarp had been set up. Hardly enough to stop any rain, but A for effort.

I got a grape flavored snow cone that tasted sort of like grape. All the syrup pooled at the bottom of the cone, but it was okay. The ice was my favorite part.

I watched the other guys talk, joke and steal each other's snow cones from a patch of grass. My cleats, socks and shin guards were off. I didn't have any friends on the team, and most of the other guys probably thought I was weird and antisocial. I kind of am, but I'm not shy.

A drop of water fell from the sky and landed on my arm. It felt pretty large, which usually means a lot of rain. More drops fell, coming down swifter and swifter. They speckled the road like polka-dots.

At the first drop of rain, Misty's eyes went wide with horror. She wiped her hand on her pants frantically, running under the tarp. Was she afraid of water? It was just rain.

My senseless side told me to make fun of her about it, and my erratic side made me get up and walk to her.

She was too frantically looking out at the sky to notice me come. She wiped her elbow on her shirt quickly.

"What the heck are you doing?" I asked.

Misty jumped at the sound of my voice. She looked at me for a split second, scowled, then looked back at the sky, avoiding my gaze. She mumbled something but I could barely hear.

"What?" I asked

"Never mind!" She barked, louder than she intended. Some of the players glanced at her for a second.

Misty took a deep breath. "I don't want to get my hair wet. It frizzes really bad."

"You don't want to get your hair wet?" I chaffed. "Come on."

She sighed, glancing at me again. "I have a fear of rain. And most water in general. It's more common than you think. Why does it matter to you?"

"You ran under here faster than a turkey on Thanksgiving!" I laughed. "Just wanted to know what was wrong. And what are you doing at practice? You're obviously not on the guys team. Who 'ya watchin'?"

"My boyfriend, Hunter. I was bored, so I decided to support him. Again, why do you care?"

I shrugged. "Just wondering."

So she had a boyfriend. Whatever.

I walked away before she punched me. The rain had really started now, and some of the guys had gone home. My socks were soaking even though I had put them in my cleats.

I suddenly remembered that Mom was going to pick me up. I whipped my head to where she had dropped me off, and her silver van was there.

I ran as fast as I could across the field, carrying all my soccer crap. I only slipped once.

She started to pull away, but I yelled to her. "Wait! I'm coming!"

After the van had turned around, I jumped several feet in front of the car. She slammed on the breaks, and I crawled in the side. My little brother Nickel was in the passenger.

"You're getting my seats wet!" Mom hissed. "And you don't have your shoes on!"

"We got snow cones." I said cooly. We went through this hourly.

"Hmm!" She said. "Always with snow cones . . . I hope you said thank you!"

I didn't, but I wasn't about to tell her that.