you.”
“I finally feel like I fit in somewhere,” I said, “and this is how you congratulate me. First you tell me that it would be impossible to make the team, and now that I’ve made the team and will actually play, you’re not even happy.”
Cora didn’t say anything. She walked into the living room and sat on the couch. She crossed her arms and stared out the front window. Her legs were bouncing around more than her usual nervous twitch.
After a minute, she spoke in a very calm voice. “Nicholas, I’m sorry for how I acted. I am so proud of you—you know that! We will make this work somehow. I can’t wait to cheer for you during the game.” She got up and walked over to me. I was still standing in the hall rooted to the ground. She gave me a big hug and walked into the kitchen.
I wasn’t buying the “I’m proud of you” routine. Why was she acting this way? She was so happy at first, but as soon as I mentioned varsity, everything changed. But why? I knew there would be more people watching, but there would be people watching the JV scrimmage, too.
I retreated to my room after a long, hot shower to escape Cora. She was busy cleaning the already clean house, and from the smell of it, she was cooking an “I’m sorry” dinner. I couldn’t stop being angry at her. Nothing I tried to do or think of made me feel any better. I just wanted to be mad. The fire in me was feeding off my anger. I turned on some Simon and Garfunkel. It was my mom’s favorite. She would listen to them when she wanted to relax, and I needed to relax. My stomach muscles were in knots from being angry.
The pitter-patter of rain against the window took me by surprise. It was the first time it had rained since we moved. The rain would help the brown, withered plants get back some of their life. Hopefully, it would do the same for me. There were several claps of thunder off in the distance, and the rain intensified. I turned my music off so I could listen to the storm. When we lived in Oklahoma there were storms every night during the summer. They would put me to sleep.
I turned off my desk lamp, which was in front of my window, so I could see the lightning better. The thick, swirling black clouds that reached up to heaven rolled toward our house. It was getting darker outside. The storm rolled over the top of our house. The black clouds swirled around in the sky until it became pitch black. It was as dark as a starless night, and it was only 6:00 p.m.
The lightning lit up our small backyard and the woods lining it like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I noticed there was something just beyond the tree line. Another flash of light illuminated the tree line again, exposing two silhouettes. There were two people standing down in the trees. I knew somehow that these people, these spectators, were watching me. I didn’t know how or why I knew this.
My heart began to race. I wasn’t scared, but my body was reacting to the sight of them. A crooked, long bolt of lightning came racing out of the sky toward the two. Right as the lightning approached them, everything slowed down before me. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. I could see the lightning make its way slowly toward the ground with all of its jagged edges shooting off in different directions. The two disappeared back into the woods right as the lightning struck a tree near where they had been standing, shattering the tree, leaving only charred remains. I wanted to race into the woods after them to see who they were. But, my curiosity would have to wait because I had developed a sudden painful headache that made me dizzy. I crawled into bed to relax and recover, listening to the storm, wondering who they were. My head pounded.
ANGEL
CHAPTER SEVEN
T he day of the scrimmage had arrived. I hurried and ate my lunch, which was of five-star restaurant quality.
“My scrimmage is at 1:00 p.m. at the high school,” I reminded Cora, who was sitting with me at the
“I finally feel like I fit in somewhere,” I said, “and this is how you congratulate me. First you tell me that it would be impossible to make the team, and now that I’ve made the team and will actually play, you’re not even happy.”
Cora didn’t say anything. She walked into the living room and sat on the couch. She crossed her arms and stared out the front window. Her legs were bouncing around more than her usual nervous twitch.
After a minute, she spoke in a very calm voice. “Nicholas, I’m sorry for how I acted. I am so proud of you—you know that! We will make this work somehow. I can’t wait to cheer for you during the game.” She got up and walked over to me. I was still standing in the hall rooted to the ground. She gave me a big hug and walked into the kitchen.
I wasn’t buying the “I’m proud of you” routine. Why was she acting this way? She was so happy at first, but as soon as I mentioned varsity, everything changed. But why? I knew there would be more people watching, but there would be people watching the JV scrimmage, too.
I retreated to my room after a long, hot shower to escape Cora. She was busy cleaning the already clean house, and from the smell of it, she was cooking an “I’m sorry” dinner. I couldn’t stop being angry at her. Nothing I tried to do or think of made me feel any better. I just wanted to be mad. The fire in me was feeding off my anger. I turned on some Simon and Garfunkel. It was my mom’s favorite. She would listen to them when she wanted to relax, and I needed to relax. My stomach muscles were in knots from being angry.
The pitter-patter of rain against the window took me by surprise. It was the first time it had rained since we moved. The rain would help the brown, withered plants get back some of their life. Hopefully, it would do the same for me. There were several claps of thunder off in the distance, and the rain intensified. I turned my music off so I could listen to the storm. When we lived in Oklahoma there were storms every night during the summer. They would put me to sleep.
I turned off my desk lamp, which was in front of my window, so I could see the lightning better. The thick, swirling black clouds that reached up to heaven rolled toward our house. It was getting darker outside. The storm rolled over the top of our house. The black clouds swirled around in the sky until it became pitch black. It was as dark as a starless night, and it was only 6:00 p.m.
The lightning lit up our small backyard and the woods lining it like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I noticed there was something just beyond the tree line. Another flash of light illuminated the tree line again, exposing two silhouettes. There were two people standing down in the trees. I knew somehow that these people, these spectators, were watching me. I didn’t know how or why I knew this.
My heart began to race. I wasn’t scared, but my body was reacting to the sight of them. A crooked, long bolt of lightning came racing out of the sky toward the two. Right as the lightning approached them, everything slowed down before me. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. I could see the lightning make its way slowly toward the ground with all of its jagged edges shooting off in different directions. The two disappeared back into the woods right as the lightning struck a tree near where they had been standing, shattering the tree, leaving only charred remains. I wanted to race into the woods after them to see who they were. But, my curiosity would have to wait because I had developed a sudden painful headache that made me dizzy. I crawled into bed to relax and recover, listening to the storm, wondering who they were. My head pounded.
ANGEL
CHAPTER SEVEN
T he day of the scrimmage had arrived. I hurried and ate my lunch, which was of five-star restaurant quality.
“My scrimmage is at 1:00 p.m. at the high school,” I reminded Cora, who was sitting with me at the
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