Darren

Darren
. . .

I would've thought having a big game where scouts were coming out to see me would've enticed my parents to go. It didn't. Instead they had overlapped their plans so that they could go see Alex go play. I don't even know what. I blocked it out when they went on about Alex to our neighbors.

"You okay there, bud?" my teammate asked, sitting next to me on the bench. We were waiting to begin since the warmup period was over.

Although the answer I gave wasn't immediate, I learned to make things seem convincing. "I'm just tired really. Didn't get too much sleep last night because I was studying for my college prep class. It took longer than I thought it would."

The excuse wasn't completely a lie. I did have to study but not that long. I passed out around ten o'clock because I did homework from the time I got home with only a break to eat. Sounds stupid but if I don't score higher than my brother than, well, all the studying was for nothing. He did pretty well considering it was his first time taking the test and since he's done with the prep class, he's already ahead of me doing the real thing. Catching up has been my main priority. I just don't get how other kids skip ahead grades when I'm lucky I can pass my own.

Which leads my mind to sports. If I didn't waste my time I could be studying with on sports, than maybe, just maybe, I'd be like one of those extra smart kids that skip around grades. Sure, I have a few extra credits banked with the school so I can easily graduate with my AA but that means nothing. I want to be one of those people that go above and graduate a year before their original class.

However, my thoughts were interrupted when my coach came by. "Kid, get your head outta the clouds. We got a game to win."

*

Ten total points later scored in the game, we went into overtime. The match didn't last long and we won. In the process though, I felt as if it was us that had lost—or me more importantly. A dumb player on the other team slid and kicked the back of my leg, where inconveniently the shin guard didn't reach, and I went toppling. I was called out with a gimp leg, the other guy was given a yellow card and a warning. A cheap trick just to loose in the end anyway.

"What do you mean Darren can't play anymore?" Chris, my friend, the teammate who I felt was more like my brother than my own brother was, shouted at our coach, wanting an answer even though he was supposed to be helping ice my injury.

"He can't play with a leg that bad. You push his physical limits and then bam, his career as a soccer player is over." Coach sighed, shaking his head, not wanting to listen. He's never been much of a listener, just a talker.

I listened to them argue before snapping on an Ace bandage and standing up. I could only balance on one leg since the other hurt whenever I put weight on it, and hobbled over to them. As flattering as it was to hear them care, I just wanted to go home. 

"Take my keys and take me home. I'll be skipping the after party." I said, handing the chain over to Chris, waiting for him to move along with me so it didn't look like I was being an ass walking away by myself because I was mad.

But in reality, I wasn't just mad, I was furious. I screwed up. I was done listening to all the talking.