(Sammy has a British accent BTW plus That's her on the side! )
"Go. Go, GO,GO!"
"YES!" I throw a fist into the air along with the rest of the men in the bar. Benfica and Chelsea are playing tonight and Fernando Torres has just scored the winning goal.
"God I wish I had his feet." I sigh to my self. He's damn good. I elbow my way out of the little sports pub and into the boiling, late summer evening. Jesus, aren't night times supposed to cool off? I pull my long, auburn red hair in to a messy bun and start jogging down the mostly empty cobblestone street. Every time my Nikes hit the pavement I could feel my mind and body relaxing.
"Run for cover, my since of fear is running thin." I sing lightly under my breath.
"Under cover, just like a candle in the wind." I don't get to finish the song because I reach my two-story lavender colored home at the end of our mile long dirt drive way. Living in Louisiana has been great so far. Nice weather, HUGE back yards and open spaces to play soccer. Beautiful weeping willow trees as well as apple and pear trees that littered the front and back yard of my home. And there are lots of little pubs and stores that are in walking distance from my house. Now for the reason behind moving here; My dad is a former U.S. men's soccer star and has been coaching soccer since I was 13... I'm 17 now. For his newest job set, he's temporarily coaching the Louisiana State University soccer team. Meaning we had to move from our cosy little home in a small village in Essex to Louisiana. My mum died during the birth of my little sister Danny. My dad never remarried. I've played soccer since I could walk. I have thanksgiving with David Beckham and his family every year. And It's safe to say that I'v met almost every one in the soccer world.
"I'm home!" I yell to my father who's watching a random Arsenal match on ESPN.
"Hello to you to Sam." He calls as I bounce up the stairs. I pull open my door and walk into my room. Painted light blue walls with light hard wood flooring accented the tall white metal bed sitting directly across from the door. The farthest wall from the door behind my bed was
absolutely (and ridiculously) COVERD from floor to celling with signed jerseys, old cleats, posters, plays, and specialty moves. The wall on the left of my bed had a desk and a book case the was built into the corner. The book case mainly held trophies, metals, certificates of completion from different soccer boot camps and conditioning programs. Above the desk were pictures of my dad, me, Danny, the Beckham's, me and my dad from last thanksgiving, just me and father in Argentina, in our Essex home, and at various world cups, the most recent being in South Africa. I tossed my tennis shoes onto the rack along the wall of the walk in closet across from my bed. I pull a ball off of my ball rack and do some keepy-uppys.
"1, 2, 3, 4, 5..." School starts tomorrow after a long summer of training with the Men's LSU team while my dad coached them towards a winning season.
"35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40..." I'm pretty excited actually. Soccer tryouts are that same day and I've heard that they're looking for a new defensive position. While I was an all around player, my specialty was center.
"80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85..." I head tap the ball then bring it back into to control with my feet. I wonder what to wear? My cousin Delilah said no sweatpants or she'd take my soccer balls away. Sadly my father had allowed her to it before.
"98, 99, 100." I bring the ball to a stop and set it back on the rack. I strip out of the rest of my cloths, walking into the modern and fully equipped bathroom.I scrub my hair with rosemary scented shampoo and let the scalding water sooth my aching muscles and step out of the large walk in shower. I dried off and pulled on new undergarments. Blow drying my dry my hair so that it's naturally soft curls tumble down the length of my back, I turn off the lights and glance at the standing antique mirror in the room. I'd like to think that I had a relatively nice figure, a small waist, but larger thighs that just barley touched. I stepped into my walk in closet and look around at all the girly new clothing Delilah made me buy.
Damn her.
I pull out a pair of light skinny jeans, a red sleeveless t-shirt, and shinny, black knockoff doc martins and lay the outfit on the bench at the end of my bed for my first day of school. It's the best I could do with out picking something completely girly. Finally, I was long ready for sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Soccer Girl
Teen FictionSoccer girl has played soccer her whole life, moving around the country for her fathers full time coaching job. What happens when soccer girl has no team to play on and the only options are, quit (not happening) or join her high school, all boys tea...
