Getting rid of shadows: PRINCE OF TENNIS

Ch.1

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In this story the Echizen family moves in HIGH SCHOOL not middle school.
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One of the defining moments of my childhood happened in sixth grade, at the end of the school day.

For some kids, their problems at that stage in life are: if they can run faster than so-and-so, or if they finished their homework.

My problems were if I was going to be able to get to my high school classes on time, or what the 127th digit of Pi was.

That day, my world crumbled slightly, and I was forced to make a choice no sixth grader should ever make.

***Le Flashback***

It was early afternoon, and the sun was about three-quarters done with its path across the blue, slightly cloud-peppered sky. Los Angeles was hot, as always, and I was wearing a blue t-shirt, along with black shorts, and my usual worn and torn tennis shoes.

Back then I carried a tennis case, instead of my laptop bag.

I was sitting on a bench, tennis classes had just finished, and I was waiting for ryoma to come back from his practice. Absentmindedly, I ran through several iterations of physical analysis for ryoma's (and my) tennis career

The tip of my mechanical pencil broke, as my eyes widened in slight horror and realization. I worked back through the pages, but there were no mistakes. I made sure everything was right, that I had not jumped to any conclusions, or omitted any variables, frantically flipping pages, the pencil clashed down on the pavement, spinning once, and my breathing sharpened.

My sixth-grade brain was in complete shock, fingers shaking, bangs shading my face, hiding me from the world.

I heard footsteps. Ryoma. The one in my equation. I shut my notes, quickly hiding my emotions, masking them so well, I almost forgot them

Almost.

As we walked, ryoma was going on and on about tennis and the idiots on the team, as my tennis raquet pressed further and further into my shoulder. As we walked, I noticed his smile.

It wasn't in his face, or his mouth.

Ryoma's smile was in his eyes. I remembered his expression, and in that moment, I captured my brother.

Green tinted hair, golden eyes, shaded by a white cap. A slightly faded red shirt, with a crest on the right sleeve.

His eyes shone with amusement, his lips curled in a slight smirk, talking in perfect English, we walked the streets of Los Angeles, sun beating on our backs, and a slight uncommon breeze floating through the streets.

I participated in conversation as usual, giving my own plans and opinions to him, and eventually talking about the idiots in the high school I went to for physics and math.

But my eyes weren't sparked like his, my mouth in a straight line. I was glaring at the pavement, so hardly, it almost cracked.

My mind went back to my analysis, re-working everything, from start to finish. But somewhere, in the deep recesses of my consience, I knew.

There was no mistake.

Ryoma noticed my distraction, not saying anything, but giving my space in our room upstairs.

I stayed, small elbows on my desk, feet not even touching the floor, head in my hands, looking down onto the dreaded math I had applied to my brother and myself.

It made heat rise in my head, behind my eyes, and back then I would have characterized it as anger, sadness and maybe a speck of guilt.

I paced, wearing holes in the ceiling, and little to my knowledge, downstairs my parents, as well as my brother, all looked up in unison, at the familiar sound of my pacing.