The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Three

 Chapter Three

       “And behind there is where the preppy rich kids hang out, trying to be tough and cool,” Dylan explained, pointing to a convenient store as we passed by it.

       “What exactly do they do?” I asked, turning my head as the small store began to fade away into the distance.

       “You know what? Come here at about four on a weekday, and you’ll find out,” he said, smiling to himself at an inside joke I’m sure he had with his friends related to the area we had zipped by.

       “Will do,” I said, staring back out my window at the scenery around.

       It was like any other normal town. It had houses, gas stations, supermarkets, parks, real-estate agencies, gyms, a library, restaurants, a few churches, a movie theater, a mall, a synagogue, elementary schools, a middle school, a college, and the place I would be spending most of my days: the high school—Madison High, to be exact. It was like all the other places I had lived over the years. Nothing overly different or special about this town. It was nothing new.

       “So, where are ya from?” he asked, spinning the steering wheel as we turned down another street.

       “Originally, or most recently?” I questioned to clarify before answering.

       “I’m getting the feeling that moving is normal for you?”

       “Yeah, pretty much. Ever since eighth grade, I’ve moved almost every year,” I sighed, thinking back to that last year with the people I had grown up with.

       “Where did you grow up?” he asked.

       “Boston,” I said, the name of the city sliding off my tongue like a ghost.

       The city itself, I loved. It was a place with such a rich history, and some pretty awesome sports teams. The sports teams- I miss those a lot. From all the summer baseball games I had gone to, to the winter basketball games I lived for. Yeah, I think it’s safe to say I miss Boston.

       “You’re from Boston?” Dylan asked.

       “Yup,” I shrugged, glancing at a young mother in a tracksuit pushing a stroller down the smooth sidewalk.

       “And to think, I actually thought that the two of us may have had a chance at getting along, but I guess not,” he said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

       “What do you mean?”

       “You’re from Boston, right now, you’re in major Yankee territory,” he informed me seriously.

       “So?” I said indifferently, as if it didn’t mean a thing to me. As much as I loved the Red Sox, and despised the Yankees, baseball was never my favorite sport. It was always basketball. Though I have more of an animosity towards the Knicks, being a diehard Celtics fan and all, I am not a Yankees fan.

       “You’re not a Red Sox fan?” he asked skeptically.

       “Not really,” I lied, biting my tongue.

       “Okay then, maybe we will get along,” he said optimistically.

       “Maybe,” I said. “So, where are we going now?”

       “Best damn place in this whole crappy town!” he replied.

       “Where?”

       “The Bridge,” he said, leaving the road we had been driving on, and entering onto a larger one, which from the looks of it connected to a highway of sorts. As he drove, the morning sun beamed down, and air splashed my face at the accelerated speed we were now going.