Goal Oriented

Chapter 1

It's him again, of course it's him. 

Knocking me out of debating finals last year I can deal with. Getting a higher score than me in literature I can deal with. His insistent taunting and presence, I can (just barely), deal with. But this...

No. 

I cannot deal with this. 

His name's there, on the piece of paper stapled to the chain fence of the football grounds. 

Captain: James Hunters

Field booking Monday afternoon: St Peter's Senior Football Team (C: J Hunters)

Field booking Tuesday afternoon: St Peter's Senior Football Team (C: J Hunters)

Field booking Wednesday afternoon: St Peter's Senior Football Team (C: J Hunters)

Field booking Thursday afternoon: St Peter's Senior Football Team (C: J Hunters)

I rip the paper from the fence and push the gate open. 

Thump, thump, thump. The balls soar from his cleats into the top right corner of the net, one after another in the exact same spot. 

James hasn't seen me yet. There's a ball lying in the middle of the field and I storm over to it, drop my bag, and pick it up, barely stopping. 

The ball hits him square in the back of his head as I throw it at him, hard. It bounces and lands a few feet away. 

"Ow!" he yelps, a hand flying to his neck, swiveling around. I'm a meter away now, and before he can say anything, I'm there, shoving the paper into his chest. 

"You cannot be serious, James."

His tan fingers peel the paper off his sweat-drenched shirt, and he raises an eyebrow when he sees what it is. "I'm completely serious, Daze. What're you pegging balls at the back of your favourite person's head for?"

I cross my arms across my chest and step back. Hopefully my unimpressed expression tells him more than my words ever could, because an angry silence fills the small space between us. The birds tweet far above in the woods, and I glare as James wipes a hand over his forehead, pushing back a lock of wavy deep brown hair. 

"Are you gonna say anything, or just stand there looking sour?" he finally says, turning around and speaking with his back to me. "If you're not going to, you might as well leave, I don't understand how you're hoping to resolve whatever 'Daisy-loves-to-bug-James' problem is on your agenda today."

"My team is not doing a full week of morning training."

"Ah," he sighs, kicking all the balls in a straight line again. "Right. That. I thought that might be an issue. So I left you with Friday afternoons."

He smiles sweetly at me, pointing an finger at the free Friday afternoon spot. 

"How kind of you," I say. 

Another smile, his bright eyes twinkling. 

He kicks another ball, right in the middle of the goal."Well, you snooze, you lose, Daze." 

"You're a dick." 

"And you've gotta get the ball rolling faster, soldier. If you want to book particular slots, you should've got here before me. Clearly, all this complaining just stems from the fact that deep down, you're very jealous of me and the great initiative and commitment I have to my team."

I let out a frustrated huff and pull at my hair, looking up at him with a tired expression. "Could you please just give me two?"

He raises a dark eyebrow and tosses me a genuine smile - making the dimples in his cheeks show and I see, not for the first time, how annoyingly tan he is - because my request is genuinely funny to him.