H2O | ✔

Chapter Five : Compelling Practices

Xander

Two weeks after Mesi woke up...

I stumbled downstairs to find my mom at the stove, making pancakes. It didn't happen often, but when it did, it meant that she was in a good mood.

"Just sit down, I'll be done in a minute," she said when she noticed me in the doorway. I nodded, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and taking my place at the kitchen table.

The room, for once, seemed like I imagined it in a normal home—like the ones you saw on TV. You know, the ones where the mom makes homemade meals, and is in love with the dad, and all the siblings fight but in the end they love each other? I'd spent a lot of my childhood wishing for that before I realized it wasn't real. Nobody's family was like that. Or at least that's what I told myself so I didn't feel quite so different.

Breakfast went by quickly. My mom and I didn't talk much, but I could tell she was trying, so I did too. She had to leave for a meeting at work, so I finished and cleaned up on my own.

The whole thing was bittersweet. I wanted to appreciate the times like that while I had them, but at the same time they just made every other day seem disappointing in comparison.

Sighing, I attempted to look at the glass half full.

I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, and pulled it out to check what it was.

Reminder:

Soccer Practice 10 a.m.

Shit. I'd totally forgotten. Running up the stairs, I pulled on shorts and a tee, grabbed my shinguards, socks and cleats, and ran out the door. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"You're late, Henry!" Coach Anderson yelled at me from where he stood on the track.

"Sorry, Coach." I sat on the bench and pulled on my shinguards and socks. Coach walked over and sat down next to me, that was never a good sign.

"Look," he sighed,"I know you've been through a lot this past year. What with Sam and...I heard about that girl, his girlfriend. Were you close?"

I gulped. That was the last thing I wanted to think of at soccer practice. I played because it helped me get away from what other people thought about Sam, about him being my best friend, about him dying. On the field, it was like Sam was there with me, and that was all that mattered. It didn't matter if someone was worrying over me, or him, or trying to empathize in any way. All that mattered was being a part of the team. A part of the team Sam had been on. It was just about the only time I didn't care to be haunted by him. In fact, I preferred it on the field. Something about it seemed more wrong without him than anything else he was missing.

"I'm gonna stretch and warm up, Coach. Then I'll jump into the drills."

Coach didn't say anything as I stood up and jogged away. But he did write something on his clipboard. Great. He was probably going to tell my counselor that I was troubled or some bullshit like that.

That was one word that had been used to describe me a lot of my life. Troubled socially. Money troubles. Troubled boy, lost his father. Troubled kid, had a hard life. A hard life? As far as I was concerned, my life was golden. I had a roof over my head, food on the table, a couple friends, and I was headed to college if I kept my grades up. There were kids living on the streets! Kids starving and doing whatever they could, whatever they had to, to provide for their families. Whoever had the gaul to say that I had a hard life knew nothing about the reality of the world.