I had played soccer with Mateo and the rest of the guys, shirts vs skins, all as usual. The only unusual thing was that I was the fourth one chosen, and Mateo was the reason why.
That smart little bub.
I went home and started on my homework/went on social media and did absolutely no work at all whatsoever.
I then started texting Mateo, just as I do a lot.
L: Hello
M: Hey
L: What are you doing?
M: "Homework" (Texting you)
L: Ha. Good job.
M: Wyd?
L: Laying in bed and doing absolutely nothing.
M: I'm not impressed
L: I'm just here to impress you
M: So, how was your day?
L: Ehh. It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary besides you making me get chosen fourth for out soccer game. Why did you do that?
M: It's about time someone chose a goalie earlier. I just figured it would be best for our team
M: Plus, you are a very special goalie
L: Special good or special bad?
M: Whichever way you want to say. Your face whenever you make a save is amazing.
L: I know. I look flawless.
M: Try hilarious
L: Maybe...
M: How are you feeling? Bruised from the game.
L: My ego is slightly bruised from your comments
M: What is that supposed to mean?
L: You and your foreign language
L: It means that I'm not as confident
M: How would you like it if I started speaking Spanish to you and not explaining?
L: No quiero hablar espanol. Englis es bien.
M: Google?
L: No. Mi clase de espanol.
M: Are you just going to send Spanish to me while I send English to you? Oh, how the tables have turned. We are both using non-native languages
L: Porque yo puedo
M: Okay, that's enough now. You can stop
L: Fine. Just for you
M: Because I am a special little boy
L: Nah, you aren't little
M: Compared to some people I am
L: I am 99% sure that 6'3" isn't short compared to anyone, You are plenty tall
M: You're just a little midget
L: I'm 5'11"!
M: *cough cough* Short *cough cough*
L: I am not
M: Are too
L: Am not
M: Are too
L: I am not
M: Are too
L: Fine. You can call me short. As long as I get to call you a softy
M: But I am not a softy. I am big and strong.
L: And soft. As soon as someone pushes you, you turn into a big blubbering baby.
M: That's not true. I push back
L: Only after saying hey to them
M: Fine. You can call me a softy, as long as I can call you a shorty
L: Fine, softy
M: Shorty
L: So, are you going to go outside and play some soccer? It's a great day
M: But I have no one to play with
L: I'll meet you at the school's park?
M: Fine. See you in half an hour.
I put my phone and then put on some clean soccer clothes. There is no such thing as too much soccer in a day.
"Mom!" I yelled. "I'm going to the park to play soccer with Mateo!"
"Fine, just if you are staying over, make sure to call me and let me know. Have fun!" She replied.
Yeah. I've stayed over at his house a few times. And we haven't ever fucked, in case you are wondering. He's just a friend that I have a teeny tiny crush on.
Wait, no I don't.
I don't.
Right?
I grabbed my soccer bag which I always had packed, just in case, and then started walking to the park.
I didn't really care much about the sky or the wind, but instead I wiped my nose with a tissue from my pocket.
Stupid nose.
I got to the park fairly quickly and sat down on the grass to put on my soccer cleats. Mateo showed up soon after and sat down next to me to put on his cleats.
"Hello softy," I said with a grin.
"Shorty," He responded with a lopsided smile.
"So, what do you want to do today? Dizzy penalty shootout? Normal penalty shootout? World cup?" I asked.
"Let's go with a normal penalty shootout. I really need to work on my curve," He said, and I just rolled my eyes.
If there was one thing in soccer that Mateo could not do, that would be curving the ball or play goalie. You ask him to do an around-the-world, no problem. Bicycle kick? It'll be perfectly on target every time. Headers? Like a pro. Flicking the ball up and over his head to get around a defender? It was his signature move. Curve the ball in from a corner kick or from outside of the box? Nope.
I strapped on my goalie gloves and rolled Mateo a ball. He lined up from just outside the box, and I nodded, letting him know that I was paying attention. One time, when I was still putting on my gloves and he shot, I became Scott Sterling and blocked the shot with my face. I had a bloody nose after that, but I was fine.
He wound back and kicked, but the ball went straight to my chest, much to his dismay. No curve.
"Nope," I said while rolling the ball back to him.
He tried again and again, but he kept on getting similar results. No curve.
I continued blocking the shots and thanked my coaches for making me do so many crunches. I had to tense up for every shot so I didn't get the wind knocked out of me.
"Wait. Let's try something. Throw the ball for me to bicycle kick it," He said, and I knew exactly what to do. We had done this before. And almost every time, one of us ended up getting hurt. Either he did it wrong and then hurt his back or neck, or I got hurt because it was a good shot and I blocked it or tried to block it.
After quite a few nice shots, and a few nice saves and a couple goals, we were both tired and sweaty.
I was about to toss up another ball for Mateo, but there was a voice that stopped me.
"You guys are pretty good," A deep, mature, accented male voice said. "Can I join?"
YOU ARE READING
Shot by His Arrow
Teen FictionSo, based on the title, you might think that this is one of those lovey-dovey stories about a girl who was hit by cupid's arrow and fell violently in love with a guy, and then they had a bunch of kinky sex and whatnot. But, this isn't. Linea isn't l...
