Not My Obsession

I'm into the real Arts

"Scout!" My dad yelled from down stairs.

This can mean one of two things. The first option being I'm in serious trouble. The second is that U.S. is playing, which means that my uncle, number 43, is playing. I love him, and I think he is a great soccer player, but right now I'm writing in you, Amanda. After I finish writing this sentence, I'm going to use you as a song book and diary. I'll write every other day; leaving enough time to sing. Well, I guess this is now my 3rd sentence, which means 3 less lines for writing. Bye, Amanda.
P.S. I hope you are better than old Amanda.

"Scout Kobo! Where are you? Your uncle is about to play and we should support him!" Dad yelled again.

Ugh. I knew that there was no way to get out of it.

"Coming! Oh, and have you ever thought of signing me up for any of the arts? It's good to be well rounded, 'ya know." I said in a joking matter, knowing my dad would NEVER let me sign up for what I considered true art.

"Soccer is an art, and you are as well rounded as a soccer player needs to be." My dad said, not understanding the joke.

"I was kidding. Gosh, dad." I replied.

If only he knew that I'm into the real arts, and soccer is not an art to me. I remember that he dropped out of high school and played for the Chicago Fire. He's retired now, but did play for the U.S team when he was younger. Now he gets to coach me 24/7. Lucky me... Sometimes I really hate my life.

The boys were already eating popcorn on the couch when I came down. As soon as they saw me, they all spread out so I would have to sit on the broken chair (why do we even have one?) or the floor. I chose the floor, since the last time they did this, I sat on the chair and it sandwiched on me. Cristiano, age 17, my oldest brother (named after Ronaldo), distracted my dad while I was stuck there for about 45 minutes until the 1st Half ended.

Thomas (named after Muller), threw some of his popcorn at me.

As you can tell, every kid in my family is named after a famous soccer player. Except me.

As soon as the game ended, I said I was going to shower mad headed upstairs. I stood under the water for a few seconds so my hair was wet, and them I started writing a song in Amanda.

Dear Amanda, I'm going to write a song. Ok?

I'm cold here, I'm all alone here, I miss you and can't stop thinking, I need you, with me, no one here understands, but I need to to stand, by my si-i-de.

I know it's not a lot, but I don't exactly have a ton of experience in the topic. I've never had a boyfriend 'cause I'm not really liked at school, so I write about my mom and my relationship with her. I know it's kind of weird or deep and you wouldn't be able to tell that it's about her, but I still don't want anyone seeing this. That would be just one problem, because if they found out I was writing about a dead person, they would laugh at me and call me "momma's girl". I already have to much to deal with: the most popular girls at school bullying me, being forced to do something I hate, unable to focus at school because of those secrets my mom had. Anyways, I have to go practice or my dad will yell at me. Tommorow's going to be my second day of school, which means the hate is about to begin. They don't bully on the first day, because the teachers are all cautious about new kids and bullying. But by second day, they forget just about everything except the subject they teach.
Wish me luck,
Emma