Jamie, meet Dylan. Dylan, meet Jamie

Chapter Eight

I adjusted the straps on my gloves and looked around for Sarah, who disappeared straight after I had blocked Dylan's shot.

It was all sudden; I screamed out loud. I covered my face with my face and fell to the ground. A sharp pain soared through my face, as if something had hit me hard. Tears clouded my vision as I tried to look around for what had happened but I only heard sounds of laughter and I tried to speak but failed. The taste of metal, of blood, filled my mouth and I spat it out on the field.

The tears lessened and my vision became sharper. Dylan was still laughing at me with the rest of the team who didn't really think I was in pain. Coach Brenner was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey drama queen," I heard Dylan say outloud, and chuckles pursued. I pressed my hand against my nose; it wasn't bleeding. My lip was split, though.

Dylan paced around me. "First rule of defense; expect the unexpected," he said, loud enough for the remaining of the team to hear. They laughed and nodded in agreement. Dylan stepped closer towards me and squatted on the ground beside me to whisper, "See what I do in public to you? Imagine what I can do in private," he threatened. My heart raced and my mouth was dry except for the taste of blood from my lip.

"Try humiliating me again, Jamie, and I swear to you this would be considered a luxury," he said. I swallowed the blood and wiped my eyes with my jersey away from the eyes of the teammates.

"Get up," Dylan said as Coach Brenner walked towards us with a cup fo coffee in hand. Dylan walked back to his teammates and left me alone in the net. Coach furrowed his brow at me.

"Forrester what's with the lip?" he asked, pointing at my bottom lip.

I looked at Dylan who pressed his tongue against his cheeks, anticipating my answer.

"I split my lip while falling on the net," I lied. It was probably physically impossible but I hoped Coach would believe it, and he did. Dylan beamed at me and returned to talk to his friends. He jogged towards me and ruffled my hair.

"Atta boy," he said and I looked away.

*

The soft clinking of utensils against the plates and the smell of sauteed vegetables caused me a headache and I pressed on the bridge of my nose.

"Jamie," Dad said, interrupting my thoughts. I couldn't believe it was dinnertime, I thought the day was never going to end. Too much was happening at once.

"Yeah?" I replied.

"You haven't touched your plate," he said, pointing at my full plate.

I shrugged. "I kind of spoiled my dinner," I lied.

"No you didn't," Jake interfered, and I shot him a look. "You were in your room the whole time," he expanded.

I gave him a sour look and forced a spoonful of pasta in my mouth. I grimaced; my lip still hurt from the ball. My mom shook her head at me. I had told them I split my lip by missing a step in school, and they sort of seemed to buy it.

"I really want to get that checked out," she said.

"No!" I objected a bit too loudly. My family looked at me with a puzzled look. "I mean there's no need, I'll just apply sugar on it. It seems to do the trick," I said with a shrug.

"Anyway," Dad said, thankfully changing the subject. "Are going with me to the campaign office tonight?" he said as he took a sipped his glass of water.

I wasn't feeling so well, but at the same time I hadn't been to the campaign office in a week, which was embarrassing. "Uh, yeah," I said with a weak smile, and my lip quivered. Dad beamed and left the table, to which I excused myself.