Off the Field

Chapter Three

Hey! Happy almost-weekend! I'm excited cuz my friends and I have decided to skip homecoming (cuz ours is super lame) and go out to Olive Garden and then sleepover instead, which will be like 23234 more fun even if it's dorky. But yeah. I hope you guys like this next chapter - please COMMENT, please, that means so much to me because this is a new story in a genre I don't usually write, so I need some criticism/advice/whatever. Also, if anyone has cast ideas for a dark-haired guy?? That'd be great.

Pic of Mallory on side -----> or up top if on a device.

Gracias!! <3 Monica

Chapter Three

I knew the start of school was just around the corner when I found myself sprawled across the floor of my family room that Saturday afternoon, watching Notre Dame football for the first game of the season. Mallory was curled up on the couch behind me; it was tradition that she watched every game with our family, though at the beginning of that game it was just the two of us and my baby sister Mo.

“Everyone else too busy?” Mal asked, prodding my shoulder with one sock foot until I passed her the tray of crackers and cheese. “I thought your dad really wanted to watch this game.”

“He and my mom are at Caleb’s scrimmage. He said they’re coming in a bit,” I answered, holding Mo’s arm as she tried to jump over my legs. Ever since she’d started walking, we couldn’t get her to stop moving. She giggled happily, her big blue eyes shining and her blonde hair sticking straight up.

“Where are your twenty-three other siblings?”

I gave her a dirty look. “They’re around somewhere. The game’s barely started, don’t worry. They’ll show up.” I released Mo’s arm as she tumbled down next to me and tried to take cheese from the snack tray. Pulling the tray away, I set it on the coffee table, shaking my head at how quickly it was emptying.

“Jeez, Mal, would you mind not eating all the food before the first quarter ends?”

“I’m hungry,” she protested, twirling her brown ponytail around her finger grumpily.

“You’re always hungry during your running season,” I pointed out. “Your grocery bill’s probably as big as ours.”

She shrugged, smiling as Mo teetered onto my lap. I let her put her little fingers all over my face as I watched the TV intently. The Notre Dame quarterback was taking his sweet time calling the play, the clock running down, and Mallory started yelling at him to get a move on. I threw a pillow at her, aiming poorly because of the toddler climbing over me.

“Dan-nee,” chirped Mo, slapping her tiny hands over my eyes.

I put my hands over hers, opening and closing them in her favorite game of peekaboo, much to her delight. As she pushed my hands over my eyes so I could do it again, I heard Mallory crow, “Touchdown!” and immediately I removed Mo from my lap so I could see.

“Where’s the replay?” I demanded as the players jumped around in celebration. “I can’t believe I missed it!”