Football and Fairy Tales

Chapter 1

Dakota

"Dakota, it's your first day! You don't want to be late!"

This comes from a woman who is the definition of tardy. Yelling must make her feel parental because there's only a small curtain that separates me from the kitchen area of the small blue school bus my parents and I call home. My parents are the poster children for tiny house living. Who knew it would become the new rage nationwide when they built ours? When they first started, finding places to park was hard. Now, we're among several other tiny houses living a similar nomadic lifestyle when we park it.

The smell of burning pancakes reaches me through the thin fabric. Her tradition is to cook and burn them with each new school. Her cooking skills go right up there with punctuality. Common sense should have clued them into the fact that after surviving nineteen schools, they should have homeschooled me, but with that in mind, number twenty shouldn't be too difficult. At least I know I'll get to graduate from this one before they decide to hit the road again.

I love my parents and their free-spirited lifestyle for the most part, but there's a part of me that's missing something. Maybe it's the knowledge that I don't know who I am outside this school bus. My birth certificate says I was born in California, but it was just one of many stops along the way. Many people would say I'm lucky because I've gotten to see the United States, but I'd describe it more as lonely. My grandparents live in Memphis, Tennessee. It's the state we currently left behind and the longest stay we've ever accomplished in my lifetime. I even managed to lay some roots down, although not in the way I wanted to. All of it was due to something out of my control, and it caused us to stay put for almost two years. Here we are, and I'm starting to feel lost again.

Opening the curtain, I step into the room to see my parents watching me. Dad is studying me over the newspaper where he's placed an ad in for the odd and end jobs he and Mom do to help finance our nomadic lifestyle and the ever-growing blog they write together. Each year, their fan base rises. Before long, I'll have internet celebrities as parents.

"You look beautiful, honey."

Even though he wishes I'd dress a little less flashy, I smile at him. I have a thing for consignment shopping and art. The long blue, purple, and white maxi skirt dances around my legs when I walk. My white long-sleeve top with a ruffle bottom gives it a bohemian look. To finish the gypsy look (I might as well fit in with my parent's lifestyle), my dark, medium-length hair is bunched into two braids, so the red tips are noticeable at the end. Two large silver hoops dangle from my ears, and a small diamond is at the top of my left ear lobe. Black lace-up boots finish the look.

"You could try to fit in a little, honey," Mom points out.

Pouring a generous amount of syrup on the pancakes to hide the burnt taste, I smile at her.

"Why? Do you think they'll remember who I am in a few months when we hit the road again? Might as well make it worthwhile," I muse while shoving a large bite in my mouth.

"This is supposed to be sarcasm, isn't it?"

Mom points her question at Dad, who shrugs.

"Or rebellion. Who can tell?"

I roll my eyes while taking a large swallow of coffee. It's the one thing my mom has perfected. To most people, it's probably tar. To me, it's liquid gold. Looking at my watch, I grab my backpack to make the short trek to the school. Our campsite is conveniently located across the field, separating the school from the road into town.

"I hear Dewbridge is a nice school, small but nice. That should make it easy to make friends," Mom points out.

Or make me stand out like a sore thumb. I quickly shove the rest of my breakfast in my mouth to avoid any further conversation. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is probably the worst way to start a new school year, but ever since my illness, I've been feeling out of sorts. I've always been the model daughter, the perfect one. Here lately, though, I've felt restless and determined to find a place to lay down some roots. I still have a wandering heart. Thanks to my parents, it's in my genes, but I want something more. If only I can place my finger on it. Getting up, I put my plate in the sink and straighten my clothes.

"Gotta go find some drugs, have lots of sex, and maybe take time to study," I chirp as I hurry out the door.

"More sarcasm?" I hear my mom ask my dad.

"I think that was supposed to be humor, honey."

Mom sighs. "Who can tell these days?"