It All Began With A Song [Editing]

Chapter 18: Precautions

"So are you going to tell me what you told coach this morning?" Chase pesters me for the fifth time today as he slams his racket successfully to the tennis ball I have just served poorly to him.

With the ball threatening to slap to my face within seconds (I swear, this boy is serious about tennis for some reason), I quickly dodge myself and swing the lime green sphere turbulently to him, feeling the slight numbness on my right ankle, the one that I've just taken a cast off three days ago.

"Well, I told him that I wanted to play in the game. You know, I just got this cast off, and I haven't practiced since, when again, maybe four weeks?"

To my disappointment, the ball barely passes the net.

I sigh; I have a lot to practice.

"You're crazy, you know that right? You just got out of an ankle cast, and here you are, preparing for the next game which I'm pretty sure your doctor and parents would definitely disapprove," he picks up the ball lying on his side and cocks his head, trying to figure out if I was being serious or not. "How did you get an ankle sprain anyway? Your friend Seth looked pretty guilty when I asked him about it. Were you practicing or....?"

"I know, but I thought that since we only have four games left, why not ask coach to let me play this time? I mean, he did bump me up to a first string before I sprained my ankle... My parents don't know that I'm playing tomorrow." I pause for a second when I see him swinging his racket, ready for me to send the ball back to me, "As for my injury, let's just say that I'm not planning to join the soccer team any time soon."

+ + +

-Four Weeks Ago-

"Zoe," I began, trying to suppress my slight annoyance of my best friend barging inside my house to force me to to go 'somewhere' with her on a Saturday morning, "tell me why are we at a park at eight fifteen with a soccer ball? And who else are we waiting for?"

She grinned, determined to make me wait, "Seth's coming to help us."

"With what? I told you I need help with tennis, not soccer! If anything, you should've told me to bring my racket with me."

Just as I finished saying the sentence, I spotted a familiar blue Chevy truck driving toward the parking lot -- Seth's car.

He got out of the car after he turned it off with, of course, a confused expression on his face, "Zoe called me and said this was an emergency?" He looked confusingly at the soccer ball placed on the damp grass, "What's this?"

Zoe smirked mischievously at us, "Well, you remember when Nat told us how she has trouble with tennis? Well, I was thinking that we should--"

"--teach her how to play soccer?" Seth finished her statement with the same sly grin emerging upon his lips as he stared at me.

Oh wonderful, they're going to force me. Please don't try to kill me, Mr. Soccer.

+ + +

"You got this, Nat!" Zoe yelled encouragingly at me, passing the ball to me so that I could kick it to the "goal" -- a pile of empty boxes Seth got out of his truck.

We've been practicing soccer for at least forty minutes by now; Zoe and Seth took turns teaching me, and it was exhausting to me even though we just had a break. As much I appreciated their help, I'd rather just get out my racket and start playing tennis. I mean, I'm in the tennis team, not the soccer team. Nonetheless, it was, I had to admit, kinda fun playing soccer; I mean, the rush of adrenaline felt good, especially when you kick the ball inside the box, er, goal.