Just a Taste (SAMPLE)

Chapter One

- THEN -

Eight years ago

When I was eleven years old, my life changed forever though I didn't know it at the time.

I was in my favorite black leotard, a baby pink tutu secured around my waist, as I sat on a bench in front of my father's classroom. I was wide-eyed as I looked at my surroundings. I'd never been inside a high school before. So far, the experience was an intimidating one.

Usually, Dad would pick me up straight from whatever after school club I was attending that day and we'd head straight to the hospital to visit Mom for a few hours. However, my ballet class for today had been cancelled at the last minute. So I was stuck here. Waiting for Dad to finish work.

I liked Ballet, and even Karate, but piano lessons were the absolute worst. I hoped Mom would get out of the hospital soon; then she'd be able to come get me from school at a normal time. I wouldn't have to go to so many extra classes, or stick around waiting for Dad to finish work.

I'd told him repeatedly that I could walk home by myself. Loads of my friends did. But he wouldn't listen, and he couldn't really afford to pay anyone to look after me. He had to pay Mom's hospital bills, and the mortgage on the house, as well as Nana's bills at her nursing home. I'd overheard him worrying about it over the phone to Uncle Luke one day. I wasn't a baby, and it frustrated me that Dad insisted on treating me like one.

I could have been at home right now, watching my favorite dance show on the TV. Instead, I was growing increasingly bored sitting around with nothing to do. The elementary school had called Dad after our Ballet instructor hadn't shown up for the after school class. He'd spoken to me over the phone and told me to come to his classroom as soon as my friend Anna's mom dropped me off. But I could see that there were three other teachers in there with him, and I wasn't sure if I should interrupt.

I sighed, yanking at my hair, as I slumped further down the wooden bench. I'd pulled the long blonde strands of my hair into a tight bun for ballet, and it was beginning to hurt my head. Mom always did my hair much nicer, and it never hurt when she did it.

I couldn't wait for her to come home. The house had gotten a little messy, with the dishes and the laundry piling up, and Dad said that we'd have to stay indoors this weekend to clean everything up, but I didn't mind at all. I was just happy that she was coming home, and I wanted everything to be nice and perfect for her.

I peeked inside Dad's classroom again, and saw that they were all still talking. I moved back to the bench, but looked up when I heard several thunderous footsteps echo down the hallway.

"Hey, watch out!" a voice yelled. I jerked my head to the left just in time to see a football headed straight towards me. My hands moved quicker than I'd thought possible to catch it before it collided with my face. Startled, I threw it back in the direction it came from.

The football headed straight towards the guy that had yelled out, catching him right between the legs. Right in his boy parts. He doubled over with a muffled 'oof' sound, and all his friends began to laugh and rib him.

A little giggle escaped me as I watched the boy's reddened face. The giggle – feminine and soft in the face of all the male laughter – seemed to pierce the air and they all stopped short to look at me.

"Who are you? And what the heck are you doing here?" one of the guys asked. He was further away from the rest, and was wearing a red baseball cap. I guessed it was him that the other guy had been aiming the football at. I shrank back a little, feeling shy.