Setting the Record Straight

Chapter Eight

A/N: I wasn't supposed to post this chapter until I finished the ninth and tenth one, but I felt so bad for not uploading in so long, so here it is.

I dedicate this cpater by the way tp _aparecium_ who made the banner you could see on the side. I forgot to pick it up before I went on hiatus, which sucks because her account is now deacticated.:/

Chapter Eight

                I once heard of an urban legend called “Senioritis”, a common disease amongst senior students wherein they lose the lack and or motivation for school because in a few months they shall be leaving and the countdown has basically begun.

                I caught this disease. And it lasted for the first two weeks of the school year. By the time the third week rolled by, I received a dose of reality and healed almost immediately as I caught the disease. I was healed by two simple words: Soccer practice.

                I’ve been part of the team since freshmen year. I worked my way from trying out, to getting in but getting assigned to the bench, and then finally getting to play during the second game of sophomore year.

                That was my way, the patient way. Everyone had their own ways of getting to play. Take Eli’s for example. Eli came to Brighton during sophomore year. He signed up for the yearly try outs and got in, just like I did the year before. And just like me, he got assigned to the bench. His case was much worse though. Since he was a transferee, the seniors took him for a freshman and put him on water-boy duty.

                To make this long story short, because he was so upset, Eli went up to the team captain and made a bet. He said that if he could score thrice in a row up against any of the seniors, he gets to play in the next game. If he doesn’t, then he’ll serve as the team’s little servant until senior year. In the end, he did win that bet and I didn’t end up being the youngest kid and sophomore on that field during the second game, and the rest was basically history.

                Point being though is, ever since then Coach Smith kept a close eye on the yearly try outs and gave everyone a ‘fair’ chance before letting the seniors assign who got the boot, who got the bench and all that. There was no point in it though. It only prolonged the process of the try-outs hence dulling my brain. Year after year, the lower-class kids who tried out sucked twice as much as the set who tried the year before them. But that never stopped the coach.

                So when Tyler Rodriguez came up to our table during fourth period break that third week I was caught off guard. “West, Birmingham, locker room in five,” he said. “It’s time to make the cuts. First practice starts later afternoon.” The cuts and practices usually started by the fourth or fifth week of school.

                “I’m guessing he got the position of team captain?” Dan said once Tyler was out of earshot.

                Eli snorted as he took a bite off from his sandwich. “Why did he get it?” he whined with his mouth full. “Tyler’s a good guy, sure. But c’mon he isn’t that good out on the field.”

                “It’s because he’s a kiss up,” I said. “The boy has practically been polishing Smith’s shoes since last year, dude.”

                “Good point,” Eli allowed. “You could’ve gotten captain though, man. You could’ve got Dan in the team!” Not to sound like an airhead or anything, but I could have gotten the spot. I mean, I wasn’t expecting to get it, but I was one of the people being considered. It wasn’t that much of a loss to me. I didn’t intend on spending the whole year screaming at people.