High Tops to Heels

Chapter 1 - Friday Night Football

Hey guys! This is my attempt at a new story...So I hope you like it. This chapter is dedicated to 830freckles, because she came up with this amazing title of 'High Tops to Heels'! It's amazing, huh?

Well, here you go, my new story! :D

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“Manning’s got the ball. He’s going, he’s going,” My best friend, Owen said, shoving popcorn into his mouth while yelling every movement Peyton Manning made on the football field, “Touchdown!” He screamed as pieces of chewed up popcorn flew across the room.

“That’s it, Max, you owe Owen ten bucks. The Colts won,” My other friend, Kyle told me as he popped a gummy worm in his mouth.

“Fine, fine. Here take my money,” I threw a crumpled up bill at Owen’s head, which conveniently hit him smack in the middle of the forehead.

     This is a normal Friday night for us, actually. Owen, Kyle and I have watched Friday night football together since the third grade. We usually make ridiculous bets about who’s going to win. Owen usually wins, because he’s some NFL genius, Kyle and I don’t know how he does it.

     I’m Madeline, by the way. But I go by Max, because I hate the name Madeline; it sounds too frilly and girly. I’ve never been much of a girly-girl; wait let me say that again, I’ve never been a girly-girl. Everything I’ve ever done is with guys, really. I have an older brother who’s eighteen, I’ve always looked up to him, and we’ve always get along. I’m not your normal sixteen year old girl, I don’t have sleepovers with the cheerleading squad, I don’t paint my nails, and I definitely do not go shopping.

     My best friend in the whole world is Owen Brady Taylor. We’ve done everything together; we’ve been best friends our whole lives.  Our moms where pregnant at the same time, and became really close friends. Not only that, but I was born exactly one week before him. Besides that one week of life when he wasn’t born, we’ve been best friends since the day he was born. He’s about six feet tall with light blonde hair that covers up his right eye. His eyes are a bright blue, which can make any girl faint at the sight.

     Kyle takes second place in the ‘Best Friend’ category. Owen and I met him at the park when we were all seven. We bonded over the sand box, trying to make the biggest sand castle in the world. After multiple times, we all decided it was virtually impossible to make the biggest sand castle, we decided to go back to Kyle’s house to play video games. Since then, us three have been as close as the Three Musketeers. Kyle is a little bit shorter than Owen, maybe 5’10 or so. He has dark brown hair, almost black that he keeps fairly short due to the curliness of it.

     Both guys have always been there for me. They’re sort of like my ‘girl friends’ in that respect, but we don’t sit around gossiping all night. Most girls are terrified about how they act around boys, especially boys as cute as Kyle and Owen; not me. I can burp, eat, curse, whatever I want around them, and they don’t care.

     I got distracted and snapped out of my trance, to find Kyle and Owen chugging a one-liter bottles of soda, seeing who could finish it first. Kyle was slowing down, but Owen seemed too had just gotten started. He tipped the bottle up as high as it could go, letting the Dr. Pepper fill his mouth. I could see his Adam’s apple go up and down with each gulp he took. Poor Kyle looked like he was about to blow.

     After a few more seconds, Owen brought the bottle from his lips and let out the biggest burp I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Done!” He said as he gasped for air.

That’s when Kyle pulled the bottle from his lips, “No fair!” He whined, he couldn’t finish his rant, however, because he pulled the trashcan that sat under the table and puked his guts out.

“Too much soda, Ky?” I joked with him as I patted his back.

“What a baby,” Owen said as he rolled his eyes.

“Shut up!” I said as I threw a handful of popcorn at him; I missed terribly.

“Wanna go, then, Max?” Owen asked me as he handed me a liter of Coke.

Kyle lifted his head out of the trashcan to listen, “What are you talking about? I can’t chug that,” I said, pointing to the bottle for emphasis.

“’Course you can. You’re basically a dude. You can do what we do,” He told me, throwing me the bottle. It landed on the cushion next to me.

“What do you mean by you’re basically a dude?” I asked, mocking his voice.

“It means you do what we do: burp, eat, watch football, you know, dude stuff,” He told me.

     I just looked at him, what did he mean by that? Was I ‘basically a dude’?

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