Paper Airplanes

11 years old

Will stares longingly at the group of boys playing soccer in the middle of the field. He looks down at his bandaged knees and pouts. He looks up when he hears some girls cheering. They're stationed at the bleachers holding some handmade pompoms. The soccer boys waves back at them, and they cheer louder. 

Among them, cheering the loudest, is Sarah Greene. He likes her. She is blond, like him, and her hair is very long. It flows down to her back in piles of golden curls. Her eyes are in a warm shade of caramel, and her skin is quite fair. Not pale. Just fair.

Determined to impress her, he marches towards the coach and tugs on his sleeves. The coach looks down at him and raises a brow.

"I want to play," He says boldly, "I feel better now,"

The coach scratches his head and bends down until they're staring straight at each other's eyes. "William, I've got something to say to you. Listen up, okay boy?"

Will nods eagerly.

Coach sucks in a breath and says quickly, "Tim Johnson over there is taking over your role in the team,"

Will's eyes widen, and he glances towards the shed where Tim Johnson is  currently wiping his face with a red towel. He's quite tall and bigger, much bigger than the short, scrawny little Will.

"But Coach-"

"I'm sorry," Coach shakes his head empathetically, "You're just too...thin and frail, William. You'll bring the team down. Actually, you're already bringing it down. But Tim over there? Tim is a natural. He was born to play soccer,"

 Then the coach stands up and blows his whistle, returning his attention to the game.

Will hears the girls snickering silently behind him, so he walks away, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He looks back and sees Sarah Greene laughing the loudest. He turns away and goes back to his little spot at the very edge of the field, right under a huge tree with small yellow and white blossoms.

Drip Drip

He touches his cheeks and looks around to determine the source of the dripping. Then he looks up  and sees the bottom of dark green sneakers, connected to pale mud-stained legs with oversized shorts.

"Alice?" He calls out.

Sure enough, the person looks down at him and he sees Alice's familiar red hair and bright green eyes. She was eating cotton candy and sipping on chocolate milkshake (which, he assumes, is the source of all the dripping)

"Hey blondie," She replies, using the nickname that he earned from her back when they were seven.

"What are you doing up there?"

She holds out her food, "Eating. duh,"

"On top of a tree?"

"You got a problem with that?"

He shakes his head, then says, "Not really, but you might fall,"

She rolls her eyes and skillfully climbs down from branch to branch. His eyes are still widening in amazement when she reaches the ground.

"See? I'm an expert at it," She gloats.

He smiles, "I guess,"

"So what are you doing here?" She asks, "Aren't you supposed to be out there at the field playing soccer?"

His shoulders sag, "I got kicked out,"

She stops slurping at her shake and stares at him, "Huh?"

He tells her the whole story. She doesn't listen silently like his mother does. She butts in occasionally, but with the kind of words that never fail to make him blush.

"And then he said that I'm too frail and thin--"

"What an ass,"

"And that I'm bringing the team down--"

"You should have kicked his balls,"

"And he says that Tim Johnson is better,"

She sniffs indignantly, "Huh? Tim Johnson? What's so good about him?"

Will shrugs and looks back at the field, just in time to see Tim score a point immpressively. The girls on the bleachers cheer uncontrollably, and Sarah Greene was cheering the loudest. He looks away.

"His head is too big,"

Will stares at Alice, "Huh?"

"I said his head is too big," Alice declares, muddy chin up, "And his arms and legs are too long. He looks like a freaking spider,"

Will can't help but crack a small grin, "Lots of girls think he's good-looking,"

"Nu-uh," Alice shakes her head and plants her skinny arms at the sides of her hips, "His eyes are ugly. His hair is ugly. And he smells like wet gym socks,"

Will places his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, "But he's good at soccer isn't he?"

"Nope!" Alice declares, "He's like a boulder. Enormous and stupid,"

Will laughs. 

"You're better, ya know," Alice says, pointing at him with her stubby little finger, "You're a pretty boy,"

He nearly chokes on his own spit, "P-pretty boy...?"

"And you smell like mint. Not like him. He smells awful!"

"Really...?"

"You look way better too!"

Will just stares at her. He recalls the other girls calling him an ugly lamp post, and wonders if Alice is just saying all those stuff to console him. 

She hands him her cotton candy and tells him it'll make him feel better. Then she skips away, her brilliant red hair swaying behind her like flames. 

Will is eleven years old, and he realizes that not all girls are the same.