Almost Like Fate

Chapter Two

Daniel enters his new sixth period--Mr. Ortez's class--for the first time in his life, fully expecting people to be wearing ponchos with sombreros and shaking maracas while yelling Spanish words at each other; at least, that's how he imagined it being. In reality, the Spanish class was pretty normal--peers were sitting in chairs with a notebook on their desks and a pencil in hand as Mr. Ortez instructs the class. Daniel isn't quite sure why he imagined donkeys running around the room, but also isn't sure whether or not he prefers it this way.

Mr. Ortez's eyes flick in his direction before he nods his head towards the left side of the classroom. Daniel looks in the direction and sees an open desk, nodding back at him before making his way down the neat rows and sitting beside a russet-skinned boy with dark hair. He pulls out a brand-new notebook, looking up at the board just in time to see Mr. Ortez clean it with a whiteboard eraser. Daniel frowns before looking at the teens around him in confusion. Before he knows it, Mr. Ortez is standing between his and the dark-haired boy's desks.

"You must be Daniel Evans," Mr. Ortez says in a thick accent as he places a hand on the boy's shoulder, "This is Luis; he'll be helping to catch you up with the rest of the class."

Daniel nods before politely reaching his hand out to the boy. "It's nice to meet you. I hope you don't mind helping me out."

"Not at all," Luis says with a smile, dimples decorating his cheeks as he shakes his hand, "I'm sure we'll get along nicely."

The class went by pretty slowly, mainly consisting of Luis teaching Daniel basic sentence structures and nouns here and there.

"So, why are you in Spanish I if you're clearly so good at it?" Daniel asks suddenly while packing up his things.

Luis sighs. "My dad thought I needed more practice, so he demanded to the principal that I start from the basics all over again. I'm actually fluent in Spanish, but it's all my dad's fault that I'm in this class." He pauses for a moment, rolling his eyes, before starting again, "Why'd you switch to Spanish mid-October?"

"I just wanted a change of pace," Daniel answers after a moment with a smile.

The bell rings loudly, everyone rushing out of their classrooms for no apparent reason; except for Daniel, that is. As usual, the hallways are crowded with sweaty teens pushing against each other. He attempts to maneuver through the mob, bumping into more people than he'd care to admit. He sighs before making his way to the soccer field since, instead of being able to go home after school like a normal teenager, Daniel's mom insisted that he join a sports team at the beginning of the school year--well, she forced him into joining one rather than insisting on it. Daniel doesn't exactly have anything against teens who like sports, but he'd much rather lay around the house and browse the internet; I guess you could say his love for some memes and iconic vines is much stronger than that of running through mud and exercising. In reality, he doesn't enjoy being outside of his house in general. Luckily for him, though, the team is going to be scrimmaging today.

Fun.

"Hey, Evans, pass the ball," one of Daniel's teammates yells. He does what his teammate asks, but someone from the opposite team steals the ball right before it reaches him. Daniel follows the ball, waiting for the perfect moment to steal it back.

I mean, seriously, just let us win so we can have our after-practice snacks and go home early. Is that so much to ask?

After about a half-hour, the coach blows his whistle. The screech echoes through the empty field, making Daniel smile and wipe his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm, glad that practice is almost over.

"Five-minute water break!" Coach Harley yells, followed by another screech from his whistle.

Daniel frowns once again, sighing as he heads to the bleachers for some water and knowing full well that this was going to be a long practice.

--

-

Unfortunately for Daniel, soccer practice ended a bit late, since the team has a game next Friday. Oh, how he wishes he didn't have to walk to school every day. Living somewhat close to his school has its perks, but walking 13 blocks after three incredibly long hours of running and kicking a soccer ball past the goal line is not one of them. It's only Tuesday and Daniel is already exhausted; exercise is great and all, but the aftermath of it is ugly.

In all honesty, Daniel was hoping to avoid being in the field until necessary, but being the clumsy person he is, he forgot his water bottle on the bleachers. Daniel makes his way to the field, calves burning with every step he takes until he finally sees his bright green water bottle along with someone in a dark red hoodie, their head nodding to the rhythm of the music playing through their earphones. Daniel smiles at the sight before heading toward them.

"Excuse me," he calls once he reaches the bleachers, "what are you doing out here?"

The stranger's bright green eyes snap to Daniel, body tensing and leaning away from him as if he was preparing to run in the opposite direction. The boy doesn't answer, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he narrows his eyes at Daniel. The two stayed silent for a few seconds, the tense air almost palpable around them as Daniel frowns at his strange response.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he says, laughing softly to reduce the awkward tension between them. The boy simply frowns, shifting his gaze between Daniel's big brown eyes and the soccer field. After a moment of silence, he moves to sit next to the strange boy--at a safe distance, of course. He slightly shuffles away from Daniel, clearly uncomfortable.

Daniel smiles at him before attempting to start a conversation once more. "My name's Daniel. What's yours?"

The boy ponders on answering the question, his mouth opening and closing like a fish before he speaks. "I'm Nathan Lewis," he says flatly as if one should know him by the name.

"It's nice to meet you, Nathan. So, what are you doing out here all alone?" Daniel asks with a friendly smile, head tilting ever-so-slightly.

Nathan looks around the two, clearly paranoid that someone could be watching or listening. "You shouldn't be talking to me," he mumbles before jumping to his feet and walking away from the field, hands in the pockets of his dark red hoodie.