The Little Things [Book 1]

Chapter Thirty: Goal

Walking up to Rachel's house was always awe-striking. The rose bushes, which had started to bloom from the first week of March, now had bees buzzing around them. Even though Thomas loved the winter, he was glad about the spring that had started to arrive. Playing soccer in the winter sucked.

He rang the bell and Leyla opened the door after a few moments. She greeted him and then yelled at Rachel that Thomas was there. Mrs. Chevrolet popped her head out of the kitchen and shed a charming smile at Thomas. Her short brown hair bounced as she bobbed her head upward.

"Rach is in her room, as usual," she told him.

"Thank you, Mrs. Chevrolet," he replied and walked up the stairs to the second floor.

The first couple of times he had been in her house he had gotten lost more times than humanly possible. He felt as if the place was a moving maze of some sort. But, by now, he knew almost every nook and cranny of it.

"Hey," he told her as he got in her room. Rachel's room was rather bright and clean. It was always like that. Nothing like the mess that took over most of his own room or the character Mark's room showed. The walls had a beige-pink tone and all of her furniture was white.

"So, let's plan our baby!" she yelled out and jumped on her bed.

He shook his head as he heard her and went to sit down next to her. They had to do this exercise for Mr. Charles class, a 'How to raise your baby' budget thing. Basically, they had to write down how they would raise a family.

Two hours later, both were exhausted to no end. At last, Rachel sat up and tried to walk off the block they had reached. Thomas watched her pace around in her room and rubbed his eyes.

"Why don't we take five?" he asked her, stretching upward his arms. Frantically, Rachel nodded, agreeing that this was going nowhere. "So, I've been meaning to ask you..." Thomas started. Rachel stopped pacing and turned to him.

"What's up?" she asked sweetly and jumped on her bed next to him again.

"Nothing really, I just thought this whole thing with Bryan came out of nowhere. I mean, don't get me wrong, you two are adorable together-" Rachel smiled at that- "it's just that I didn't know you had feelings for him".

"Well, I didn't know that I had them to begin with. This last year I've actually gotten more at ease with him and I guess I didn't realize I liked him until he cornered me on Valentine's Day and kissed me..." Rachel replied. A thought crossed her mind and she frowned. "Did you know he had feelings for me?"

"Eh, yeah, kinda... he told us that he liked you a couple of days before Valentine's. Truth be told, we didn't actually expect him to act on his feelings," Thomas answered with a sideways smile.

"How come he told you?"

"Well, he was kind of afraid of me..." Rachel frowned more intensely now. Why would Bryan be scared of Thomas?

"Why's that?"

"He had his crazy idea that you liked me!" Thomas exclaimed, making Rachel pull back and huff.

"Well, I did use to," Rachel muttered. At once, Thomas turned to her with raised eyebrows.

"E-excuse me?"

"Come on, Thomas... we practically grew up together. I used to have the biggest crush on you. What I felt for you... damn, I didn't think I could feel that way about anyone else! But here I am... with Bryan... and you as my best friend. I got it all," she explained and reached out to touch Thomas's hand.

"So, you're serious about Bryan? You're not into anyone else?" Thomas muttered, questioning her while biting his lower lip.

"Of course not! I mean... yes, I do still think Blake is hot and Mark deserves an award for the way he looks, but I don't like them," she said with a shrug. "Besides, Blake is my friend and Mark is gay". Thomas seemed skeptical. 

"Yeah, he is..." he said, not audible enough for Rachel to hear.

When she looked at him in question he just shook his head and assured her it was nothing of importance. Slowly, their attention shifted back to their homework. They finished the project around two hours after that and Thomas went back home.

"Hey, kiddo," his Dad greeted him as soon as he got inside. Lorenz Heissmann was sitting on the couch watching some commercials on the TV. "The game's about to start," he told his son, turning his head toward the television again.

"Oh, I'll be right there," Thomas replied, kicking his shoes off and quickly ran upstairs to his room. There he dropped his back pack and opened his phone.

Mark: How was Charles' project?

Mark's message brought a smile over Thomas's lips and he started typing a reply as he walked downstairs again.

Thomas: More boring than you could imagine. How's shopping with Sam?

He managed to sit down just as the game kicked off and without hesitation he reached out and grabbed the can of beer that sat on the coffee table. From the love seat to his right his mother gave him a sideways glance of disapproval, but she remained silent. While his parents didn't stop him from drinking an occasional beer or two, they didn't encourage it either.

Around the thirty minute mark, while neither of the teams had managed to score yet, Thomas felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and saw that Mark had sent him a photo.

It was a picture of him in a dressing room, with only a pair of jeans on. There was still a tag on the pair and Thomas's eyes lingered for a moment. First, at the blue jeans; it was skinny and ripped and cuffed. Then he looked at Mark's naked torso. Thomas wouldn't describe him as muscular though. He was lean and a little bit defined, but Thomas was way more muscular. To be fair, though, he did exercise on a daily basis and he did want to be a professional soccer player.

Mark: What do you think?

Thomas: Buy them.

Just as he sent that message and his eyes drifted to the match again the striker of his team managed to score a goal. Immediately, he and his father stood up in an enthusiastic uproar, while his mother looked at both her boys and silently shook her head.

She had never really been a huge football game –correction soccer-. Every time she had to force herself to call it that. She just wasn't wired that way. She had grown up in Germany, where it was called fussball, which literally translated to football. A game where you hit the ball with your foot. Easy. 

While she had never been a fan of it, her heart melted as she remembered little Thomas trying to kick the ball that was almost as big as him. Oh, how she missed the days he would come back from playing with his father and snuggle with her until he fell asleep. Now he barely even hugged her. Just on her birthday and on Mother's day. She understood; he was growing up, but still. She missed her little bean. She almost felt as if she didn't know him anymore.