Take One For The Team

Chapter 1

The removal van door slammed shut and I picked up the last cardboard box, KITCHEN scrawled on the top in thick black marker pen.

This is it. A fresh start.

I tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach and carried the box through to the kitchen, where Dad had already started unpacking.

"Last one." I declared, dropping the box on the counter.

Dad looked up at me, "You ok?"

I smiled tentatively, "Yeah, it's gonna be good."

A few months ago, the dental practice my dad worked for had acquired a new surgery here in LakeView, and offered him the chance to relocate. It was just the two of us; my older brother, Paul, was away studying medicine at college. My mom passed away back when I was 11.

"Stop worrying," Dad said, interrupting my thoughts, "You're gonna do great."

He squeezed my shoulder affectionately and went to speak to the removal company.

I sighed and wandered up to my new room. It had its own ensuite bathroom, and overlooked the back yard. It was bigger than my old bedroom, but it felt weird and empty; like it had no soul.

I hoped it would feel more welcoming once I unpacked all my stuff.

This was the first time we'd ever moved house. Which meant this was the first time I'd lived somewhere my mom hadn't lived with us. It was a strange feeling.

I shook myself out of my funk and forced myself to start unpacking. First out came my soccer cleats, still fresh in the box. It was tradition that Dad and I would pick out a new pair at the start of every new school year, because I played so much that they usually fell apart.

Soccer was my life, and had been for as long as I could remember. I loved all sports, and was pretty good at most of them, but soccer was the one. Mom and Dad had first met at a soccer game, and it was love at first sight. My childhood memories were full of the two of them taking Paul and I to practice every week, and watching our games every weekend. Mom had been the one who'd really encouraged me into it, showing me that just because I was a girl didn't mean I couldn't keep up with the boys.

After Mom died, Paul had quit playing. I think it was too difficult for him because it reminded him too much of her. For me though, it suddenly became even more important. It was my happy place, the only time where everything made complete sense and I didn't have to worry about anything else.

My junior year had been tough. And by tough, I mean it was pretty much a total shit show.

I was at a Halloween party when I walked in on my boyfriend cheating on me with one of the girls on my soccer team. In hindsight, it really shouldn't have been that much of a surprise, but at the time I was devastated. He'd been my first proper boyfriend. I'd even lost my virginity to the jerk. To add insult to injury, I later found out it had not only been happening for a while, but also with more than one of my teammates.

So things had pretty much gone south from there. I shut myself off from everyone, quit trying at school, my grades slipped and I almost flunked out. I think it all hit me harder because Paul was away at college. We'd always been close.

But at the same time, I focused every last bit of my energy into soccer, even more than I had before. It was like my therapy. Even though I'd burned all my bridges, hated school and pretty much became a hermit, having no social life meant I could double the amount I trained, and I had the best season of my life. It was amazing.

My dad was so busy with work at the time that he didn't even notice anything was wrong. He'd been coming to all my games and saw how well I was playing and just assumed everything was great. Then one day in the middle of Math class I just snapped.