“That was your third loss,” Teresa said and poked her friend, Renee, in the arm.
They sat on the lowest row of the bleachers, watching as the football team practiced on the field.
“Is not. Anyway, even if it was, I should get an extra turn. I lost the last three games in a row. I need a break.”
“Fine, big baby. It’s not gonna matter anyway.” She leaned forward, focusing on the players lining up to practice a play. Teresa tapped her chin and said, “I bet when Brody throws the ball, Adam will catch it.”
Renee countered, “I bet when Brody throws the ball, Lucas will tackle Adam, and Adam will miss the ball.”
They shook hands.
A whistle pierced the quiet, and the team launched into action. Brody snapped the ball, threw it in a perfect spiral that cut through the crisp, sunny day, and it landed in Adam’s hands.
Once the motion on the field settled, the players, the coach, the assistant coach, and the trainers stared up at the two girls sitting on the lowest row of the bleachers.
“Well?” the coach asked, his voice echoing.
“She lost…again,” Teresa replied.
Renee sighed. “I hate this game.” She rose from her seat and trudged to the stairs, rolling up her left sleeve as she went.
Deep in the shadows, under the bleachers, she would let it feed…again.
Professional Stringer of Words 