There was a slight breeze blowing in through the open windows in my room, the curtains danced along the wooden floors. The air held onto the warmth of late August, but I knew it wouldn’t last. I’d be digging out my winter coat by October and pretending not to see my breath in the mornings. I pulled myself out of bed, struggling to find the energy to motivate myself. It was a new day, but I faced the same routine.

I pulled myself out of bed at five a.m. to get ready. Dad drove me to school early on the days without a soccer game to squeeze in a workout. He always said discipline builds character; I said it kept me from crawling out of my skin. But lately the quiet mornings caused a restlessness I couldn’t identify.

“Hey kiddo, ready for the day?” Dad looked up from the newspaper, smiling quickly before returning to the daily news. We shared this time together during the week while my mom was still asleep.

“You know it, gotta love eleventh grade.” I headed to the refrigerator to pull out the orange juice, pouring myself a tall glass.

“I sure did! Your mom and I met that year, she was the new girl, and I was the only one to sweep her off her feet.”

“Okay dad, I’m pretty sure mom hated you until you broke your nose in gym class.”

“Yeah right, she had her eyes on me since day one.” Laughing at himself, he grabbed the care keys.

“Ready to head out?”

I followed him outside, and as soon as I leave the garage the cool air helps me become more alert and shake off the last bit of sleep my body was holding onto. We live about five miles from the school, in the “backwoods” of our town. Our closest neighbor lives a mile away, which you wouldn’t even be able to tell because their house is set back from the road, surrounded by a forest of trees. The leaves are already beginning to change colors, another thing I’m grateful for this morning. Fall has always been my favorite season, not just because of soccer, but also because of the scenery.

“So when’s your first game?” Dad asked

“We have a scrimmage on Friday, we don’t have league games until next week.”

“Well you know your mother and I will be there.”

“Yeah, okay. We both know you’ll be there alone.”

As we settle into the car, I plug my iPod into the stereo and turn on the playlist I keep all my favorite songs on. He doesn’t try to stop me, because we both know that this conversation is already over. As far as my mother is concerned, we never really talk about her.

To this day, she never really understood my obsession with soccer like dad did, and she seemed to turn a blind eye to my late night runs, and the hours I would spend in the backyard perfecting my kicks. I guess this has something to do with her ideal lifestyle, expecting me to fill the perfectly crafted mold of being a daughter. At some point or another when I was still in elementary school, she gave up trying to control my life when she realized how defiant I was.

The tennis lessons she sent me to always ended with the counselor calling home, demanding I be picked up because I was distracting the other kids. She tried horseback riding next, but the lesson ended after twenty minutes because I kept refusing to get on the horse. She tried everything that her ladies group “swore by,” activities that their kids magically fell in love with. It wasn’t until my dad finally stepped in though that I truly understood passion. He took me to my first soccer practice at the YMCA, tossing me over his shoulder after an hour and a half when I started crying, refusing to leave. My mother seemed to withdraw from my activities after that, accepting my happiness, even if she hadn’t been the source of it.

Now, twelve years later, he was driving me to high school, and our relationship was nothing short of best friends. As we round the last block before the school, he turns up the volume on the stereo, allowing me to get the full effect of the music before I hit the gym. I flail my arms around, singing along while he laughs, probably wishing he had a son during these drives. I could care less though, because these moments only ever happen in the car with him, the only person I can be with without any reservation.

We round the corner into the school drive, pulling to a stop in front of the main doors. I continue to dance and sing along until the song ends, as my muscles continue to wake up and prepare for the next hour.

“Tess, I’m not so sure you should dance like that in public anymore…” he laughs, as I stare in disbelief.

“What? You don’t like my dance moves?! I practice them all the time!”

“In front of your mirror in your room. Don’t think I don’t notice.”

“No shame here, plus the team loves it.”

“I’m sure they do.” He chuckled, probably wondering how I could be related to him. “Now go on, you don’t want to be late to class later on.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the ride!” I leaned over to give him a hug before heading in. “Love you, Dad!”

As I headed towards the school, I turned around to give a final wave. Over the top of his car I could see that the parking lot, usually completely empty at this time, actually had a car in it.  A black Jeep Wrangler. Through the window I could see Seth Dawson staring at me. He was a senior at Woodstock, notorious for his “bad boy” persona. I stood there awkwardly staring at him for too long. He was gorgeous, no doubt about it, and every girl in the school practically drooled as he walked through the hall. It was pathetic actually, which is why I had never let myself think twice about him, especially his dark hair and green eyes...nope, not going there I say to myself.

Now though, it seemed like he was a different person. His eyes were hooded, as if he was on the verge of falling asleep, contrary to the intense gaze he usually walked around with. He was sad almost, which was strange to consider, because he was a class A asshole—at least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never had the displeasure of meeting him, and probably never would. We were cut from the same cloth, but we didn’t hang out with the same crowd. Just because our parents did, didn’t mean we had to associate ourselves with one another.

Another car pulls into the school and makes its’ way next to Seth’s car before parking, snapping me out of my trance. Without overthinking the amount of time I just spent thinking about Seth, I finally made my way inside so I could get to my workout.

After I drop my stuff off in the locker room I head to the gym, where it’s empty as usual, and I start the morning with my usual warm-up run. A lot of girls on the team hate running anymore than we already do in practice, but for me it’s my time to clear my head and focus my attention on the goals that I have for myself.

I turn on my running playlist, set the speed on the treadmill and let my thoughts fall away as my feet sync up to the beat of the music. Some days I feel better than others, so there’s no set time that I run for, other than until I simply can’t. I lose track of time as I zone out, until sweat starts dripping into my eyes. I take my shirt off to use it to wipe my eyes with, tossing it to the ground when I see that I’m no longer the only one in the gym.

I lock eyes with Seth as he walks towards me, and steps onto the treadmill next to me and I catch the scent of his cologne. I turn the volume up on my music, and the speed as I start to feel more and more annoyed that not only is someone here when I usually have the place to myself, but that it’s him of all people.

“Hey,” I barely hear him over my music, but I glance sideways towards him as I keep pushing my legs.

“Hey”

I turn my attention back to my run, and shut down any possibility of continuing a conversation with Seth. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him staring at me as he leans against the side railing of the machine. Another few seconds pass by, or maybe a minute, before he finally turns the treadmill on, and I look over to see that he’s turned the speed up to match mine. Our eyes meet before I look away and I see that he’s smirking at me. I bump my speed up even more, and then I hear the beeping of his treadmill signaling that he’s followed my lead.

I turn up my music even more and keep pushing through this run. Whether I would ever say it out loud or not, having someone running alongside me and test my limits is a lot more fun than the normal quiet that surrounds me in the mornings. I look down, shocked to see I’ve already passed three miles. Practice was going to hurt after school, I knew that for a fact. I stop the treadmill and take out my headphones, seeing that Seth has done the same. I grab my shirt from the ground and start wiping the sweat off of my face and arms.

“You’re pretty fast,” I hear him say.

“That’s what people tell me.” I glance at him and see he’s smiling at me again.

“Do you always workout in the mornings here?”

“I try not to miss a day.”

“That’s pretty impressive, especially considering you still have soccer practice too.”

“How would you know that?”

“Everybody knows.”

“Everybody knows what?”

“That you play, people talk.”

“Oh,” I didn’t know who ‘everybody’ was in his mind. I spend most of my time with the team, and some of the guys on the men’s team. Other than that, I wouldn’t say that I’m at the top of any social chain that may exist at school. As far as I knew, no one paid attention to me other than my parents and close friends.

“So,” he said, “now what?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s next on your workout?”

“Nothing that involves a partner,” I say as I head towards the weight racks, and I hear him laughing softly behind me.

“One day Tess, you’ll be begging me to stay.”

“Not likely,” I muttered to myself, and when I looked back, he was already gone.

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