A Chance For Love - Prologue By D.L Biranen

Sweat trickled down my face, blurring my vision. The indistinct image of a teammate bounced on the balls of her feet and waved to catch my attention. But I had no intent to pass the ball. I would claim the goal, and I’d be proud to have added one more goal to my collection. Feigning ignorance at my teammates hinting for the ball, I shot ahead. 


Opponents darted after me and three caught up, but dribbling came easy. Would Cynthia not try to make this a challenge? Maybe she doubted the ball would make it to the net. I looked forward to the look on her face when the rival goal keeper conceded my goal. Although Cynthia played on my team, our personal differences had driven her to become my deadliest attacker on the field. I’d lost count of how many times she had launched herself at me in game play, causing me to dislocate a bone or two. Today though, I had planned tactful ways to escape her advances. And so far, I had a firm hold on success. Standing face to face with the goal keeper, my heart lurched, forcing me to acknowledge her monstrous build. Having the body of a ballerina, I stood no chance against the legged intimidation before me. What did she do with her spare time? Lift bags of cement? Maybe she spent all her time at some local gym? Even as the goalkeeper towered above me, I caught a glimpse of uncertainty. Surely, she reminisced over the other occasions my flaming ball had flown past her and into the net. The fear on her face could not be mistaken. It assured me of the victory in my grasp. This time, I would not miss. I would be the one to turn things around; score a last-minute goal to save Western High from the clutches of near-defeat. Only after the ball left my foot did I realize I had ruined our final chance of victory. Disappointment flitted across my sweaty face as I watched my effort carve through air and toward the sky. I had raised the hopes of my supporters only to dump them in the sewer. The referee’s whistle shrieked, piercing through the uproar snaking through the stadium. Somewhere behind me, someone cackled. Cynthia. “Yeah, right,” she said. “Aim for the birds.” Eyes watering, I headed for the exit. Maybe if I had passed the ball, we would have won. But what guaranteed that? All through the match, my teammates had tossed chances into the gutter. Who said the last chance would have been any different? “You’re such an occasional mess, Victoria,” Amarachi—my best friend—said, catching up with me. “I should spank your pompous ass for letting me down like that.” I glared at her. “Then what’s stopping you?”