Chapter II

                                    

                                          
As much as Nora cheers me up, the realization of my failure- in such a spectacular fashion- wears on me again as I continue the roundabout way home.
                          
Being a competitive person, I like to argue that I'm fine with losing or looking stupid every now and then, but that's utter bull. Right now, I need to locate the closest rock, crawl under it, and die a shameful death.
                          
Nora was right about one thing: I am a tad dramatic, a ham at times- shamelessly so.
                          
Though I know it's very likely no one's probably home right now, I decide to kill some more time meandering around in my dust ruined attire with my duffle bag and hair looking a hot mess (but then again, when do I ever look like a showstopper?). Roaming, I pause every so often to hang under some much-needed shading. Other than that, I waste my time skipping over the cracks in the sidewalk like a four-year-old playing hopscotch while dragging a stick I picked up along the chain link fence of some of the houses.
                          
"Joan."
                          
"Ah, shit," I wince to myself, already forming a feasible lie. "I should have just dragged my ass home on time."
                          
I thought I would have time to formulate a non-embarrassing explanation on why I wasn't going to make varsity- or any team- before my family could confront me about it. Guess that same demon is enjoying my misery today.
                          
Pausing in my meandering, I try to act normal while simultaneously dying inside, "Hey, dad."
                          
Taking in my appearance, he, of course, asks, "What happened?"
                          
Glancing down, as if just noticing the dust on my clothes myself, I shrug then reply, "I fell."
                          
Honestly, give me anyone else but my dad to admit this to. I don't know whether parents are just blessed with sixth senses once their kids are born or what, but my dad has an unfair advantage in this arena; it's as if he can envision what went down before I even open my mouth. It's unfair to us children, you know. I need to, at least, get one thing over on him.
                          
"What's wrong?"
                          
"It was really hot today, hotter than I expected and the girls there- talk about impressive. It was just a lot."
                          
On top of being close to telepathic as one can get, my dad's not a very facially expression person- or verbally, at times. He could be solving all the problems of the world and not a muscle on his face would twitch- he's too stoic for me. Brent says I just need to study the way his eyes react because that's how you gauge his reactions, but I can't notice details as subtle as his eyes shifting.
                          
"How do you think you performed?"
                          
I shrug again, "Gotta wait for the coach to post the results."
                          
"Joan."
                          
He stops walking so therefore I stop walking and thus I know he knows what's up.
                          
"What's wrong?" He asks, more persistent this time.
                          
He's not one to beat around the bush and neither am I.
                          
"I'm not making varsity," I sigh, resuming my walk.
                          
There I said it!
                          
He keeps my stride. "How are you certain?"
                          
"Because I made myself look like a moron out there all day. Hence the dusty clothes."
                          
One major difference I like between him and my mom is that, unlike my mom who would start probing, he doesn't do that. He simply asks-
                          
"What are you going to do?"
                          
"You mean what am I not going to do?" I huff. "Well, I won't be running cross-country this season or track next season or probably at all in high school, on either team."