Writing Wednesday: An Unbalanced Line and a request

First of all, I want to say, if anyone wants to put some writing here on my Wednesday blog, I would love it.  Everyone probably gets tired of reading my crap every Wednesday and I'm running out of stuff to post without giving all my books away on here.

So, here's a bit from An Unbalance Line, formerly (and may go back to) Cheesy.

     But enough about that. I need to flash forward just a bit because not much else changed the rest of the school year except Brittany and Abi’s boyfriends, which changed as often as I changed my underwear. Okay, that may be an exaggeration, but I couldn’t keep up with their boyfriends of the week.  It was usually the same rotation of guys over and over.

      One other thing changed—my body.  I grew taller, thinner, and then there were my boobs. They got bigger and I hated them for it. I went from a nothing to a 36C in two months flat.  No pun intended. The boys teased me relentlessly about it until I punched Mark in the nose. Then they never spoke of it again— to my face at least, I’m not sure what they were whispering behind my back, and I didn’t want to know either.

     Summer before my ninth grade year, we had record-breaking heat. I remember the sun beating down so hot I felt I was melting, but nothing could keep me away from the football field. My dad still pretty much kept to himself.  I know he missed my mom, when he wasn’t working or watching film, I’d catch him staring at the framed pictures on the mantle.  I watched him just stare at it for a few minutes then he’d go on about his business.  I picked one up after him once.  It was a picture from their wedding day.  My dad’s hair was brown at the time, not peppered with gray like it is now, and it was kind of longish, which I’d never seen him wear again.  The way he was looking at my mom—just beaming at her with pride, and happiness, and love—I wish he’d look even half like that at me every once in a while.  But even though I’m doing whatever I can to get his attention, he still just looks past me.  

     So, I just worked harder at the game he loved more than me.  I figured it would eventually have to get his attention.  At his practices I would get involved—fetch the boys their water, retrieve balls, and so on. I’d also flirt with Brady.  Even that didn’t get my dad’s attention.