Waiting | Teen Ink

Waiting MAG

By Anonymous

   I sit alone after a volleyball game on the cold cement curbstone as I gaze into the half-empty parking lot. My tired hands slowly rub my goose-bumped arms up and down. My bland hair is lifted by the fingers in the icy wind. The tapping of my indented right foot is accompanied by the whizzing of the cars speeding home to their welcoming houses that embrace them as they pull into their driveways. I hold my knees close to me as I grind my teeth. My mind drifts back to the game. It was game point as the ball floated over the net into the hands of number 20. Game over. I disappointed the whole team. "Beep!" I shot into the air like as balloon when it loses its helium. My ride had finally arrived. l

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