Chapter 1. Girlfriend

When my brother first told me he had a girlfriend my first thought was “Am I supposed to care?”

As harsh as it sounds, it’s true. My brother and I had never really gotten along…well. To be honest, we used to play good games of “hide-and-seek” when we were about five…But that’s it. We don’t really fight – you can’t call it fighting, but we argue and disagree about nearly everything. Whenever he has a football match I only go along to support him because my parents force me to and he never supports me with anything. If I do well at school he never says “well done” – in fact he never says anything unless my parents pester him to say something, and even then it’s “whatever”. Basically, we never take an interest in what the other does. Unless my parents are in the room discussing my brother’s behaviour and I listen it – to be fair, it’s hard not to.

I didn’t voice my opinion aloud; I just looked at my brother blankly. He stared back and after he realised I didn’t care he turned away and went back upstairs. I had no clue why he had told me this information, but I didn’t bother to ask. Maybe he was really happy about it or something, and wanted to tell anyone in sight. I mentally shrugged. What did it matter?

It was only a week later that I actually met his girlfriend. It was a Saturday, a sunny one.

Saturdays were bliss to me: I had a lie-in; I had a big breakfast when I eventually did wake up and relaxed, watched TV, that sort of thing. And nobody ever interrupted my schedule. Nobody.

So I was sitting at half past one, in my kitchen, eating some toast with strawberry jam. (I hadn’t just woken up. I had been awake for a couple of hours; I was just having a bite to eat. I never ate proper meals on Saturday’s, none of us did – it was only in the evening when we all sat down together to have bacon and eggs, a Tallin family tradition. Tradition meaning we had started it when I was oh, about twelve. I’m fourteen now.) I was flicking through my favourite magazine, when my brother entered the kitchen, fully clothed in his footie kit. I didn’t pay any attention and took another bite of my toast.

My mum was eating a bowl of cereal, spoon in one hand, the house phone in the other, typing a number in and frowning, putting it up to her ear now and then and then that was followed by her shaking her head as she discovered the person wasn’t available. She was trying to ring a client, and wasn’t having much success.

“What time’s your football match, Dave?” My mum stopped what she was doing to glance at her son. I glanced at her bowl of cereal and noticed that she had hardly touched it. Such a waste, I thought.

“Two o’ clock, but I’m getting a lift in five minutes, to warm up and stuff,” my brother replied vaguely, and when I glanced up I saw he was rifling through his footie bag for something.

“Right, Gabi’ll be there at ten to two. It’s at the usual place, isn’t it?”

“I will?” I asked, dropping the magazine in surprise.

“She will?” Dave echoed, and he stopped going through his bag and stared at mum. He didn’t even bother to answer her question about the place.

Mum nodded. “Yes. I can’t make it and dad’s out.”

“Doing what?” I demanded. My brother’s football matches were usually on a Sunday, and I didn’t fancy spending the better part of my Saturday afternoon at a match being bored senseless when my dad could be there in my place. It does sound mean, but it’s true.

Mum sighed. “I don’t know,” she said, almost impatiently. “But that means he and I can’t make it today and so Gabi, you should go.”

“Should I?” I desperately thought of an excuse to get out of it. Why, oh why could I not be more of a social sort of person and have all ready fixed something up? I swung round in my chair to look at my brother. He looked angry (he always liked to have people i.e. mum and dad to support him there, not me, his unenthusiastic sister). “Dave doesn’t want me there! Isn’t that right Dave?” I used my eyes and expression (meaning my sad eyes) to beg him to agree with me. But to my dismay, my brother’s features twisted into a cruel smile. He saw I didn’t want to go and took advantage of that.

“No, actually, I do want Gabi there. It’ll be nice to get some support from her.” He smirked at me and then glanced out of the window. He saw his friend’s car there and grinned.

“Gotta go, see ya.”

“Hope you lose!” I yelled after him, scowling. This wasn’t fair at all.

“Gabi!” My mum said, frowning. She picked up the phone again. “Why can’t you be a bit more supportive?”

“Because-” I began, but when my mum held up a finger to silence me I stopped.

“Hello? Mr Brown…?” She sighed as she took the phone away from her ear. “Answer phone,” she said in explanation.

I raised my eyebrows in fake interest to hide the fact I didn’t care, and continued with what I had been about to say.

“Mum, Dave is never supportive of me. Anyway,” I added, scowling, “They always win.”

Mum nodded. “They don’t always,” she said, (meaning Dave’s football team,) as she took her bowl across to the sink. But we both knew Dave’s team were practically invincible and that sadly meant his ego grew with every match.

“Well hopefully they won’t this time,” I said, standing up and finishing off my toast. Mum nodded as she typed in another phone number, and I wondered if she was agreeing or if she was just absent-mindedly nodding in response to whatever I said. “It starts at two o’ clock, yeah?” I checked, an idea going through my mind. Mum nodded, glancing at me this time.

“OK,” I said, starting to smile. After all, nobody had said I had to be on time…

I glanced at my watch as I walked towards the huge field where my brother was playing. It was a pleasant day, sun shining, not too much wind, my kind of day. Which is why I had spent the last half an hour walking around the greener part of my town. I should have been at my brother’s football game, but I ‘lost track of time’. It was twenty past two, I noted. Twenty minutes into the game. Good.

I walked around the edge of the field to where the lad’s families/friends were standing. I looked around, seeing my brother’s team stand out in their green colours against the dull navy shirts of the other team.

I finally reached a spot where I could safely stand without fear of a) getting hit with the ball and b) having to talk to other people. Unfortunately, one man decided to go out of his way to talk to me. I saw him move from his place, where he had been talking to a man dressed in a green jacket with the team’s logo on it and prayed he was going to talk to someone else. Even when he started to walk towards me I kept up the hope that he wasn’t going to come over to me.

“Gabriella Tallin,” he said in disapproval. His tone was as snooty and snobby as usual. It made my ears hurt and I tried to resist the urge to wrinkle my nose. Unfortunately, he saw my disgusted expression. (Nobody said I had to try very hard.)

“It’s always nice to see people show up on time,” he said, eyeing me with disapproval. I went a little pink, but I stared up at him, telling myself I shouldn’t be embarrassed – I had wanted a rise out of these people, especially Mr Snooty-pants in front of me.

“Nice to see you too, Mr Holt,” I said, making it obvious in my tone that it wasn’t ‘nice’ to see him at all.

Mr Holt and I had never gotten along. My parents ‘chatted’ to him now and again, meaning they had a conversation out of politeness. My parents are the sort of people who talk to other adults because of good manners and having ‘links’ with them. Mr Holt sponsored my brother’s football team and so Dave never said anything bad about him, but I was free to make my distaste for him known, and Mr Holt himself took it upon himself to tell me I needed to ‘get my act together’ and ‘sort my life out’. I never paid any attention to him, of course.

He regarded me with a cool stare. I gazed back unflinchingly.

“Well, it was nice chatting with you,” I said. “But I’m here to support my brother and you’re stopping me from doing that. So if you don’t mind…” I didn’t want for his reply - I didn’t care if he minded or not – as I turned my eyes back to the game. I can’t say it was interesting, but at least I didn’t have to look at Mr Holt any more.

“Really? One wouldn’t think that, the way you turned up twenty…minutes…late,” he replied, emphasizing the number of minutes.

“I’m so sorry. But times flies when you’re, you know, having fun. Meaning, away from, ahem, certain people.”

I would have never thought I had it in me to stand up to an adult like that, but I really didn’t like Mr Holt and he really didn’t like me, so when the words sprang to my lips, I gladly let them tumble out in the most impolite tone I could manage. The worst he could do was tell my parents. And they knew anyway that I disliked the man, although they may not like the idea of me being so discourteous to a man like him. But hopefully he wouldn’t tell them. I doubted he would admit a teenage girl had angered him so much.

“You’ll have to be careful, Gabriella, people might get the wrong idea.”

“Oh?” I said, not even bothering to try to sound interested as I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the sun. The football being dribbled down the field towards the goal and although it wasn’t that interesting it was better than having to look at Mr Holt.

“People might think you’re late all the time. And that wouldn’t do, would it?”

“People like who, Mr Holt?” I kept my tone uninterested.

“People,” he said, and when I glanced at him I saw he was getting ready to move away, to go and catch a new victim. “People looking for employees…”

“I don’t need a job,” I said sharply, suddenly understanding what he was getting at. I felt colour start to rush to my cheeks. I didn’t like the idea of working, - I know this makes me sound really lazy, but I honestly don’t like the idea of working my socks off all day when I could be doing something better - and the idea of getting a job reminded me of the future, when I would have to decide which career I wanted. I still hadn’t decided and all my friends had – it was almost embarrassing.

Mr Holt didn’t answer and when I glanced to see his expression I saw he wasn’t there. I should have been glad he had left but I felt a churning inside my stomach that wouldn’t go away. I scowled at the grass. This wasn’t a good day so far.

The other team won the match and any other day I would have teased my brother and felt a sense of satisfaction at another team winning (for once) but today I didn’t feel up to it. (I’m not a completely bad sister, you know. Although it also may have been due to the fact my mind was cruelly reminding me of the fact my other friends had Saturday jobs and I didn’t. I didn’t like to think about it much, but after what Mr Holt had said I couldn’t stop thinking about it.)

Once the whistle had blown and the game was ended and people started making their way over to the players and the players were gulping down bottles of water, I decided to make my way over to my brother. He looked a bit sweaty but he didn’t look disappointed at losing or anything. I was about four or five steps away from him when a blonde girl crossed my path. I stopped and watched as she reached my brother.

So this must be Dave’s girlfriend, I mused. I studied her. Rich blonde hair, which went just past her shoulders, fell around her heart shaped face in a side parting, and she had large but soft blue eyes. I guessed she participated in a few sports, as she looked a little athletic and walked gracefully. She looked so different to my brother I had to smile.

Dave was tall, very tall, with average length hair that he gelled sometimes (I wasn’t sure why) and sharp, dark eyes. He had long legs and an athletic body and a grin that was sometimes addictive. He loved to play pranks, often on teachers, especially on me. Some girls found him attractive. I’m not sure why.

And, in case you were wondering, I’ll describe myself. I have wavy, flicky sometimes, deep brunette tresses, and dark eyes. I don’t have an athletic sort of body in any shape or form and I’m not tall. My brother, unfortunately, inherited the tall gene from my dad, and I got the small gene, from my mum. Fabulous.

“Dave!” The blonde girl cried and he grinned at her. I watched reached up so she was his height and kissed him. Yep, definitely his girlfriend.

I pulled a face and pretended to gag. Just what I did not want to see. OK, so I’m a romantic, I’ll admit that, but I don’t want to see couples, especially my brother and his gorgeous girlfriend kiss right in front of me in a football field! (Plus, he was sweaty – double yuk; I was almost glad, for my stomach’s sake that she didn’t hug him as well.)

I glanced around, a disgusted look on my face. I saw with a slight satisfaction, Mr Holt frowning at the two of them. Seeing Mr Holt annoyed – even if his displeasure was the same as mine – always pleased me.

As they pulled away, I moved forward and then stopped. Should I go over? I wondered. I glanced around, as if looking for somebody, trying not to look like I was waiting for my brother and his girlfriend to stop making gooey-eyes at each other. A light-brown haired guy caught my eye. He was looking in my direction, and when he saw I was looking at him, he grinned. I smiled slowly back, unsure what he was actually smiling at. I wanted to turn around and see if there was anybody standing behind me, somebody who could be a relative or girlfriend, but I didn’t.

My first thought – after I had realised he was smiling at me - was that he was a friend of Dave’s girlfriend, but as I looked closer I saw there was a slight resemblance, but his hair was more of a brown-blonde, and his eyes were brown and mysterious. I suddenly realised I had been staring and looked away, a blush creeping onto my cheeks.

That was the first time I met him.

New story! Woo.

I know the title's a bit long, haha, but I think it really suits the story.

The girl's older brother's girlfriend's cousin has been mentioned, but you don't really get to know him until a few chapters on. Just letting you know.

Read and review?