A Series of Clato One Shots and Short Stories

I Bet I Can Beat You

            A/N: Yes, I know it's been a while, a whole year actually, since I last updated. But I'm going to start trying to update more frequently going forward :)

              "I bet I can beat you,"

               Clove Kentwell's seven-year-old eyes narrowed in the direction of the voice, eventually landing on the lanky figure of Cato Hadley, one of the most popular boys in her little suburban elementary school. She'd seen him before, but only at group exercises and assemblies, seeing as his blonde and dimpled self was a whole grade ahead of her. He'd never made much of an impression on her, which was contrary to the remainder of the school. It seemed every little girl trailed along behind him like a misplaced little puppy, every boy doing the same because Cato played soccer and baseball, thus, was what an eight-year-old deemed as a jock.

              Clove didn't get it. What did they all see in him? Sure, he played soccer, but so did she, and you didn't see each and every pupil on the premise bowing down at her feet. Maybe it was because he was what the giggly bubbly girls dubbed cute (though, again, Clove did not see it).

               Long story short, Clove didn't conform to the all-too-high opinions of this boy. In fact, it wouldn't be lying to say he, with his broad smile, tremendous pack of friends, and school-wide vogue quite honestly made her downright aggravated.

               So as he stood there, smirk on his lips, observing as she dribbled the soccer ball between her feet during recess, she saw herself wondering why he bothered to speak to the one girl playing with nobody when he could go pester any other kid he wanted to and they wouldn't even care.

                "No, you can't," she paused her solo match, sneakered foot braced upon the ratty old ball and fists positioned sassily on her hips. "I've been playing soccer since I was a toddler. I know everything about it."

                "Oh, really?" Cato questioned, his eyes falling from her face to the ball beneath her foot. "Then I challenge you to play me. Right here, right now."

                 "You're on," Clove narrowed her eyes, freeing the ball and giving it a few light kicks. "Those two rocks over there is my goal, the right half of the seesaw is yours."

                   Just like that, a makeshift soccer match began right then and there on the playground, lasting ten minutes before the bell tolled signaling the end of recess.

                   "Ha!" A smile spread across Clove's face as she scooped up her ball. "That's four to two! I won!"

                   Cato shook his head as the little girl before him mopped her hair away from her face, still grinning proudly.

                  "Whatever..."

                   "No! You said you'd win! But you didn't!" The girl taunted.

                   "But I will," Cato tossed her a smirk. "Someday I will beat you. You just wait, Clove."

                     And with that he raced back over to his group of friends over by the door, leaving behind him Clove, who was still grinning, not just over her triumph, but over the ridiculous little truth that the girly side of her was just a tiny bit excited that Cato Hadley somehow knew her name.