Daily Drama (In American TV Shows)

Edit: I forgot to mention, but the previous chapter had some issues during the translation towards the end of the chapter. In my original text, there were three paragraphs that were somehow deleted during the translation, specifically the ones explaining how the match was won. It's been resolved now, I apologize for the inconvenience.

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With my mom's arms still tightly wrapped around my torso, Regina clinging to my arm, and a bunch of people around us still shouting and celebrating.

The celebration after winning the match lasted several more moments, with essentially all the players on the field, along with the other schoolmates and the match spectators. It was an important moment for Medford, finally winning the first game of the season after many years; it was truly a situation that deserved to be celebrated.

Along with my teammates, we all received pats on the back in congratulation from the family members on the field, even the coaches, especially Mr. Cooper, who had a large number of parents surrounding him, congratulating him on the achievement.

A few moments later, the head referee, blowing his whistle, signaled for the non-participants to exit back to the stands, while indicating to us players to respectfully thank each other for the game.

After shaking hands with some very embarrassed and saddened opponents, we also shook hands with the present referees.

Amidst my still ecstatic teammates and under the cheers and celebration from the people in the stands, we jogged towards the showers.

After cleaning the dirt off our bodies in the showers, the atmosphere in the locker room was completely different from what it was at the beginning of the game. Fist bumps, laughter, and words of encouragement could be heard as my teammates celebrated the victory, chanting cheerfully, embracing, and dancing among the lockers.

"Who's going to win this season?" David suddenly shouted, standing on a bench, receiving excited shouts in response from everyone in the locker room.

"Who?" he shouted even louder and more excitedly, receiving even louder shouts from my teammates.

After the excitement from his question, David, feeling like he was losing his audience, began chanting about how easily we would win the rest of the games.

"It's the first game of the season!" I exclaimed, annoyed, interrupting the excitement of my teammates, raising my hands to get their attention.

With sounds of silence in the locker room, Alan took charge of quieting the still-talking people, surprising them with my statement.

Thanking my quiet friend with a nod, I stood up. "It's the first game of the season, there are still many to come," I said seriously to my teammates. "Let's not let this victory get to our heads," I continued, trying to appear as serious as possible.

"We have to work hard from now on if we want to win the rest of the games this season," I emphasized the importance of my words.

"That's true," said Brock, strangely serious, nodding in agreement as he stood up. "But," he said after a moment of silence, raising a finger and changing his serious face to a small smile, "who showed greatness today?" he asked, raising his voice and smiling strangely, teasingly mocking my speech in silence and receiving excited responses from the others.

"Okay," I said, shaking my head slightly amused at my friend's teasing attempts. "Today we won, and that deserves a celebration," I continued, and immediately, excited shouts from my teammates resounded in the locker room again.

"Okay, okay, calm down," Mr. Cooper shouted as he entered the locker room, followed by Coach Wilkins, both with big smiles as they watched my teammates celebrate. "We won today," Mr. Cooper said, losing his smile, speaking seriously, "but that doesn't mean—" he was saying, but Georgie interrupted him.

"PJ already gave us that talk, Dad," the teenager said, looking for a way to put on his shirt.

"Yes, SuperStar already talked to us about the importance of making an effort and blah blah blah," Brock joked, turning his back to the coaches, hoping that the others would agree with his words, seeking smiles from our teammates and finally from me.

Shaking my head slightly in silence, I indicated to him to turn around where Mr. Cooper was looking at him angrily.

Noticing his mistake and lowering his head, Brock quickly sat down, keeping silent and avoiding looking at the annoyed coach.

"Yes, that's what I thought," Mr. Cooper said, still staring at Brock with a furrowed brow. "Well, since PJ already covered that part, I can tell you that you did very well today," he continued, losing the furrowed brow with a weak smile. "I'm proud of you. Celebrate for the rest of the day and rest well. I'll see you tomorrow," he finished with a big smile, patting Coach Wilkins on the shoulder and entering his office, followed by the other coach.

The surprisingly kind message from the coach left most of my teammates unsure how to react, looking at each other, waiting for someone to say something.

"Well, you heard the coach," I said, putting on my shoes, making everyone else react and finish dressing as well.

Several minutes later, we were all ready to leave, bidding each other farewell, congratulating each other for the game as we exited the locker room, each one looking for their family.

Outside the locker room, only Bob was waiting in the stands. "Hey, champ," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "It was a great game today," he continued, squeezing my shoulder as he guided me towards his old pickup truck.

"Thanks, Dad," I said, somewhat embarrassed by his words. "Where's Mom and the kids?" I asked, noticing the absence of the rest of my family.

"Your siblings got tired of waiting, so they went with your mom," Bob said calmly, opening the door of his truck for me to get in.

Inside the truck, Bob, without starting the engine, gripped the steering wheel slightly. "I mean it, son. I feel like I've said this more times in these few months than in many years, and I don't want you to think I don't mean it," he said, still looking out the windshield without starting the engine. "I'm very proud of you," he continued finally after a few seconds of silence, starting the engine and with it the radio.

"Incredible throws," he said with a big smile, shaking his head. "And the final jump," he continued, laughing, playfully hitting the steering wheel in celebration.

Equally proud and embarrassed, I couldn't say anything to Bob as I watched the cars still parked in the school parking lot move as Bob drove on.

Even with many people leaving the school at the exit of the parking lot, a small traffic jam occurred, causing us to stop for a few minutes as we waited for people to move ahead.

Looking out of the car while listening to Bob's music playing on the speakers, I noticed someone walking alone, carrying their backpack on the street. "Wait, Dad, pull over for a moment, please," I said, pointing to the person on the side of the road.

Bob slowed down, pulling over to the side of the road. "Alan?" I asked after rolling down the window to my calm friend, who seemed very surprised, quickly putting his hand into his backpack.

"PJ," he said with a sigh of relief, taking his hand out of his backpack. "What are you doing here?" I asked, concerned.

"I'm going home," he replied as if it were obvious.

"Didn't your parents come?" Bob asked, surprised.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Duncan. No, Mom couldn't come, and Dad doesn't like this kind of thing," Alan replied calmly.

Bob seemed surprised by my friend's composure in admitting that his family hadn't accompanied him. "Get in, kid, we'll take you home," Bob said kindly.

"No, I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Duncan. I usually walk home; it's not far," Alan quickly responded, thanking Bob.

"You'd be messing around; it's going to start getting dark, and you need to rest after that hell of a game," Bob joked, stretching to open the back door of the truck.

Seeing Alan's indecision about whether to get in the car or not, "Get in before I get out to make you," I joked with my friend, managing to get him into the car after he let out a sigh.

After approximately twenty minutes following Alan's directions, we arrived at his house, a small one-story house that, unlike the surrounding houses, had several American flags waving in its front yard.

On the porch of the house, a man, donning an army cap and sipping on a beer, was seated on a rocking chair. He was well-dressed for just being outside his house.

Looking oddly at the car that had just parked in front of his house, the man frowned as he stood up.

"Mary!" he shouted. "There's someone here," he continued, turning his head towards the house.

Immediately, Alan opened the truck's door and got out. Observing my calm friend, the man, without relaxing his frown, turned back towards the house. "Forget it!" he shouted again, not stopping as he made his way to the truck.

"Hello, good afternoon," said Bob amicably from his seat, raising his hand.

"Good afternoon," the man replied, swiftly inspecting the truck with an obviously feigned smile.

"See you tomorrow, PJ," Alan quickly interjected through the open window. "Thanks for bringing me, Mr. Duncan," my calm friend continued, nodding to Bob, seemingly insistent as if he wanted us to leave the house quickly.

"You're welcome, kid," Bob replied calmly, noting his strange behavior.

The house's door creaked loudly, making us all look in its direction. The open door revealed a disheveled and obviously weary woman with two younger children behind Alan.

With gentle pats on my friend's head, the man guided him, pushing him slightly into the house. "Come in," he ordered.

"Thank you for bringing him," the man said earnestly to Bob, shaking his hand as he extended it.

"No problem, Bob Duncan, nice to meet you," Bob responded, shaking the man's hand.

"Rob Treveiler," the man introduced himself.

While the adults introduced themselves, I saw Alan enter the house after greeting the woman, whom I assumed was his mother, and the two small children, presumably his siblings. He patted the younger of the two small children's hair affectionately, while the other, an older boy with glasses, seemed extremely nervous, waving his hands in front of his face, receiving a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"The boys had a great game today, they won, in fact," Bob said. "But I'm sure your son will tell you all about the game," he continued. "And seeing he was alone, I offered to bring Alan home. He's a great friend of my PJ," Bob explained, affectionately patting my shoulder.

With a slight nod and a sound of understanding, Mr. Treveiler simply stared at Bob, still with an odd, small smile.

"Well, I'm sure we'll meet again sometime," Bob said, a bit awkwardly after a few moments. "It was a pleasure," he tried to sound composed as he started the truck again.

"Yes, a pleasure," Mr. Treveiler responded without bothering to fake a smile this time.

Driving slowly out of the house's grounds in silence, "what a strange man," Bob said when we were far enough, glancing at Mr. Treveiler in the rearview mirror.

The journey home was mostly quiet as we listened to Bob's favorite songs.

When we arrived home, Mom had prepared a celebratory bought dinner.

During dinner, the conversation was completely monopolized by Gabe, who, excitedly, asked hundreds of questions rapidly about the game and the atmosphere on the field.

"So, is Regina your girlfriend?" Teddy suddenly asked, as if it were an unimportant matter.

Taken completely by surprise by the sudden question, I couldn't immediately respond, having to reframe my sister's question.

"Well?" Mom asked, pretending to be calm as she avoided looking me in the eyes, dancing slightly with anticipation.

"Well, I think so," I said, not really sure. I have no experience in this.

Losing her feigned composure, Mom suddenly celebrated, "I knew it!" she exclaimed, applauding. "When are you bringing her over? I need to meet her. Not just anyone can be my son's girlfriend. She's pretty, yes, not as much as I was at your age," she quickly added, followed by endless questions about it.

After answering the vast majority of the questions, at least the ones that could be answered, dinner continued as normal.

At dusk, I accompanied Bob and Gabe to our home gym. Resting after the game, I didn't train with them, but I did help Gabe by explaining how the movement should be performed.

As it was Gabe's first time lifting weights for exercise, he quickly tired out his muscles.

When Gabe and Bob finished and went to clean up, I began the tasks they had left that day. After finishing my schoolwork, I started taking notes on the last book that House had lent me.

Still reading the book, lying on my bed, listening to Gabe practice his guitar, the tiredness of the day finally got to me. Setting the book on my desk, I went to do my nighttime routine to be able to sleep.

With no troubling decisions to disturb my sleep that night, I slept peacefully.

The next day, thanks to sufficient hours of sleep, I was able to wake up without the help of the alarm, preventing it from ringing and waking Gabe.

Silently taking my pillow, I walked over to Gabe's side of the room. When Gabe was close enough, I began hitting him with enough force to annoy him with the pillow.

"Hey!" my brother yelled annoyed as he covered himself from the continuous pillow hits.

"That's right," I joked with my younger brother, still not stopping the hits. "Revenge is sweet," I explained to the bewildered kid.

As it was routine every day, Gabe and I went for a run after warming up in the front yard, and strangely, especially for Gabe, the Wilson couple didn't show up today for our usual greeting.

Taking my packed lunch prepared by Mom, I grabbed my things prepared the night before to head to school.

"I'm sure today will be a great day," Bob said when we arrived at school, nudging me out of his truck. "But still, good luck today," he said before closing the door and driving away from the school.

Bob was not mistaken; the days before the game, and even the day of the game, were nothing compared to how people were behaving today. As I entered the school, many people around me shouted excitedly as I walked down the main hallway.

Greeting the people I passed, I ran into Regina halfway down my path. "Good morning," Regina said cheerfully, giving me a tight hug.

"Good morning," I said, smiling at the enthusiastic girl.

"Come on, I'll walk you to your locker," Regina said, hugging my arm as she walked by my side, also greeting the people who passed us.

One of the people we crossed paths with on our way was Kat, who was talking seriously with her group of friends. "Kat!" I spoke over the noise of the hallway, greeting the now surprised teenager.

Without saying anything, Kat raised her hand, surprised, returning the greeting.

"Let's go, or you'll be late for your first class," Regina stretched to speak softly in my ear.

Regina's action sent a shiver down my spine; I was so surprised that I couldn't react fast enough, being guided by Regina as we continued walking together. Regina seemed to enjoy greeting people as we walked.

Upon reaching my locker, Regina bid me goodbye, walking to her friends who were waiting for her a few steps away.

Alone at my locker, I began organizing my things. A few moments after organizing my belongings outside my locker, my friends arrived, also being celebrated by the people who passed them.

Greeting my friends, we began talking about the game from the previous day, especially David and Brock, specifically the parts they played in the game.

The last of my friends to arrive was Alan, who, as always, came in quietly and calmly, greeting as he always did.

Returning the greeting to our calm friend, my other three friends continued talking among themselves as I approached Alan, who was taking things out of his locker. "I didn't know you had siblings," I said, starting the conversation.

"Chistan and Braxton," Alan said calmly, I suppose naming his brothers. "Christian is the oldest," he continued.

"They seem to be in the same age range as Gabe, maybe they can be friends, after all, Gabe is friends with Georgie's brothers," I explained to my friend.

Releasing an unexpected laugh for him, Alan, upon noticing my surprised expression, quickly explained, "Oh, I'm sure Gabe can be friends with Braxton, but Christian is," he said, pausing to think about what his next word would be, "special," he continued, lowering his voice.

"Special?" I asked, intrigued by the adjective used.

"Christian," he repeated, pausing again with a conflicted expression. "Christian has autism," he continued, searching my expression.

I didn't understand the problem until I recalled where we lived and the time we were in. Even in my life, developmental disability disorders were a taboo topic in society.

"Well, that could be a slight hindrance," I said jokingly, "but it's not impossible for someone on the spectrum to make friends," I continued quickly, seeing that my initial remark didn't sit well with him.

"Of course, you know about the condition," Alan teased lightly, shaking his head.

"I could even say that Sheldon is on the spectrum, and I'm sure I'm some sort of friend to him," I told my friend, hoping he would take his brother's condition with less seriousness.

"What about me?" suddenly asked Sheldon from behind me, making me jump in surprise. "Sheldon, when did you get here?" I asked, surprised, looking at the peculiar child.

"A few seconds ago. The game was yesterday, why are people still so excited?" the child asked, annoyed, glancing at the people around.

"We won yesterday," Alan responded calmly.

"I know," immediately responded Sheldon, still intrigued, as if that information wasn't important.

Ignoring the child, I took him by the shoulder and guided him to our classroom along with Alan, shielding him from the excited people around us as we quickly made our way to our classroom.

The day went on as usual, with teachers congratulating us in each passing class, particularly myself.

My 'competition' with Sheldon played out as it had on previous days, striving to get as many answers as possible.

In the cafeteria, our usually busy table, occupied by my teammates, was now crowded with unfamiliar faces talking to my friends excitedly about the previous day's game.

Many of these people attempted to strike up conversations, asking me questions about the game, but my responses were overshadowed by those of my friends, especially Brock, who had an impressive talent for narrating the events during the game, heightening the excitement as he spoke.

The day continued as the last classes of the day passed.

At the end of the day, Mom was already waiting outside the school in her car, dressed in her nurse's uniform, nodding her head to the beat of the music playing on her speakers.

At the hospital, after greeting Mom's friendly nurse colleagues, I walked to House's office.

Inside, only House sat with his feet up on his desk, leisurely reading a magazine.

"So?" the man asked without looking up from his magazine when I entered the office.

"I'd like to send a letter to Dr. Donnall," I replied, understanding his unspoken question.

"You know I'll read it as soon as it's in my hands," House said sardonically, flipping a page in his magazine.

"I'll stay here. I have important things in my life," I replied after a few moments of staring at the man.

Slamming the magazine shut with an annoyed smile, "I knew it. You'd rather I taught you. I'm very important in your life," he said, stretching to grab a sheet of paper from his desk.

Without bothering to respond to his obvious annoying joke, I snatched the paper from his hand to write a thank you letter to Dr. Donnall, explaining why I decided to stay in Texas, also adding the request for a follow-up on what I needed his help with in his research.

Folding the letter and handing it to House, he tucked it into an envelope after reading it with an ironic smile.

"I thought you were staying for me, kid," House said with an obviously feigned hurt expression, placing a hand on his chest. "Here," he said, pulling something from his coat. "This gives you access to many things. Use it responsibly," he continued sarcastically, extending a card.

The card was a hospital credential with my name on it.

"If you want, you can go to the lab. I think Chase is there practicing something," House said, opening his magazine again.

"No case today?" I asked the doctor.

"No, we have to wait for something interesting to come along," he said, sounding tired. "You're coming with me to the clinic in a few hours," House said, changing the page of his magazine.

"How's Dan?" I asked the relaxed doctor. "He'll be fine. You were right, and the treatment seems to be working," House replied, settling back in his chair behind his desk.

Listening to what I wanted to hear rather loudly, I pretended to clear my throat to get the cynical doctor's attention.

"What?" asked House, looking intrigued over his magazine.

"You owe me six hundred dollars," I said immediately, happy to see House squeeze his eyes shut in disappointment. "I was hoping you wouldn't remember that," House said, defeated, as he pulled out his wallet and took out six one-hundred-dollar bills.

"I'll use it responsibly," I said, winking at the annoyed doctor as I counted the six bills one by one slowly to annoy House, achieving my goal as House once again hid behind his magazine, and I triumphantly left his office.

In one of the labs, I found Dr. Chase practicing with a piece of synthetic skin and sutures.

"Hey, PJ," Chase greeted cheerfully when he saw me enter. "How was your game?" he asked kindly, cutting his suture thread.

"We won," I said, approaching his table. "What are you doing?" I asked, taking a seat on one of the high stools beside him.

"Continuous suturing," he replied, showing me his work.

Taking a piece of synthetic skin and a practice kit, I followed Chase's example along with his explanations.

"You're good," Chase said, surprised, after seeing my sutures.

"You're a good teacher," I lied. The truth was that continuous suturing was something I had practiced to exhaustion in my previous life.

Several minutes of practice with Chase later, Dr. Cameron and Foreman entered the lab, discussing something amusingly.

"PJ," Dr. Cameron greeted cheerfully, taking a seat on one of the benches beside us.

"Hello," I returned the greeting to the friendly doctor. "Dr. Foreman," I also greeted the now serious doctor.

Without returning the greeting, Dr. Foreman pulled out his wallet and took out ten one-hundred-dollar bills.

"Thanks," I said as he handed them over, this time quickly tucking the bills into my pants.

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Author Thoughts:

As always, I am not American, much less a doctor.

Having said that.

I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I will correct them immediately.

Thank you for reading :D

PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW!!!.