pink in the night ✓

02 | formula

nov. 24 2006

Fast forward three years and some change, and I was still an awkward little girl, jogging around the perimeter of our school's gymnasium, albeit a touch taller.

"Okay," my PE teacher called, rather loudly, blowing his whistle to grab our attention. "Bring it in."

Quickly, the rest of my classmates gathered around to his corner, some of them with their hands on their knees, panting heavily. Through a sea of bodies, I spotted Jane, laughing at something Tanner whispered in her ear. Ever since that gum incident, an undeclared cold war had been established. It started when I got my revenge by breaking every single Crayola crayon in her box of 64. She retaliated by pouring soda onto my bed that night her family came over for dinner. I stole the glue sticks in her desk, she ripped my folder. I cut open her favorite stuffed bear, she planted a jar full of ants in my backpack.

Still, telling my mother about our subtle feud did not change her opinion about Jane. After all, she had gotten the first chair position that she wanted me to get, and in her eyes that made her superior to me.

"You must've done something to provoke this," she told me, cutting the lump of gum out of my hair. She snickered as she dumped the strands into the trash. "Next time don't bother her, okay?"

"Tanner and Bryce are the captains for kickball, roshambo to see who gets to pick first," I coach informed us, shifting on his feet.

The two aforementioned boys part from the crowd, each of them claiming their respective side of the gym. Swallowing a lump forming in my throat, sweat accumulate on my forehead. I was always picked last, and honestly, I understood why. Quite simply, I was not an athlete and my limp made it hard for me to run.

Tanner formed a peace sign with his fingers while Bryce flattened out his hand. Scissors beat paper, so Tanner got to pick first, and as expected one of the fastest boys in the class to be on his team. After, Bryce picked one of his friends, and they exchanged a handshake as they greeted each other.

They continued to pick people while I stood there, watching as the pool of possible teammates dwindled, and eventually I was the only one left standing, so I was forced to be on Bryce's team. Not surprised, but still kinda hurt inside. Always the final resort, never the first choice.

Our team is on the offensive first, and a line of students took a seat on the bench, waiting for their turn. As usual, the captain kicks first, so Bryce's left foot is on the base, and his right is positioned backward. Bending his back slightly, Tanner rolls the ball toward him, and Bryce kicks. Hard. So hard that the ball went flying, bouncing right before the out of bounds line. A bunch of Tanner's teammates rushed to grab it, but ricocheted off one of the walls just as it was within reach. Without much effort, Bryce is able to run to first base, then second, then third, and finally to the fourth. Home run right off the bat.

One by one, the other students took their turns, and in total we had 7 points and 2 strikes, which by middle school standards, was really fucking good.

Finally, it was my turn, and I carefully made my way to the front. The ball was already tumbling toward me, and as I tried to swing my bad leg, I completely missed, and it flew past me.

Strike three, time to switch.

"C'mon Charm! What the hell was that? How are you so bad?" Bryce groaned from his place on the bench, covering his face with his hands in frustration. From the corner of my eye, I watched as Jane shook her head in disapproval, seemingly also unimpressed by my kicking skills. Salt in the wound.

"I'm sorry. I really tried--"

"God, stop talking. You suck," he grumbled, as we walked to the outfield.

Disappointing once again. What else is new? At this point, I should've been immune to the guilt, but for some reason, I had to gnaw on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.

"Watch it, Bryce. Sportsmanship, remember?" the coach scolded, shaking his head.

The rest of the game was pretty uneventful. Of course, I played to the best of my ability, however, that's never good enough. Tanner's team scored 8 points, 2 of the home runs being his, and then the bell rang. We lost by one.

Coach dismissed us, and, defeated, I made my way toward the girl's locker room. Slowly, I stripped off my sweaty red shorts and T shirt, only to pull on baggy sweatpants and another shirt three sizes too big. As I stuffed my change of clothes into my backpack, I realized that I had left my water bottle outside. Fucking great.

Leaving my things in the locker, I pushed open the door, the hot sun beams searing my skin in the process. There, on the floor near a drawing of a flower in chalk, was my water bottle. Relieved, I pick it up, colliding with someone when I turn around.

Hands on my shoulder, Bryce blinks back at me, a look of anger and confusion scribbled on his brow.

Muttering a quiet apology, I swerved out of his grasp, only he doesn't budge.

"Where do you think you're going?" he muttered, digging his fingers into my arms. Even in my slightly lightheaded state, I could smell trouble off of him from my mile away. Terrified, I step backwards.

"My things are in the locker room. I gotta--"

Suddenly, he kicked me, precisely on my bad knee. Upon impact, the screws crunched together, and a jolt of agony ripples from the point of collision and down the rest of my leg, and I forced back a yelp. Stunned, my other knee buckled, and I landed flat on my back, massaging the injury with my hand in an attempt to subdue some of the pain that only seemed to intensify by the second. Except he didn't give me time to recover, because he stepped on me again, at the same place. My hands did little to cushion the force, and I didn't couldn't turn on my side because he hit me again. And again. And again. All the while, I laid there and did nothing, because I deserved it.

With each blow, a muffled cry escapes my throat, and I have to clench my teeth to withstand the pain. At some point, my entire lower body was trembling, and I could barely see straight.

"Stop!" someone exclaimed, pulling him off of me. "Dude what is your problem?"

Through my pixelated vision, I saw Tanner shove Bryce against the wall.

"What's my problem?" he challenged, running a hand through his semi-damp hair, "she made my team lose!"

"The hell are you talking about?" Tanner fired back, confused, "you can't blame her for your lack of athleticism."

"Back off, Saelim. This is none of your business. Besides, your team won. You have no say in this."

"Why can't you leave people alone?" Tanner defended, shaking his head.

"Why are you defending her? What's in it for you?"

"Nothing, this is the right thing to do."

"Like you'd know what that is, you fucking ch--"

Before he could answer, Tanner's fist swung and landed on Bryce's nose. Blood leaked from his nostrils like a leaky faucet.

"Shit," Bryce cursed under his breath, wiping some of the fluid with his sleeve. Without another word, we scurried away, leaving the two of us alone.

With a small smile, Tanner offered me a hand, and I graciously accepted it, stumbling back onto my feet. There was still a sharp pain throbbing in my knee.

"Thanks for that, you really didn't need to," I told him quietly.

He shrugged. "I did need to."

"Well, thanks again," I repeated awkwardly, giving him a small wave as I bid my goodbye.

"Oh wait! And Charm?"

"Yeah?"

"For the record, you don't suck. You're actually kind of cool."

From there on out, we were best friends.