I'm Sort of Okay with This

Three: Abby

Michael Leeper, a four-foot-ten hentai addict who was in the class, even sustained a serious concussion during a dodgeball game once. Frankly, I didn't understand how Coach Peebles was allowed to keep his fucking job.

Before class, we gathered on the bleachers. I sat a considerable distance away from the bulk of my classmates. Coach Peebles paced in front of the class. His giant, ugly tennis shoes squeaked against the floor. A long, drooping net was draped across the gym, indicating we would likely be playing some kind of game involving it.

Perfect, I thought. I'm gonna get hit in the head with a volleyball or some shit.

A group of popular girls huddled several feet away from me, dressed in tiny gym shorts that exposed their thighs. They chattered and giggled like idiots. I'd never really spoken to any of them, but I was pretty sure they weren't terribly intelligent. Cheyenne Brown was there, along with her best friend Sasha, and Haley Riddle, a leggy blonde girl with a stupid, high-pitched laugh. I once overheard her ask the boy sitting next to her what five times five was.

A real fucking genius.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Listen up," Coach Peebles bellowed. His voice made my ears sting. He was so fucking loud.

"Today," he said, pausing to take a hefty breath. "Today, we're going to play doubles badminton. That means we're going to be pairing up in teams of two and playing matches."

"Are you gonna choose our partners?" a boy on the first bleacher asked.

That prompted everybody to peel their eyes up from their phones, eager to know if they'd be able to play with their friends. I didn't give a shit though, because I had no friends. I was going to end up playing with someone I hated anyway, so it was irrelevant.

"No," Coach Peebles said. "I'll let you choose your own partners for today."

Everybody whispered to one another, making eye contact with their future partners. I looked at the floor, knowing I'd probably end up with some gross, smelly dude who was always grabbing at his cock that nobody else wanted to be partners with. Cheyenne and Sasha paired up immediately, leaving Haley alone.

"Alright, alright," Peebles called. "Everybody grab a racket and find a partner."

Everybody scrambled from their seats. They plucked rackets out of the bucket by the supply closet and linking up with their partners. Slowly, I rose from my spot on the bleachers, keeping my distance from the others.

As I went to grab a racket, Haley Riddle approached me, bounding forward like a golden retriever puppy. She was clasping two rackets in her long arms.

"Hi," she said.

I stood there for a second, gaping at her.

What the fuck is she doing? I thought.

"Hi," I said gingerly. It rolled off my tongue like a question rather than a greeting.

"Do you wanna be partners?" she asked.

I glanced around. Was she on drugs? Was I on drugs? I didn't recall taking any acid that morning. We were in the same math class, and this girl had never even looked in my general direction until now. Why did she want to be my goddamn friend all of a sudden?

"Okay," I said.

"Cool," she said, handing me a racket. "Let's go."

I followed her toward the net, trailing distantly behind her.

"What's your name again?" she asked.

"Abby," I mumbled.

"Oh," she said. Her grin hadn't disappeared yet. "That's right. I'm Haley. It's really nice to meet you."

We stood on one side of the net, opposite Cheyenne and Sasha. Sasha served the white birdie over the net. It flew in an arched motion, straight into my general direction. I tapped it with the racket, sending it back over.

"Good job," Haley said, turning her head to me. I was surprised she hadn't subjected me to one of her dumb laughs yet.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

We played for the rest of class. I didn't have a good time, but I didn't hate it entirely. Haley was even worse at it than I was. She flailed and slipped in order to hit the birdie. She missed most of the time, but she seemed to be enjoying herself, laughing at her own failures. Her friends rolled their eyes, but I chuckled occasionally.

Cheyenne hit the birdie over the net. It curved toward Haley, but she missed and it fluttered to her feet.

"You're really great at badminton," I said, unsure if she would be able to pick up on the sarcasm.

To my shock, she did, laughing. "Thanks," she said. "I've been playing since I was five."

"I can tell."

"Can we please get back to the game?" Cheyenne asked.

"Sorry, sorry," Haley said. She hit the birdie back over the net.

After class was over, Haley rejoined her friends, but she said goodbye to me, and I walked out of class, that same quiet sadness rushing back once again.