Meet the plastics (Regina x fem reader)

11 - The bleachers

Rain lashes down like pelts of bullets. My ponytail is soaked through, the navy blue of my training jacket streaked with splatters of mud. Cleats stick in the churned up ground and take more than a gentle pull of my foot to release itself. The ball is barely agile and gets stuck over clumps of grass as I move my laces to dribble past another player in our scrimmage.

This morning's training is a brutal one. As well as the heavy downpour and consequently the water-logged pitch, Coach Danvers seems to be pushing us way beyond our limits. In a simpler term, she most likely woke up on the wrong side of the bed and is taking it out on us.

I pass the ball to a teammate who thankfully goes on to passing it into the bottom corner of the goal. That has the session concluded, as Coach Danvers orders a few of the senior girls to help pack up the equipment.

I glance down at my digital-watch, the screen smudged and blurry. Panic is quick to settle over me when I realise the session has started eating into the first lesson of the day, mine being a History seminar, despite training supposed to have been finished twenty minutes ago. All rational thoughts leave my mind as I quickly make my way into the locker room, switch my shoes, spray an ungodly amount of deodorant and perfume over myself, and head hurriedly to my seminar room.

On a usual day, I would've taken my time to shower and change into a new set of clothes. But as of right now, I have exactly negative five minutes to do anything. Besides, the seminar only lasts an hour, I can bathe afterwards.

When I arrive several minutes later, I realise I'm only about ten minutes late, and that I most definitely reek of sweat, mud and an overall dampness from the rain. I press the door open as gently as possible, raking my eyes across the small room, with only enough seats to fit the exact amount of students. Thankfully, the professor doesn't say anything about my tardiness, only offers me a pitiful smile as she clocks onto my appearance, and therefore my alibi.

I scan the desks, some faces and some backs of heads. I find the only empty seat at the back of the room, to the left of where I'm standing, a black designer bag resting on the chair between two people.

My heart stutters in my chest, a pounding in my head that's probably from dehydration but definitely from something else. Icy eyes meet mine, I watch helplessly as they drag down my figure. I assess the room for any other signs of spare seats elsewhere, sighing softly when I find none. Like a magnetic force, I glide toward Regina, hand wrapping around her bag as she lifts it down on to the floor. "I saved you a seat," she whispers, adding, "sit down," when I don't dare move a muscle.

Adrenaline thudding, I let myself pull back the chair, fling my bag onto the floor, slip my damp jacket off to rest on the back of the chair, and sit down. An involuntary gulp has me drawing my attention to the seminar, trying to pick up what I missed as discussions are bounced back and forth across the room.

When we're instructed to independently discuss a topic between pairs, whispers form a low hum across the room. I keep my lips sealed as Regina doesn't seem to be the type to happily indulge in these activities. Although, I'm definitely caught off guard when within the first fifteen seconds, she's speaking to me instead of basking in the silence I had already granted her.

"I didn't know you were on the soccer team." Her voice is dipped below a whisper, warm breath fanning across my cheek as she speaks. Her face is so close it's as if her words are a secret. But they're not. And it isn't as though we aren't permitted to be talking, either. Though, all that information does is twist the already confusing loop tighter around my body.

As nonchalantly as I can, I shrug my shoulders, unable to will my eyes to take her in. I keep them focused on the front instead, pretending to read over the board as silence settles over us again, like a suffocating blanket. Regret balls at my throat from shutting down her means at a conversation. So instead, I direct it elsewhere. "Did you really save me a seat or were you just making sure no one sat next to you?" It most certainly was not supposed to come off like that, though.