Beauty and The Geek

Who I Am

"Thanks," she giggles, pulling herself up and onto my windowpane with me. "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" I ask.

"For being so stupid."

"Well," I laugh. "I'm sorry for being insensitive." I refer to last night.

"It's okay." She lowers herself into my room. "I should go back."

I look at my watch, 8:00 p.m. I sigh. "Yeah, I gotta get to bed, anyway. I'm tired."

"Goodnight," she whispers, crossing back over to her windowpane. Yes, our houses are close together, but that just makes it better to talk. I close my window and curl up under the blankets of my bed, shutting my eyes and drifting off to sleep.

***

The crowd cheers as Gale lays the ball up into the basket. "Good job, Gale!" Finnick shouts over the loud buzzer.

We crowd around my father, the coach. "That was good, Gale, but put more power behind it next time."

"You got it, Coach." Gale says.

"Marvel, if you're going to be center, start playing your position!" He shouts at my brother.

Marvel nods. "Yes, sir."

"Alright. Get out there!" He shouts and we set up.

"Check." I say, bouncing it to Marvel.

"Clean." He bounces it back and runs down court to get in position.

One of the guys from the other team blocks me, when he does, he trips me, making me bounce off the floor, hit it again, bounce again, and hit my head on a bench.

"That's a foul!" I hear someone shout.

"No, it isn't." I hear one of the referees say above me.

"That's bull shit!" My father shouts. "That's a foul! A foul! F-o-u-l! Foul!"

I get to my feet, a bit dizzy. "Dad," I clutch his shoulder for support. "I'm okay." My knee aches, probably from when I hit the floor.

"You sure?" He asks. "Because, you don't look like it." He grips my chin with his pointer finger and thumb and turns my head from side-to-side, examining it. Pain shoots through my chin at his touch.

I nod. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Get out," he says. "Sit down." He touches my chin again and takes out a cloth. "Here." He hands the cloth to me. "Go to the bathroom and clean up." I obey on that note.

I get to the bathroom and look in the mirror. I see that my chin, nose, and the corner of my eyebrow are all bleeding; I didn't recognize that they were until now.

"Cato," Gale pokes his head through the door. "You okay?"

I clench my jaw and nod. "Um-hm."

"Here," he says, holding out a ice pack; I grab it and hold it to my nose. "Thresh is taking your place until you get better."

"I'm fine," I wipe the blood from my nose with the cloth.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." I walk out of the bathroom and back into the gym.

"You okay, son?" Dad asks.

"Yeah." I reply.

"Alright. Get back out there!" He pats my back.

"Check." I bounce the ball to Marvel again.

"Clean." He bounces it back. I run down court with the ball. The same guys blocks me.

"Stop him!" The other coach shouts at the boy. "Stop him!"

The boy knees me in my gut and grabs the ball, but I hang on. The referee blows the whistle. "Jump ball!" He shouts. We both get up and the boy punches me; I throw a punch too. The man stands between us. "Hey! Boys, that's enough!" He shouts, blowing his whistle. "Blue's got free-throws."

I stand at the foul line, ready to shoot a free-throw. I take a deep breath in and a deep breath out, shoot the ball, and make it. I shoot a second one and make it again.

Ten seconds after that, the buzzer goes off, signaling that the game's over. "Good job, guys." Dad says.

"Thanks." We all say in unison.

"Good job, kid." The other coach says, patting me on the shoulder.

"Thank you," I say, drinking some water out of my bottle.

"Sorry about my boy," he apologizes to my dad.

"No." Dad says. "I'm sorry about mine, he gets a little too rough."

"Well," the man chuckles. "Boys will be boys."

Dad chuckles too. "Yeah. Well, my boy is high-strung."

"Aren't they all?"

"Yeah. Especially, when all the boy wants to do is look for a fight."

The man narrows his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"All that boy was doing was trying to fight my son." Dad almost yells.

"I don't think my boy had done anything." The man says harshly.

I shake my head. Not this. Dear God, not this.

"I will take you out right here, right now!" My dad shouts.

Geez, I hope I'm not like him. I think as I put the play book in front of my face, shrinking down in a chair.