Perfectly Imperfect 1

24- Tryouts

Sam's eyes widened, and when she spoke her words were hushed.

"Cal? The Cal Cafferty? You and he are friends? Good friends?"

"Uhh, I suppose so, I guess. I mean, we hang out almost every day now, actually," I said, a frown on my face. Yeah, we do hang out everyday, come to think of it...

Sam stared at me as if I were a ghost. I shot a quizzical look as I tied my hair up in a ponytail. It was a warm day, and I didn't want to sweat through the entire tryout session.

"Can I come and watch? Please?" Sam squeaked, her hands pressed together as if in a prayer.

Ookay...

"Uhm, yeah, of coz?!"

She screeched happily, and threw her arms around me.

I patted her back, pleasantly surprised by her excitement, but inside, I felt a weird feeling in my gut.

Unless I was very much mistaken, I believe that Sam has it real bad for Cal. Real bad.

---

"Woo hoo, go Cal!!!" I screeched, jumping up and down. Sam, too, was standing up, but was cheering silently to herself. I had a feeling that this girl was shyer than me!

Down on the field, Cal and 6 other guys were warming up, flexing their leg muscles and stretching. Cal heard me, and flashed me a quick smile before returning to his exercises. From a far, I could see their Coach, a big-sized man walking towards them, a clipboard in his hands.

To be honest, I've always wondered why, in almost every school, it's almost a rule that coaches must never be fit, even though they're supposed to be, like, the leader their teams look up to. Go-freaking-figure.

Coach what's-his-name blew his whistle, and all 7 of the guys jogged up to him. They huddled around the Coach, and although I couldn't hear what was exchanged, I presumed that he was basically informing them about the usual stuff. You know like, first one to the finishing line wins or something as equally obvious as that.

Then the guys walked up to the starting line. My heart beated faster. They were first going to do a 100m sprint, and I watched nervously as the guys took their positions on the starting line. At the end of the line, there were 7 students, one for each line, holding a stopwatch to keep time. Licking my lips, I tried to channel my Good Luck to Cal telepathically. The other guys looked as fit and as toned as Cal did, and I wrung my hands together, hoping beyond hope that he gets a spot on the team. He needs this so very badly, I thought to myself. What with his family and all his problems and his image he needs to keep up! Oh god, if you're listening, please, give Cal a spot on the team!

So consumed was I by my worries that I jumped a mile when the gun was fired.

"GO CAL!!!!!" I screamed, my voice breaking. There was Cal, in lane 7. Speeding, moving up places as. He was neck-to-neck with 3 other guys. Then he quickened his pace. He was now in third place.