Football Meets Ballet

3- What NOT to do when somebody faints.

*James' P.O.V.**

Looking back on it, I probably should NOT have taken her to my apartment.

"What are you doing? Put me DOWN!" She cried, regaining her consciousness . I sighed in exasperation.

"You fainted, I thought I would take you back here. " A door opened and Zach's voice rang out.

"I'm here! Where to now, James? Holy crab! There is a girl on our couch" Zach said, staring as he rounded the corner. "Usually they are easier without the broken limbs, but I respect you man-" I saw the girl's face heat up. Crap.

"What the hell are you talking about? A: I am RIGHT. HERE. B: this... this MAN brought me to this apartment after I fell, and I want to go home. Now. and C: I am a woman, not a girl, and you two are boys. I don't go for boys. I go for men." She threw us a disdainful look and started to stand up after grabbing her crutches. She snatched the ad from my hand as I watched, dumbfounded, as she sauntered out of our apartment.

"I would not mind to have that spitfire coach us. She would keep even US in line!" Zach laughed, still staring at the place she was last. I felt a surge of protectiveness. How dare he look at her?

"For your information," I began hotly, "she is a dancer who broke her leg. I brought her here, and I was going to help her before you showed up." Zach looked at me offended.

"Well excuse me for not knowing her back story. I'm going upstairs. We have an interview in an hour," he trailed off, giving me a strange look, not quite understanding my outburst. Frankly, neither did I.

***

"Well hello, Boys!" the interviewer giggled, hiking up her skirt an inch. Why is it that all women call us boys? "I've heard that you two in trouble with your coach." Zach leaned close and laughed.

"Well, maybe we should blame our parents for our good looks," he said, giving her a wink, making us laugh as she blushed.

"So James," she began in a nasally voice, "there were some pictures of you carrying a girl into your apartment. What's the dig? What's her name?" I stared at the pictures. Why couldn't I remember her name?

"Er... She fell, but I caught her and then she passed out, so I took her to my apartment." What did happen?

Violet's P.O.V.

After that disastrous event at James' apartment, I headed back to mine. Hobbling along on my crutches was slow progress, so I had plenty of time to think. James was a football player, and a pretty darn good one at that. As well as famous. Why would he waste his time on me?

Finally getting home, I stared at the stairs. I'm sure they tried to stare back, but they don't have eyes so I guess I won that contest. Ha-ha. Anyway, I was staring at them because I wasn't sure how the heck I was gonna get up them.

*45 minutes later*

OH.MY.GOD. One more step. I bravely lifted my foot, feeling as though mankind is going to advance and will now be completely invulnerable to everything. I set my foot down on the second floor. Nothing happened except for pain shooting up from my broken ankle.

That hurt. A lot. Ouch. Maybe I should take the elevator next time. Carefully setting myself down on the couch, I flicked on the TV to see if there was anything to watch. Being a full time dancer in the corps de ballet, I didn't get to watch TV a lot. Well, basically never. I turned the channel to The Real Dig, and was about to go past when I noticed that James was on it with Zach and a interviewer who wore so much make up I'd be surprised if anyone knew what she actually looked like.

"So James, there were some pictures of you carrying a girl into your apartment. What's the dig? What's her name?" I stared at the screen. Did he even know my name? Ugh, he better not answer that wrong.

"Er.. she fell but I caught her, and then she passed out so I took her to my apartment," he replied nervously, glancing at the camera. I took one hard look at the screen and turned it off. Done with him. 

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