31/08/12: This chapter has been edited.
LOL at the picture on the side. I found it a while ago and it just fitted this chapter so perfectly, I had to put it in ;)
Thankfully, Ava’s tendency to oversleep only makes her ten minutes late to homeroom, which means that by the time last period rolls around, I’m not faced with the perils of gym class completely alone.
Gym class – there’s just something about those two words that has the ability to send icy chills down a high schooler’s spine. Maybe it’s the thought of the sweaty locker room that’s more of an unofficial runway for girls to secretly judge your appearance. Or maybe the prospect of being forced to run laps in weathers ranging from the Arctic temperatures of winter to the sultry heat of mid-June.
Or, if you’re unlucky enough to be stuck inside the gym, maybe it’s the realization that, at one point or another, you will be faced with a painful slap in the face from some red rubber.
For me, it’s the third option.
“Georgie! Watch out!” an unidentifiable voice shouts above the noise of the bouncing rubber balls, as yet another one comes flying toward me.
Fortunately, I’m able to leap – in a completely graceless manner – out of the way before it strikes my head. Whoever the chief thrower on the other team is, they’ve got one hell of an arm. Too bad I can’t stay still for more than two seconds to find out who said person is.
This game is brutal. I swear, it should be against health and safety.
The chances of me making it until the end of class without sustaining any serious injuries are very slim.
“Georgie!” the voice warns again. I can’t see any telltale signs of red rubber in my line of vision, but I know better than to search for it. Instead, I jump randomly to the side, hoping to avoid whatever is apparently heading in my direction. When no painful incidents occur, I assume my unplanned efforts have been successful.
It’s not as if this whole thing is fair, either. Whilst the opposing team seems to consist of athletically superior jocks and the odd scattering of cheerleaders, my own... well, it’s basically the reject half of the class.
With the completely disinterested, overweight and just appallingly unfit (Ava and I fall into the last category) making up the entirety of our team, we haven’t got a hope in hell’s chance of winning.
I groan internally as another ball narrowly misses my head. What’s happened to the rules and regulations of the game? Completely disregarded by our demonic gym teacher, Ms. Bentham, apparently. Maybe she thinks that the constant threat of severe injury adds excitement to the game.
I certainly don’t.
“Come on, you wimp!” she shouts, as Adam – one of the football team’s star players – launches a ball. It’s sent flying across the gym before slamming against the wall and dropping back onto the polished gym floor again. “A girl could throw better than you!”
“Here, take this one!” Ava calls, swiftly handing me a ball that’s been retrieved from somewhere behind our team’s line. “Try and hit someone.”
“What?” I squeak, shooting her a horrified look. “I can’t throw to save my life!”
“Just do it,” she says. “Or use it to defend your head. Whatever.”
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