14. THE DEATHLY ATHLETIC ONE
You know that kid that sits in gym class and does nothing whatsoever?
Or that kid that doesn’t have one athletic bone in their body?
Yeah, this is not about them.
This person is exactly the opposite.
Usually, in a class, there is at least one kid that acts like this.
Okay, so you’re waiting for your gym teacher to say what you’re playing today, and everyone is talking to their friends, and you see this one kid up front, standing near the gym teacher. In fact, this kid is practically standing on top of the gym teacher, trying to merge into one being.
Possibly so they can be the one to choose the game that the class will be playing today.
So after the gym teacher looks uncomfortably at the student and takes about five steps away from them, he or she announces that you’re playing football.
Suddenly the kid’s face is half grin, half evil-eyes.
And you’re trying to find some way to get Katty to scratch you so you can tell the nurse you have rabies and prevent yourself from receiving the fatal injuries that are bound to come next.
Because hey, one scratch from Katty is better than two broken ribs from playing football. Maybe it's the easy way out, but life is hard sometimes. Sometimes it's okay to take the easy route. And, you know, maybe it's time that everyone else takes one for the team and let you sit out of this massacre.
The only problem is, everyone basically has the same idea that you do.
Therefore, the entire gym is practically convulsing on the floor pretending to have seizures, and fainting dramatically as soon as the teacher looks at them.
So the teacher blows his or her whistle and tells everyone to get up, stop being stupid and form into two teams.
And then, ten minutes later, those fake injuries everyone was pretending they had end up being real, and there’s a line in front of the freezer, where everyone stands waiting for an icepack.
Yeah. This is that kid.
This is the kid that will run you over five times until you hand over the stupid football.
This is the kid that will hit you with a baseball bat if you ever tell her the other team gets a foul shot, while playing basketball.
This is the kid that makes all the other students wonder what death is like when they have to face the kid one on one.
And, as if that's not enough, this is also the kid that ended up being considered a suspect at one point during the whole notes situation.
Let’s call her (yes, her) Playa.
Hehe, see what I did there.
Playa.
Like "player", but instead with an A at the end, because it makes it sound cooler? And then also because she plays sports and . . . you know . . . stuff?
. . . Well.
Anyway.
So Playa, like me, was not a helper in my eighth grade class. She was not in the room with Anonymous when the note was first put in there.
But somehow, Playa was brought into the mix.
In fact, I think she was brought into the whole mess solely because of the fact that she was such an aggressive person. People, I guess, thought she was capable of being the note-writer.
And I guess they had a point.
But I just couldn't see it. Because while Playa was aggressive, she was also funny and smart and really nice.
You know, once you stepped outside of the gym.
And slowly backed away from all basketballs, footballs and soccer balls within a five foot radius.
And rid your conversation of anything pertaining to sports.
Basically, as long as no one made even her mind think up an idea that was sport-related in any way, she was great.
Just because she was aggressive during a game of soccer didn't mean she would bully someone with stupid, typed-up, hurtful letters. Actually it seemed pretty unrealistic for Playa to waste her time on something so stupid.
At least this is what I thought. I can't say the same for everyone else.
Because one day, someone accused her of being a bully. Someone told her that she was a terrible person and she would never amount to anything because she was a heartless coward who couldn't admit she wrote the notes.
And as much as she tried not to let it get to her, Playa was starting to be seen as a prime suspect. And over time it became clear to her that people were not going to change their minds. One day, when even the teacher suspected her, I remember being the only one who wasn't surprised to see Playa crying.
It was like everyone saw her as this cruel empty human being, but really she was just as humane as the rest of us. And I'd known all along.
And so at this point there wasn't really much left to do.
Playa was crying.
I mean, what the heck was I supposed to do?
I couldn't come up with anything, so I resorted to breaking one of my most important rules.
I looked at Playa and I said, "Dude, Katty is so much better than you at football."
And then she almost chewed my head off, which was soon followed by a long rant as to why that was such a lie.
But hey. At least she stopped crying, right?
Never mind the fact that I found myself waiting in front of the freezer for yet another ice pack two minutes later.
And this is why you don't judge a book by its cover. You never know who someone really is until they give you the chance, or you overwhelm them to the point where they have no choice.
. . . Ahem . . .
But while we're still talking about Playa . . .
I'd just like to say.
I'm supposed to go one on one with her in basketball today, and I have no idea what to write in my will.
I think it'll go something like:
I give all my books to Gertrude. She can have every hardcover and paperback in my room and on my bookshelf as long as she agrees not to speak at my funeral because she will probably send everyone running from the cemetery.
I give all my music to Revampie, who should stop listening to whatever crap she's listening to right now and go listen to my playlists.
I give all my—
. . . You know what?
No. This is ridiculous. I am not going to die today.
No.
I don't need to write a will.
I will simply go up to Playa, hard facial expression intact, and say, "When people say 'ball is life', somehow I don't think they mean that it's supposed to determine whether or not I die today. Please, calm down. It's just gym class. Even our teacher isn't paying attention and she gets paid to be here."
Yeah. I'll just tell her that.
. . . Wait.
Nope. Now I'll definitely need the will.
And I just want you all to know that I would've lived a long, happy life, if I hadn't been reading so many motivational quotes to stand up for myself on Instagram and decided to try them out on Playa.
I love you all.
Sincerely, Blaze.
P. S. I also suggest you don't accuse Playa for my death because it's pretty likely that you'll wake up two days later in a hospital bed.
Well. Guess I'm all set now.
"Hey Playa! I've got something to tell you!"
* * *
HI GUYS!
WHAT'S UP?
HOW'S LIFE?
DID YOU THINK I WAS DEAD?
Hehe. Well. I'm alive.
And on Spring Breakkkkk! Wooo!
*does happy dance*
*falls off computer chair*
ofgnhaodnfvoanav
*pries monkey who tried to take my place off of computer*
. . . Anyway. So hopefully I get the chance to upload again before Spring Break is over. So stay tuned!
Are you a Playa?
P.S. Is it just me or did Wattpad change like everything.
It was a struggle just to find the "create a new part" link.
Ugh. I feel so lost now.
Does anyone know how I can see all the chapter dedications I have? 0.0
'AwesomelyBlaze