We burst into PE unceremoniously. We'd snuck in the back door of the blocks that lead into the main hall so that we could sneak through into the changing rooms without going past the teachers' office. But as I flung open the door and stumbled in, dragging a rather bemused Jay, I felt a chilling sweat drip down the back of my neck. Sixty odd pairs of fascinated eyes were trained on me and Jay.
"Ah, so nice of you to join us, Mr Jamieson," called the teacher –Coach Lars– as we slowly slid down onto the floor to join the rest of the class. For some reason all three PE sets that were on during this period had been trooped into the main hall. How fucking typical.
"So care to explain why you're late, Ash?" he enquired. The words seemed pleasant enough but there was a slight tone of mockery in his voice. Barely detectable, but still there all the same. "Decided it wasn't worth your time trying to bunk off my class again?"
A low hiss of laughter spread through the gym and I put on a heavy scowl. My mum and dad (and Linda) had attended this very high school when they were younger, each leaving behind a small legacy of trophies. My mum was captain of the girls' netball and football teams, while my dad was a frequent cross-country runner. In fact, it was their loves of sports that had drawn them together. The many awards and shields still stood proudly in the display cabinet, glimmering behind a wall of glass. Coach Lars hadn't bothered to conceal his excitement when I told him I was a Jamieson. He hadn't bothered to conceal his disappointment when it turned out I sucked at all PE either.
"That was once," I defended quietly, trying to ignore the beady eyes all scrutinizing me. "And I was at the guidy office with Jay. He's new."
At once all attention was focused on Jay. I suppose with him being all shy and awkward his presence was easy enough to overlook at first, especially considering that me; everyone's favourite scapegoat was currently getting it in the neck. They were more preoccupied by the show.
"So, he's your partner in crime, eh?" Coach Lars stalked over to us, circling us and judging Jay carefully. I could see him squirming under Lars poured over him, a hungry look in his eye.
"Play any sports?" he barked. Jay jumped a little.
"Um, football, hockey, basketball, rugby, er... I can swim a bit," Jay blushed, avoiding everybody's now admiring gaze. "And I'm a karate black belt."
Lars let out a low whistle. "Impressive. What's your name kid?"
"Jay McCallion."
"Linda Dalton's kid?"
An unreadable expression flashed in Jay's eyes causing me to frown. But he swallowed and forced it down, along with the rising lump in his throat. He coughed and looked down at the dirty marked floor.
"Yeah."
"Excellent!" smiled Lars, slapping him on the back with a touch more force than necessary. But Jay was pretty tough and well-built to boot, so he survived the blow that probably would have knocked me off my feet. "Linda was a brilliant swimmer too, so it must be in the genes! Anyway how about you introduce yourself to the rest of the class, hm? You're in luck, all the PE sets are joining up for this block... we're doing football!"
An enthusiastic cheer swept through half the room. The top two sets whooped and cheered while the bottom two sets (my set) paled considerably. I loathed football with a passion. Lars held up his broad hands to silence the crowd.
"Ok everyone listen up! Jay here is gonna introduce himself and stuff... Get going kid."
It was a measure of confidence. Lars had made Jay stand up in front of a crowd so that he could test his confidence. It was kind of cruel really, and I clenched my fists when I saw Jay's face pale slightly. Nobody else would noticed, but seeing as I'd been sharing a bed and everything with him, I'd pretty much memorised his physical appearance.
Jay stood awkwardly, glancing at me from the corner of his eye every so often.
"Um, I'm Jay... um... I'm only gonna be here for a few months until-" I took a sharp intake of breath, suddenly wishing I could grab his hand. I mean, he shouldn't have to do this!
"Until my mum gets back from a business trip," he finished lamely. "Um, yeah. That's pretty much it."
Everybody in the gym stared at him with some sort of morbid curiosity, while my chest clenched painfully. I shook my head. What the hell was I feeling?
Lars seemed slightly dissatisfied – he'd obviously been hoping for a more confident footballer. Why the hell was he disappointed? Jay was a great guy! He was kind, a bit shy but in a cute way-
... I slapped a palm to my forehead. I had to stop thinking these kind of thoughts. There was a sudden flurry of movement around me and I was lost in a world of legs. Apparently, while I was lost in my blush-worthy thoughts coach had explained the whole game strategy and told everyone to go get changed. And I had missed the whole thing.
"Um, you coming Ash?"
Jay stood leaning in the doorframe, looking slightly puzzled yet slightly amused. Shaking my head, I pushed myself up from the grimy slats and walked over to him.
"I fucking hate football," I moaned. Jay grinned.
"Oh come on," he teased, pulling on my arm a bit. I tensed suddenly, the light touch sending a shiver down my spine.
"I'm serious," I snapped, batting his hand away. "I'm absolutely shite. And nobody wants me on their team, since I fucking suck, and-"
I suddenly lost all train of thought when I glanced up into Jay's vibrant eyes mere inches from my own. He was studying me carefully with a thoughtful expression. I could feel my breathing suddenly increase and my heart-rate spiked.
"Uh, changing room is this way," I gasped, struggling to pull my gaze from his. What was wrong with me today? Jay blushed and nodded, following me into room.
Our high school wasn't exactly cheap, but it wasn't exactly well-off either. Despite the high status usually associated with our Catholic Ethos, we were still a local comprehensive. Budget cuts had hit us hard. So, unlike the large locker rooms equipped with showers and lockers usually depicted in movies, we had a small cramped room with a few benches and pegs.
And quite frankly, it was a breeding ground for thugs.
"Come on Jay," I hissed, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him up to the back – my usual secluded hideaway. He trailed behind me wordlessly as we ducked under the flying shoes and flailing fists. We had almost made it up to the back bench when a broad arm was shoved in front of me. And like a complete and utter listless idiot, I walked right into it, knocking the wind out me.
"Hey guys." Lewis stood before us, smirking, his tone sickly sweet. His voice reminded me of medicine, sugary and colourful at first glance, sickly and vile on further inspection.
"What d'you want?" I snapped, not in the mood to deal with his cocky oversized smirk.
"Oh, hard words from a little squirt like you," he mocked. I felt Jay stiffen beside me, and a grateful blush took over my face. What in the hell was up with me? Luckily Lewis interpreted my rapid colour change as fear rather than embarrassment.
"Listen, I don't want you in the way this block, got it? We all know you're shite at football, so make life easier for everyone and keep outta the way, yeah?"
"Whatever," I growled. "Can I go now?"
"You can," he snorted, "but I want Jay on my team."
"Um, I'm with Ash," Jay mumbled, discreetly pulling me closer. Lewis let out a cold, bitter laugh.
"Yeah, only if you want to lose. Ash is shite."
"I'm sticking with Ash," he repeated firmly. Lewis snarled a bit like a rabid dog, but let us past all the same. Once we reached the back corner I exhaled a deep breath of relief. Jay frowned.
"What's up with you?"
I laughed weakly. "You serious? I thought he was gonna beat me up back there just so I couldn't play."
"Who does that? Ash you can't be that bad."
Grinning, I pulled off my shirt. "Oh, I am. Seriously Jay, I absolutely, positively suck at football. And that's putting it politely. Still want me on your team?"
Jay nodded. "Yup."
"You're crazy."
"Yup."
And he started unbuttoning his own shirt, slowly unfastening each plastic button. His fingers trembled slightly as he worked on the buttons from the top down. For some insane reason, I couldn't help but stare at his toned yet slender body. And hell, I was jealous. No matter how many times I exhausted myself on a cross trainer, or flattened myself with a set of weights, I never seemed to gain any muscle whatsoever. What was even more frustrating was the fact that I didn't even gain some fat when I ate a lot. I was always just a skinny little squirt.
So yeah, I couldn't help but be jealous. And that's why I was staring. Not because of how soft his skin looked, or how the light reflected off the hints of muscle...
No way.
"Um Ash?"
I jumped a little in shock, whacking my head off a sharp metal peg with a sickening thwack. It sounded worse than it was, but Jay immediately jumped into action, concern dominating his features.
"Shit," I hissed, rubbing the back of my head. My hand didn't come away sticky, so at least I hadn't broken the skin. But Jay peeled my hand away and forced me into his chest while he examined my scalp. Needless to say, I could hardly breathe. And it wasn't due to the physical fact he was holding onto me with an iron grip, wrenched into an uncomfortable position with most of my face covered. It was more because of his sudden proximity...
What the hell is wrong with me?
"It, um, it looks ok," he amended, releasing me from his grip. I grinned.
"Hey don't say that," I joked, yanking my tie over my head. "If we pretend I've been grievously injured I might not have to take part in PE!"
"You're crazy," he said, mimicking my words from earlier. My wicked grin gained an extra few inches in width.
"Yup."
He laughed and pulled on a baggy grey tee-shirt. "Come on, hurry up. We've got a game to win."
"Correction – you've got a game to win. I've got a period of standing on the side-lines hoping nobody notices I'm missing."
But I hurriedly changed into my PE kit all the same. We were the last to leave the changing rooms, and by the time we jogged up to the pitch (well Jay jogged, I clumsily sprinted and wheezed) the rest of the class were already sorting themselves into teams.
"Ah, late again Ash," Lars touted loudly, marking a large red 'L' next to my name on his clipboard. "Twelve laps round the pitch. Jay get into Lewis's team over there; we're just about to start."
My jaw dropped. "What the fuck!? He's as late as me!"
"No swearing! Twenty laps."
Scowling, I made my way to the muddy running tracks, ignoring the howls and jeers as I did so. Jay looked at me apologetically from the middle of the field but I flipped him off, anger rolling off my body. So just because he was a valuable player he got to skip out on the punishment, while I had to run and hop and skip like a fucking circus animal? Glowering fiercely, I started my jog without stretching; eager rid my body of the bitter October chills.
After a half hour of torture the game was well and truly in play. And I was only half-way round my eleventh lap.
We had a big pitch.
Most of the girls had taken refuge near the side-lines, chattering and gossiping about the boys sprinting by, or starting a cheer-leading routine. I hate those things. They were too loud and too... happy. One sulking long-haired girl seemed to share my thoughts as she stared at the squealing girls with utter disdain. I had to laugh at her expression.
"Not like cheerleading?" I panted as I ran (walked) by her. She raised an eyebrow.
"Oh no, I love it," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I just love screeching crap rhymes and getting my tits out for every big-headed footballer that struts by."
I mock-saluted her. "Good on you."
She laughed, swore at me, and turned her attention back to the game. As I skidded round the corner I glanced up to watch the game myself. Jay and Lewis of course were the main guys. The key players were dotted all over the pitch like pieces on a chessboard, all flushed despite the cool weather. The majority of the class weren't really playing, instead serving as a cheering audience for the game. And I hated to admit it, but Jay was really, really good.
He dodged his markers easily, gracefully slipping the ball around their ankles, not even having to elbow anyone out of the way. I watched in awe as he made his way up the field, never once losing control of the ball. He and Lewis kept up a stream of passes, Lewis, Jay, Lewis, Jay. Jay's pale hair hung in his eyes, his face deep set in concentration. I had no idea what the score was, but judging from the loud whoops emitted from the crowd and the intense yells of encouragement from Lars I assumed this would be the winning goal.
Lewis skilfully aimed the ball at Jay who took it without a moment's hesitation, sprinting towards the goal.
Suddenly I was shoved backwards, and landed in the mud with a squelch. Hugh Garvey, one of Lewis's teammates was jogging just ahead of me, smirking. I groaned.
"Fuck you!"
Jay whipped his head round and, seeing me lying on the ground, fumbled a pass. The ball was quickly intercepted by a member of the opposite team and sent flying up the other end of the pitch. Jay ran over to me, looking panicked, seemingly oblivious to Lewis's swearing and Lars' shouting.
"Hey, are you ok?" he asked, offering me a hand up. I grunted, but grudgingly took it and was pulled to my feet.
"Yeah. Just a bit bruised and muddy, but nothing new there."
"Why d'you let everyone push you around Ash?" he demanded, folding his arms. "Metaphorically and literally!"
I opened my mouth to yell a retort about how I didn't get treated the same way he did because I wasn't fucking perfect, but Lars cut me off.
"McCallion! What was that!? Keep your head in the game, kid! Head! In! The! Game!"
Jay scowled. "Whatever."
I held back a laugh and continued jogging, grimy and wet with mud caking over my skin, but well and truly amused. Jay muttered something else and from the way Lars' face turned a boiling red, I assumed that maybe Jay had a backbone after all.
Lars' reluctantly blew the whistle after whatever team Jay wasn't on scored the winning goal, signalling the end of the match. I grinned in relief, and sprinted over to a red-faced Jay with a sudden burst of fresh energy. Where was that when I was running laps!?
"Hey," I puffed, suddenly very self-conscious about my exhausted, mud-splattered appearance. Jay looked up at me and grinned.
"Hey yourself. Nice look," he added, eyeing my filthy frame. I stuck my tongue out.
"I'm starting a new trend. It's called 'decorative sweat-patches' "
Jay laughed and we started walking down the stairs, only for me to be knocked backwards (again). Although this time, instead of footballers, we were surrounded by a bunch of giggly girls.
"Hi Jay," one cooed, fluttering her mascara coated lashes obnoxiously. I felt a sudden urge to punch her. "You're really good on the field..."
"Um, thanks," said Jay, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He was really shy now that I noticed it. I thought he was just uneasy around my parents because they were... well, my parents. But today made it look like he was just this shy around everyone. Everyone except me.
I couldn't help the goofy grin popping onto my face with this thought. The girl talking to Jay glared at me.
"What are you smirking at?"
But she didn't give me time to respond, instead returning her deep blue eyes to Jay.
"Why don't you hang out with us at lunch?" she purred, her hands trailing his chest in a flirtatious manner. Again, I wanted to rip her arms off. "Means you don't have to pal about with... you know... him."
She meant me obviously. I rolled my eyes and hunched my shoulders, glowering at the ground. Jay had never had a girlfriend before, so now seemed like an ample opportunity to pal about with the opposite sex.
But instead he totally surprised me and grabbed my arm.
"No thanks. I'm sticking with Ash."
And he pulled me down the stairs back to the changing rooms, ignoring the whispers and stares as we walked through the crowd.
That day, Jay earned the status of Social Reject.
That day, I earned my first real friend.