~Kathrin's POV~
Bbrriiiinnnggggg!
The bell jolts me out of the focus I had placed on the teacher's lesson. I'm still not used to it's abruptness, even though I've been here for 4 years. I haven't really talked to anyone since the teacher asked me to speak on that first day. Sure, I've talked to some people if we've ever had a group project, but nobody really wants to carry on a conversation with me after the project is over. They don't even call out those cheesy, unoriginal nicknames anymore. It's like I'm invisible, a rock that get gets surrounded by water passing by through the creek. Thank God for small blessings, I guess.
I get out of my seat as quickly as possible and grab my bag, ready to go to the gym for my PE class. Gym scares me. I don't know what it is with these kids, but if someone even whispers the word "dodgeball", they all go bonkers. More so than dogs over peanut butter. Every single last one of them. It's never changed, not since 2nd grade, nor 3rd, 4th, or 5th. I think the dodgeball obsession will last for a decade past 6th grade. I'm never picked to be a team leader, never picked first to be on a team, and almost always get away with not playing. I usually get to spend the time doing my homework, except for the rare occasion that I get hit by a ball. Or a frisbee. Or an insane child.
I don't miss being homeschooled as much as I did when I started learning at this school. But I would give anything, anything, to actually have someone notice me enough to start a conversation for once. I'm so bored of just studying, turning my homework in before the school day ends, and going home to read even more books, or teaching myself to draw more flowers, or teaching myself to speak another language.
I make it to the gym surprisingly quickly, considering the fact that I usually struggle to make it through these hallways that are always packed. Whoever I got my height from must have severely lost in their gene pool, because my brother - who is 2 years younger than me, no less - is a whole head taller than me. There's no way he won't be as tall as mom by the time he's my age, but dad is a giant. It'll take my brother at least 5 years to even get close to his height.
So lost in thought, I don't realize until now that I've missed what the gym teacher said we're doing today. The thunder of 4 dozen feet around me is what calls me back to reality, combined with the excited cheers and yelling about who is going where. Oh, come on, I think to myself. Don't these people ever get tired of playing dodgeball? I try to get to the side of the gym as fast as I can, but it's too late. The gym teacher's whistle has sounded, and silence is restored to the room, but I know it's just barely restored.
"After what happened last time we played," the teacher starts, "I'm putting all of you in equal teams. We're going to have an even number of people on each team, and we're going to play fair. No hoarding all of the dodgeballs," - at this, the teacher makes eye contact with a redhead that I've always seen, but never talked to. Which is fine by me, since he gives me the impression of being a troublemaker - "and no ganging up on one person for an entire game." the teacher finishes stating the rules while looking at a blonde girl with pin straight hair.
I remember that girl. It's been a long time since I've seen her, but there's no mistaking that upturned nose, or that lopsided looking freckle at the corner of her left eye. She's the one who first called me "Katie-cat the Fraidy-cat" in 2nd grade, I think to myself. For a moment, I am lost in the suffocating loneliness I felt that day, but I'm not allowed to dwell on it as I hear the whistle blowing and directing each kid to one side of the gym or the other. Luckily, I'm not placed on that girls team. In another minute, the gym teacher's whistle blows again, and everyone around me runs towards the middle of the gym floor, where all of the balls are laid out in a haphazard line. I stay back, because I'm unathletic as far as these kids are concerned, and not in the mood to be the first one sitting on the sidelines today. Maybe I should try to get out first, though, I think, mostly tuning out the excited yells of everyone around me. I'd have a good deal of time to finish up that math assignment from earlier. I just have 7 problems left to finish.
"Hey, are you gonna throw a ball or what?" A kid asks me. I look up, regrettably at the redhead that the gym teacher called out earlier. I immediately move my eyes away and settle them on the opposite gym wall. "Come on, throw a ball or something. Don't just stand here doing nothing. If you're gonna be on this team you're gonna help us win." I keep my mouth shut, desperately hoping this boy will engross himself in the game again, instead of looking at me the way he is right now. Something about his eyes and his voice is just making me uncomfortable, and I want him to leave me alone. I look around until I settle my eyes on a corner of the gym that's relatively untouched by the dodgeballs and the students throwing them. Yeah, that's where I want to go. No point standing out here, I decide, and start turning away from the redhead. "You must be deaf or dumb. Hey, are you gonna play the game?" The boy finally utters, rolling his eyes and raising his voice all the while.
Disgust. That's the first thing I feel before the fury starts to settle in. Deaf? Dumb? I start to turn around, ready to bite back the nausea I feel at the thought of speaking to this already despicable boy to tell him to just forget about talking to me and focus on his precious dodgeball. But when I open my mouth, it's not my words that come out.
"Leave her alone, Bruce. Just because she's on this team doesn't mean she is required to play along with your rules."
The voice is somewhere behind me. I'm too anxious to turn around and see who owns that voice. That surprisingly smooth, calm, warm voice. Almost velvety, but there's a hard edge to it if you're listening close enough. Velvety? I mentally scoff at myself. What are you, a hopeless romantic? You're a 6TH GRADER, Kat. SIXTH. GRADER. Get yourself together, girl!
"Come on, Spencer, it's dodgeball. If you're gonna play, you've gotta play to win," the redhead - Bruce - whines to the person with the voice behind me. Spencer. I don't think I've heard that name before, or have I?
"Sure, some people breathe sports and want to win at all costs," the boy, Spencer, snaps back. His voice sounds even closer to me now. "That doesn't mean that everybody else breathes sports like you, or has the same competitive nature as you. Leave her alone."
I watch as Bruce rolls his eyes and walks away, finally focusing on the dodgeball game. Taking a deep breath, I turn around, preparing myself to thank whoever this Spencer boy is. Spencer and his velvety voice. Not. Velvety. Get a grip, rolls through my head yet again. I don't realize just how lacking-my-grip I am until my eyes make contact with this boy for the first time. Wow.
If there was a spark-notes version of describing this boy, it would be something to the effect of what follows: he's tall and skinny. He has slightly curly dark blond hair. His eyes are hazel, and he has a pronounced set of dimples.
But my brain, my 6th grade, attempting-to-be-a-romantic-like-Shakespeare brain, is screaming: he's a head taller than me - like my brother! - and thin as a bean pole, as my grandma would say. His dark blond hair slightly curls above his ears and around his head. His eyes have such a clear, sparkling, vibrant green to them, evened out with brown flecks, like sunlight hitting trees, and his dimples - oh, those dimples - practically scream of the boy's desire to smile, laugh, bring joy to others. Overall, he has this soft, gentle appearance that makes me think he is easily able to draw people to him, that he is a natural leader in the making, and, oh no, I think to myself. He's gonna be a heart-throb when he gets older.
Simply stated, in the 6th grade sense of the word, this boy is beautiful. And familiar. Something about him is familiar to me, but I don't know how, or why.
"Hey, it's Katie, right?" Spencer asks, breaking me from my train of thought, and successfully keeping me from getting too sappy with my thoughts. I'm in 6th grade, I should not be thinking like that, I mentally reprimand myself. I nod to him, unsure of how my voice will come out without making it obvious I need to clear my throat or something to stop from feeling so choked, or shocked, with this boy's easy familiarity. "Okay, I thought so. You okay?"
"Yeah," I quickly say, then take a breath while nodding my head. "I'm okay."
"Alright. That's good. I'm Spencer, by the way," he says, almost in a rush, like he's nervous. Nervous? This boy has nothing to be nervous about, why would he be nervous?
"Spencer," I test it out, feeling an unconscious, small blush start to creep across my face. "I go by Kat, actually," I blurt out. Something in me just doesn't want this boy to call me Katie, like I was dubbed 4 years ago in 2nd grade. Is that how I know this boy - Spencer?
"Oh, you do?" The look on his face immediately becomes apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that."
"It's okay," I reply, eager to keep him from feeling bad. "Nobody does, really. I don't really correct anyone since they usually never bother to talk to me unless there's some group project we have to work on together."
"Oh, really?" Spencer fires back with what I can only describe as a curious and cheeky smile on his face, with his eyes on me and full of silent laughter. "I would have just said you were shy."
"Normally, I am," I find myself automatically responding to that statement. My nerves start creeping back in as I realize that this is the longest conversation I've had with anyone since starting public school - voluntarily on my part, and on another person's part. Before I can start overthinking this new fact, Spencer starts speaking again.
"I figured as much. Normally I'll see you sitting on the sidelines when there's a dodgeball game, and you always do your homework," he seems to let these words rush out of his mouth, a grin growing on his face all the while.
"Yeah, I do," I finally respond after my surprise wears off. How long has he known of me, and how long has he been paying attention to me for?
Spencer looks down, twisting the toe of his shoe on the ground, and I see a small smile on his face despite the fact he isn't looking directly at me. He finally glances up at me and says, "Well, since that's your go-to, I'll make sure you get over there without getting hit by a dodgeball. Sound good?"
I don't want to stop talking to him, but I don't want to play dodgeball either, I think. After a blink, I finally say, "Okay. Thank you, Spencer."
"You're welcome, Kat."
We scramble across the gym along the back of the team playing dodgeball, avoiding the balls flying through the air. Once I'm back to my book bag, I sit down on the ground, pulling out the math homework I wanted to do earlier. Spencer nods and smiles at me, then sprints back into the game as if he had been playing all along. A small part of me wishes I was brave enough to play dodgeball, if only to keep talking to Spencer.
I didn't realize it would feel that nice to actually talk to someone about something other than a project, I think. Unbidden, my thought continues. It feels nice that someone would actually pay enough attention to me in order to have a conversation because they want to, and not for some stupid school project. I sigh, but start working on the math work I've pulled out.
I lose track of time, and of the game, until I'm on the last problem. All of a sudden, I hear a shout, and I sling my eyes upwards to see a stupid, green dodgeball headed straight towards my face. Not just headed, but speeding. This ball is speeding towards my face. Before I can think to put my arms up to block it, or even catch it like a normal person, the sound of the ball making contact with a body reaches my ears at the same time as I see a boy dash in front of it. The same boy who walked me over to my bag so I could do my homework instead of play dodgeball. While one side of the gym cheers, the other side groans, and I watch Spencer throw the ball back to his team before appearing to trot over to the sideline with all of the other players that are out. And now I see it.
I see 2 things, really. First, which I'm trying not to read too much into, since it's probably not significant, is that Spencer blocked a ball from hitting me in a game I'm not even involved in, even though getting hit by said ball ended up creating a mini loss for his team. Second, and most importantly, is that I recognize him. He's the only boy that I made eye contact with on my first day of school in 2nd grade, I realize. The only one who didn't call me Katie-cat the Fraidy-cat along with the rest of the class. He's obviously grown taller since that time, not to mention his hair is in a different style, but I see it now. He has the same dimples and if anything, his eyes have become a darker green than they were that day. I'd almost forgotten about him after all these years. I should thank him.
Bbrriiiinnnggggg!
Before I can act on that thought, I'm once again jolted to reality by the bell, signaling the end of the school day. As I search for Spencer, I finally spot his head of curls poking above the rest of the kids pushing out of the gym, and away from me. I didn't get to say thank you, I think to myself and inwardly pout. Hopefully I'll get to see him at some point tomorrow and thank him.
I realize that I need to get my jacket from my locker, and I nearly sprint out of the gym, all thoughts of homework and the near dodgeball-to-the-face experience out of my mind.