Rule #27: Respect Individualism
That means no teamwork.
-()-
"So, Peyton," Mom flattens her skirt. "Your gym teacher called me yesterday and he told me something very interesting."
I say nothing, choosing to watch the flakes of my cereal swim around the milk while mom fixes me with an intent stare. I think I've lost my appetite. Melody, who's busy gobbling down a piece of toast, pauses for a second and then resumes her meal.
"Peyton. Look at me."
I look at her.
Although she's annoyed, my mom is the epitome of beauty. Her eyes still manage to sparkle when she glares at me, her lips are still the same bright shade of red when they curve down to scowl and her voice still seems melodic, even with the words she says.
"How long did you think you go on ditching gym without me finding out?"
I shift my eyes away and shrug.
"I thought we had settled on some agreements," Mom tells me, crossing her legs. "You'd make new friends, you'd go out more often and you'd wouldn't cause any trouble when you go to school. Is that really a difficult task?"
For some people, sure.
"I do go out more often," I lie, picking at my nails. "And I do have friends. Besides gym, I haven't been doing anything from wrong."
Melody makes a small sound from the back of her throat. With my eyes, I warn her not to say anything about the three detentions I've got already. So what if I stapled a kid's hand because making rape jokes? Melody shakes her hand and continues munching on her third pop tart.
"The only time you go out is for school or work. And tell me, Peyton, what friends do you have - besides those ones back in Illinois?"
A spark of annoyance ignites within me. Before I can come up with a retort, Melody interrupts. She's finally finished her breakfast. "Hey, mom. Did you get those fifties dresses for the barbecue yet?"
Thankfully, mom's attention turns away from me. "Actually, yes. I got them yesterday. They're in the closet - why don't you get them Melody?"
Melody jumps up from her chair. I shoot her a thankful look as she passes by me to get the two boxes. But as soon as she's out of earshot, mom crosses her arms and stands right in front of me so that I can't look at anything but her.
"What?" I snap.
"You're going to gym today. Or the deal is off."
"Fine."
"Alright then. That's all I wanted to say."
No, I think, clenching my hands into fists. You wanted to make me feel inferior by digging in the fact that I have no friends because I embarrassed you with that phone call.
We glare at each other.
"Is the bigger one mine?" Melody demands, strutting back into the room. "I hope not - the really poufy ones are disgusting. Did you get the knee-length ones? Those are really pretty. I wish I had gone shopping, that way I got to choose..."
"Alright," Mom takes the larger white box and hands it to me. "This is yours, Peyton. Open it gently - Melody, do not rip the wrapping paper-"
Now that I think about it, maybe letting mom choose my dress for the barbecue wasn't the best idea.
I take the top of the box off, already thinking of ways I could modify it. Maybe I can wear my black tights under it or use my black clothes' dye. I think I have a few bottles left over. After preparing myself for the worst, I take out the dress and hold it out in the light.
Well, this wasn't as bad as I expected.
It's worse.
The top is a shiny white and blue, with huge puffed up sleeves. The skirt - ugh, it's unbearable to look at - is huge, with white ruffles and polka dots splattered all over the cotton blue clothing. There's a huge ribbon tied around the waist, leading up to a bow tied up in the back.
"Oh my god, mom, it's gorgeous. Thank you!" Melody holds up her dress and twirls. Hers isn't that bad. It's a light green sundress with a yellow bow. It fits her bright and sunny personality perfectly. I feel a pang of envy.
"I wanted a dress, not a table cloth," I snap. "What is this crap?"
"Language, Peyton," Mom glares at me. "If you disapprove of my choices, that's your own fault. You should have come shopping with me. Now, you're stuck with this dress - oh, and don't think of doing anything stupid, like dying it black, alright?"
"Whatever." I drop the monstrosity back into the box, promising that I'll never go shopping again - and to dye the dress black.
-()-
There aren't any stalls in the girl's locker room.
I stand in the middle of the open area, scanning the lockers. There aren't closed spaces or dark areas. If I want to change, I'm going to have to it in plain view of everybody. And that's not an option I'm going to even try and consider. Even the though of stripping off my clothes in public sends chills up my spine.
"Are you looking for something?" A girl with ugly, dark, framed glasses asks. Her voice is tinged with curiosity.
A pang of annoyance rushes through me when I look at her. Her appearance - chic and nerdy - reminds me all to well of Gwen. "Where are the bathrooms?"
"Outside the gym. Why?"
"No reason."
I exhale loudly. That settles it then. I'll just do the damned activities with my black jacket and leggings. What's a couple of participation points to me anyways? Ignoring the curious looks the girls give me, I shove my backpack into an open locker, grab my phone and walk outside.
A few memories start to wander in my head as I slouch down against the back wall of the gym. The last time I was in gym class, I punched a girl in the face for making fun of Irene. Her nose bled so much she had to go to the nurse.
Good times.
People start to file in, lining up in what must be designated spots. I stand in the corner, trying to block their voices out. Unfortunately, I lost my earphones a couple days ago so I can't listen to music anymore.
My heart skips a beat once I notice the man who harassed me early - Derek, I think - walk in. His eyes flash towards me and his mouth curves into a smirk before he joins his friends. Internally, I make a reminder to ask what I should do with to Irene and Jake.
All of a sudden, the room goes silent.
A man, who must be the teacher, walks in with two other people besides him. It's Archer and Sebastian, although Archer is the only one talking. My heart sinks even further.
All of the people I don't want to see, in the class I hate the most. Could my luck get any worse?
Archer's the first one to spot me. He raises an eyebrow. I feel like he's try to communicate something to me, but I don't understand what, so in response I just stare at him blankly. Archer shakes his head, grinning and says something to Sebastian.
Unlike everybody else, he isn't sitting in his designated spot. Teacher's pet. The coach doesn't even look at him as he moves to another group of friends to start a conversation. Instead, the coach approaches me.
He raises an eyebrow at my attire. "So, you're Peyton Monroe, huh?"
One of Archer's friends leans over to tell him something. They laugh together. Even though I know it's probably not about me, my cheeks heat up anyways.
"Yeah." I say, shifting my weight to the left.
"I was wondering if you were going to show up today. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised at your outfit," He marks something on his clipboard. "Although, it's extremely hot outside today. Are you sure you don't want to buy a shirt? We have one your size."
"I'm fine with my clothes."
"If you say so."
I do, bastard. My scowl follows him all the way to the front of the gym where he begins to take attendance.
I loathe gym. People either try too hard or don't try at all. For some people, it's a competition in order to prove that they deserve to be popular, that their body is beautiful. For others, it's torture, a display of your lack of friends and skill. I know because I've experienced both of these.
"Okay," The coach claps his hands loudly. "Since all of you have been working so hard lately, we're going to talk a break and play some baseball today!"
I roll my eyes.
Damn, I hate team games. The only thing that could possible make this situation worse is if the coach actually made us -
"Raine, Lisbon, you guys are captains."
- pick teams.
Figures.
It's easy to see who's going get picked first. The popular ones move to the front of the crowd, not paying any attention to the order. The rest of us shift towards the back, trying not to meet anybody's eyes. You can practically feel the insecurity. Archer and Sebastian nod at each other.
I wait, hoping I get picked last.
And surprise, surprise, my wish came true.
Technically, it's not set in stone. The only two people left unpicked are me, and a man with dark hair who slumps in the corner who smells like fish (it gives me a headache). But, it's Archer's turn and, seeing how I treated him before, he's not going pick me.
"Peyton." Archer says.
Well, I guess I was wrong.
Archer's announcement causes murmurs to break out through the crowd. A couple of people seem incredulous of his decision, including his friend, Sebastian.
I, on the other hand, have no idea if I should feel flattered or annoyed. Instead, I just stick with confused, considering the headache I have won't let me think.
"Okay, huddle up." Archer gathers everybody in a circle.
Two people sling their arms over my shoulders. They feel heavy and strange. Not in the mood to make a fight, I cross my arms and try not to look too uncomfortable. Across the circle, Sebastian glares at me. I stare back coolly, unsure why he's so angry.
"Peyton?" Archer says, making me turns towards him.
"What?"
"Are you a good hitter?"
"No."
"Okay. What about running?"
"I guess."
Originally, I had wanted to join track. But, Xavier, one of my ex-friends from Freshman year, convinced me to join the highly-competitive girls swim team. I convinced Gwen to join afterwards. Needless to say, that was my last year on swim team.
"Okay," Archer nods at me. "Peyton, you'll go right behind Marty. Your job is to try to hit the ball as best as you can and run as fast as Usain Bolt."
"Or like a Peregrine Falcon," I say, recalling the documentary I watched last night.
"...right." The corner of his mouth twitches. "Alright, everybody got the game plan?"
What? There's game plan? This is high school baseball, we don't need a game plan. And who's Marty? Before I can ask any questions, the group dissolves. I stand up straight and make sure I'm in the back of the group, right behind Archer and Sebastian, as we walk outside.
The mud sticks to the bottom of my boots as I stomp to the baseball field. Even with the squelching sound of soggy grass, I can hear parts of Sebastian and Archer's conversation.
"...don't understand why...not a team player..." Sebastian mutters.
Well, it's not like he's wrong.
I can't hear Archer's reply, but whatever he says makes them move forward. They reach the front of the crowd and lead half of the group to the left side of the field. We head towards the sandy area. I guess we're batting up first.
"You've got thirty seconds to get in place!" Coach Watson yells and blows his whistle.
Obediently, everybody walks to their designated spots. Two girls wearing pink shorts and gym shorts walks in front of me, laughing.
I can't remember anybody's names, so I just randomly assign my spot behind a kid with moppy red hair. Marty has red hair, right? He seems a bit nervous to be next to me. I inch closer to him just to freak him.
He nearly stumbles over in his effort to get it away.
I sigh and look at blank sky, which is boring and irritating like the rest of this school.
Coach Watson blows his whistle again, making several people wince. And with that statement, the game begins.
Archer hits the baseball on his first try and manages to make it to second base, which is pretty impressive, considering nobody in my old school could do that. Sebastian scores a Home Run when he sends his baseball all the way across the field. It takes the other team two minutes to retrieve it.
Three more people score us four more points and after that, it all goes downhill.
It doesn't take me long to find out why.
Derek, the jackass I met earlier this week, is yelling comments to anybody who messes up - so pretty much everybody - and keeps on distracting them. Marty, who I learned is not a redhead, screws up by trying to swing too early.
Hey, Mat!" He yells, when the player misses one more time. "Maybe if you were able to grow some balls, you'd be able to hit one!"
I clench my fists.
Why doesn't somebody tell him to shut up?
Derek glances sideways when the mysterious redhead walks forward. His sneer indicates that he recognizes me. I cross my arms, giving him a cold cool. This time he doesn't say anything when Marty swings - and misses - all three times. Instead, he just glares me.
I snatch the baseball bat away from redhead, making him wince. Damn. It's only been week four in school and I've already made an enemy. That's got to be a record.
The pitcher readies his ball. I haven't played baseball in three years, so I have absolutely no idea what to do. I try to position my stance like the way I remember it, although I mostly feel like I'm going to tip over at any moment.
Derek snickers from behind me.
My hands, already sweating in this blistering heat, grip the baseball bat even harder. I narrow my eyes in the bright sunshine, barely making out the pitcher who's throwing the ball. He throws the ball. I swing too early and it flies right past me, landing a thud on Derek's glove.
"STRIKE ONE!" Cries the umpire, startling everybody in the near vicinity.
"Surprise, surprise," Derek snickers. "I don't even know why girls try."
What's going on with me? I think, trying to ignore the pounding in the back of my head. I actually used to be pretty good in baseball. I used to be picked for first on the teams before my dip in popularity.
The pitcher swings again. This time, I swing too late.
"STRIKE TWO!"
I grit my teeth in frustration. Never so badly I have wanted to hit a ball.
My experience in baseball, however, is failing me. I need to come up with another plan to shut the asshole up.
Then, I get an idea.
I suck in a deep breath and try to relax. My grip on the bat loosens. I raise the bat above my head, watching as the pitcher swings the ball again. I swing my whole body backwards and - let the bat slip from my fingers so it flies towards Derek's face.
A yelp of pain lets me know that I achieved my goal.
The ball whooshes past me and hits the back fence while Derek crouches down, clutching his bloody nose. Besides him, on the sand, lies the wooden bat. It must have hit him pretty hard. I pretend to look worried.
"Sorry," I put my hands in my pockets, smirking. "Are you going?"
His only response is to call me some not-very-nice names. The coach runs over us, blowing his whistle. My previous triumph starts to vanish. He already doesn't have a good opinion on me. What's he going to think now?
"What happened over here?" Coach Watson says, eyes darting between us.
"This bi - brat attacked me!" HIs nose is bleeding.
"Not on purpose, I swear," I try to make eyes as wide as possible. "I'm really uncoordinated at sports in general. That's why I ditched so much."
His only response is to glare at me. The coach looks between the two of us, as if unsure what to say to get the truth. All of a sudden, Archer runs up to us. He grabs the bat from the ground before approaching us.
"What's the problem?" He demands.
"You didn't see what happened?"
"Alright, I lied," I blurt out. This is issue is becoming way too big for me to handle. Everybody's looking at us now. "I purposely let go of the baseball bat so it could hit Derek on the face."
"Why?"
I shrug. "Felt like it."
Derek grunts in agreement, pinching his nose. I repress an urge to kick him in the shin. Archer seems amused by the whole situation. He hands the baseball to Coach Watson, who wipes the spot of blood off the wood.
Coach Watson sighs. "Fine. Derek, go to the nurse. Peyton, detention."
"Okay." Fourth one this week. Mom's not going to be happy.
Coach Watson nods and blows his ear-piercing whistle again. We wince. Derek gives me another scathing glare before sulking off. That only leaves me and Archer.
"Nice aim," He mentions.
I don't if he's making fun of me, but I glare at him just to make sure. "Thanks."
"You should have told me about it before. You would've been the first one on my team," Archer tells me, grinning at the dumbfounded expression on my face. "Later, Peyton."
And then, he walks away.
-()-
I'm learning so many animal facts by writing this book. Did you know the Peregrine Falcon can fly up to two hundred miles-per-hour?
"...."
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Anyways, this is Crackers. Feed him, would you? :)
I'd like to dedicate this chapter to @KikoBears for her beautiful comments and helpful advice on my story. And thanks for everybody who vote/commented!
Thanks for reading!
QotC: Do you like gym or take any sports?