Chapter Twenty-Four

      “Liz! Let’s go!” Lauren directed firmly.

      “I don’t want to,” I mumbled, crossing my arms across my chest defiantly.

      “Stop throwing a mini temper tantrum and let’s just, like, go!” she stomped her foot in annoyance.

      “I don’t want to,” I reiterated.

      “Look, it’s only a fifty-two minute block, and all you have to do is stand in the corner and then fake a stomach ache mid way through,” she reasoned calmly. “It works every time!”

      “I don’t want to!” I repeated for the third consecutive time. She wasn’t going to win this battle. There was no way in hell she was going to make me go; I wouldn’t.

      “Suck it up and look at some attractive biceps; you’ll live!” she said, grabbing hold of my hand. I resisted as she tried to pull me from the hard, wooden bench to which my butt was happily glued. My arm felt as though it could detach from its socket at any second. Despite her thin, unassuming exterior, Lauren had some strength in her.

      “No!” I cried, as she somehow managed to yank me out of my comfortable position and force me to stand.

      “Liz, you look fine, and I heard we were playing volleyball today, so, if you’re lucky, you’ll get hit in the head and sent to the nurses office for fear of a concussion!” she dragged me behind her as I continued to struggle against it.

      “Give me one good reason I should go!” I demanded stubbornly.

      “Alex Campbell is in this class,” she said, releasing my hand only to have me drop to floor in slow motion. She shot me a smug look as I got up with a scowl plastered on my face.

      “Why do I care?” I questioned, vaguely recalling the boy to whom she was referring.

      “Because he’s Eric Wilson’s best friend… and he’s really hot,” she explained, walking over to the door.

      “I still don’t get it,” I rolled my eyes, hating myself for giving in and allowing her to win as my feet acted as traitors, carrying me over to the door.

      “If Alex doesn’t like you, then there’s no way you can become Eric’s girlfriend-” she began.

      “I’m almost positive that Alex does like me, and who says I even want to become Eric’s girlfriend?” I interrupted, as I watched Lauren push the door of the locker room open, exposing the glossy, wooden floor of the gym.

      “Ha. That’s funny, Liz. Anyone who doesn’t want to be Eric Wilson’s girlfriend is probably, like, high or something,” she laughed, as I contemplated the point she had brought up. Did I really not want to be Eric Wilson’s girlfriend, did I simply not know due to the fact the issue hadn’t even arose, or was I merely thinking too much into Lauren’s harsh words? The later was the most likely of the three.

      Through the time that I had known Lauren, I gathered that she had two sides to her. One part of her was sweet, nice, and helpful to everyone, while the other was ruthless, determined, and set on getting what she wanted. It was an interesting mix, and I much preferred the bubbly, pleasant Lauren oppose to the demanding, aggressive one any day.

      She was the perfect example of a cliché, teenage girl, uttering the phrase “OMG” more times than normal people blink. Her style involved anything pink, and usually consisted of sparkles. She was a risk-taker, always one to push limits to as far as possible. The word “Boyfriend” wasn’t in her vocabulary, for she found being single much more enjoyable, and feared commitment.

      Out of the four of us, Lauren was the only one who could even be considered a “Leader” in the loosest capacity of the word. She neither liked being questioned nor being told “No”.

      Alice and she had gotten into many minor squabbles, due to the fact that Alice possessed ideas that Tara, in contrast, wasn’t big on: individuality, independence, and initiative. Their arguments were nothing more than the trivial debacle about the best shade of lip-gloss, or the perfect pump, so never resulted in a termination of the two’s friendship. Though Lauren and Alice’s thoughts clashed at times, they always seemed to work it out.

      Lauren and I never got into fights; I was merely taking a backseat, observing everything new around me. The girls didn’t speak sports, so I had nothing to dispute. Though I had known Lauren for a short few months, I trusted her. Her word was real, and she had gained something that few ever acquired: Liz Turner’s trust.

      She never gave me a reason not to trust her, and, surprisingly, proved to be one of the most honorable people I had ever met. Whenever I or someone else told her something, it was in confidence and didn’t leave her mind. Though one may expect a girl like Lauren to gossip more than breathe, she didn’t. Rumors weren’t her favorite thing (Though, she had passed along a few), and I truly admired her for that.

      “Liz?” Lauren called, concern lining her voice as I realized I had wrapped myself up in my own jumbled thoughts, zoning out.

      “Yeah?” I said, slowly jolting back to the reality around.

      “If we’re another minute late, Coach Andrews will seriously rip our heads off,” she shivered. I had had my fair share of hotheaded coaches over the years, so Lauren’s threat wasn’t a big one. Once, I had to do one hundred and twenty suicides for every second that I was late to a basketball practice. Suicides were the worst- both in sports terms and in life. No one deserved a reason to end his or her life… especially from running back and forth on a basketball court.

      “Uh huh,” I nodded, hesitantly following her onto the shiny planks of the sweat stricken, gym floor.

      The second my feet hit the glistening wood, nostalgia hit me. I had played the game I loved so many times on countless surfaces similar to the one I was now touching. It was sad, really, being so close to one of the things that meant the world to me, and yet, being so far away in a more metaphorical standpoint.

      “Ladies!” a tall figure barked from over at the bleachers. I sent Lauren a puzzled look, not knowing who had called out to us.

      “Coach,” she mouthed, gulping nervously. I nodded, slowly following after her as she jogged over to where the class was gathered on the cool, metal benches. As we approached, I noticed that I knew two people besides Lauren: Alex Campbell and Dylan Collins.

      The second my eyes viewed Dylan, I was stuck as he too noticed I was looking at him. A smirk was sent my way, and he winked at me. I shook my head to escape the intense gaze and focused my vision on a deflated basketball that had been shoved beneath the uncomfortable seating area.

      I felt a tug at my hand and realized Lauren was dragging me over to the very first row of metallic seats, being the only place available to sit. As I sat beside Lauren, I realized that we were right in front of the blonde boy Eric was extremely fond of. And that’s when it started.

      “Liz! Long time no see!” Alex said behind me.

      “Yeah,” I nodded, not daring to turn around and face him as Coach Andrews was staring me down.

      He was an enormous man, his body mass much equivalent to a small elephant. I always found it strange when gym teachers weren’t in shape, though enforced physical activity on others. If one’s goal in life were to be a gym teacher, one would think they might actually want to make the effort to look at least somewhat fit.

      Besides his slightly larger mass, he had a rough face, with eyes full of anger and pent up aggression. He wore a baseball cap with the school’s signature “M” embroidered in the center, and a bright, red whistle hung around his neck. I had seen my fair share of gym teachers and I can honestly say, this guy was among the scariest. I wasn’t sure if it was his large demeanor or tough expression, but I was definitely a tad bit intimidated.

      “Today, we have an addition to our class. Turner, stand up!” Coach Andrews bellowed, pointing to me. I extended my legs, shakily rising. All eyes were on me as I awkwardly stood, not knowing what to do. “Sit down!” I did as told, lowering myself back down so I was next to Lauren.

      “He’s scary,” I whispered to Lauren.

      “I know,” she agreed.

      “Today,” Coach Andrews began in a gruff tone, “we will be playing volleyball. Now, this doesn’t mean it’s a time to whack people in the head; it’s called volleyball for a reason. Does anybody know what that reason is?”

      “I do!” Alex said from behind me.

      “Campbell! What have I told you a million times!” the gym teacher scolded.

      “Not to eat food in the gym, sir,” Alex answered innocently.

      “What else?”

      “Not to chew gum in the gym, sir.”

      “What else?”

      “Not to wear brightly color clothing in the gym, because it distracts you, sir.”

      “Goddamnit, Campbell! Raise your god damn hand when you’re answering a question!” Coach Andrews exclaimed colorfully. “Now, answer the damn question!”

      “Because you volley the ball back and forth, sir,” Alex said calmly, amused at the coach’s reaction.

      “Good! Now, I want Campbell and… Collins to be team captains! Get your asses over here! Now!” Alex and Dylan rose from the stands and made their ways over to where Coach Andrews was standing. “Collins, you pick first!”

      “That’s not fair!” Alex complained.

      “Life’s not fair!” the educator fired back harshly. “Collins, pick!”

      “Wait- what?” Dylan said, look completely lost.

      “Do I have to explain everything!” the coach groaned in annoyance. “Collins, to make it fair boys pick girls and girls pick boys! Understand?” he roared.

      “I thought life wasn’t fair?” Alex reminded him, earning him a few laughs from the class.

      The coach glared at Alex, pure distaste shooting through his stare like  a laser beam. “Campbell, am I going to have to send you to the office again?”

      “No, sir,” Alex said, “Collins can pick first.”

      “Glad you understand!” he huffed. “Collins, go!”

      “What? Uh…” Dylan’s eyes scanned the bleachers, and then landed on me. I shook my head, praying that he wouldn’t pick me, but all that surfaced on his face was a grin and the word, “Liz.”

      I unwillingly shot up, slowly walking over to Dylan and standing beside him. “I suck at volleyball,” I whispered to him.

      “I suck at school,” he countered quietly.

      “What’s your point?” I sighed.

      “We all have to do things at which we suck at one point or another,” he said not the least bit sympathetically.

      “Shut up,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes involuntarily.

      “Collins! Make your next pick!” Coach Andrews yelled.

      “Brad!” Dylan said without a second thought. A somewhat athletic boy approached us, and immediately started a conversation with Dylan about the Yankees. The discussion was torture, as I yearned to be apart of it so badly.

      Dylan and Alex went back and forth for picks until the remnants consisting of a few kids with glasses, a girl with bleach blonde hair texting her heart out, and Lauren were divvied up. Apparently, Lauren was pissed to be picked close to last, and made sure Alex was aware of this fact as I heard her scold him feet away. Dylan had picked an okay team; not quite the exemplary one I would’ve ideally chosen, but the people were okay.

      “Turner! You ready to go down?” Alex said, trying to be intimidating by bouncing a white ball up down generally associated with the game, volleyball.

      “Not really; going down doesn’t sound all that appealing, so I think I’ll skip,” I politely declined.

      “Sure, Liz,” he laughed, jogging away to join his fellow teammates, Lauren included.

      “Lizzie, are you pumped?” Dylan questioned, coming up behind me.

      “For you to stop calling me that demeaning name, yes,” I sighed, a smile jerking on the borders of my lips.

      “Turner! Collins! Spots, now!” Coach Andrews snapped, pointing to the center of the gym court where a volleyball net was set up. A heap of kids had already assembled on either sides of the rope grid, readying their stances for what I assumed would be a rather interesting gym class.

      Over the years, I had played volleyball here and there, but never to the full extent that I did basketball. Volleyball was fun in small spurts, but I never really acquired a strong liking or attachment to the sport. I was tall, which gave me an advantage in the game, but it didn’t make much of a difference. I much preferred the satisfaction of swishing a ball through a basket rather then spiking one on the opponents’ side.

      I walked over with Dylan to the side that had been chosen as ours, and joined him in the middle of the mass of teens, muddled together.

      “Collins, you’re serving first!” the coach boomed.

      “That’s so not fair!” Alex proclaimed from the other side of the thin barrier.

      “Campbell! One more time and I’m sending you to the office!” he threatened.

      “Won’t happen again, sir!” Alex assured him with the aid of a salute.

      “Collins, serve the damn ball, so we get this class over with!”

      Dylan was thrown a ball, and backed up, away from me, so he was the appropriate distance away from the net. He held the snow colored sphere in a hand, and, in a swift motion, hit it so it flung overhead in an arch. I watched as the ball traveled to the adversaries’ region, coming straight for Alex. As quickly as Dylan had served the ball, Alex jumped up, making contact with the ball, and smacking it back over.

      “Liz! Heads up!” Dylan shouted from behind me. I looked up, only to see the ball dropping at a fast rate right to me. My instincts kicked in, and, before I could fathom what exactly was occurring, I had already reached up, punching the ball to the other team.

      “Nice one Turner!” Alex said, as I witnessed the ball tumble to the ground, not a soul near it.

      “Uh, thanks,” I said quietly, unable to be heard by anyone beyond a foot of my proximity.

      “Whoa! Lizzie, where’d that come from?” Dylan laughed, extending his palm. I mindlessly accepted the gesture, slapping his hand in the act most generally referred to as a high-five.

      “I don’t know,” I shrugged, silently scolding myself for my reflexes.

      “Turner! Nice one!” Coach Andrews commended.

      “My hand hurts; can I go to the nurse?” I said, thinking back to the excuse Lauren had suggested before the class had even begun.

      “Are you going to die if you don’t go to the nurse?” he questioned harshly.

      “Yes,” I nodded, maintaining a straight face.

      “Get out of here then!” he commanded after mumbling something about our generation needing to “man the fuck up.”

      Quickly, I scurried over to the gym door, ready for the gym class of hell to come to an abrupt stop. I pushed on the door, letting a breeze of chilled air hit my bare extremities. As I was about to exit the stuffy room, I heard my name being called out.

      “Liz!” my head snapped to the source of the voice, and, no surprise, it was Dylan. I looked at him expectantly as he ran up to me.

      “What?” I asked, wanting to get the heck as far away from this room as possible.

      “Feel better,” he said. I would’ve thought his words to be genuine, but the smirk at the end dissolved any traces of sincerity in my mind. Without a reply, I allowed myself the leave the room and people in it.

      As I entered one of the countless corridors the school was filled with, the only thing I could think to worry about was how I was going to get through the next semester of gym class. A trip to the nurse’s office every Thursday for the next three months sounded a bit on the suspicious side and not the least bit appealing (I had met the nurse, and she was yet another member of the corrupted faculty that taught at Madison High.). Now, though, my only objective was to get an ice pack for my hand… which didn’t actually hurt. Damn, my life was pretty screwed up.