Deep Dark Blue by Polo Tate

Author:Polo Tate
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

19

THE ACADEMY

I kept checking the clock in anticipation of the afternoon’s practice. It was the first time I had split focus from my classwork, and it felt as if I were committing academic adultery.

English was my last class of the day. And while I loved this class, and my teacher, I was cheating on English with the clock. Every four-degree in the room was struggling to stay awake.

Roooooaarrr …

I put my hand over my stomach, hoping to muffle its cry for nourishment. I had skipped our team lunch because I couldn’t bear the thought of looking at Her Horrible Her over hot turkey sandwiches.

“Sorry…” I whispered to the classmates at my four-top table.

Tick, tick, clickity-clack, bang, tick tick …

“God … sorry, guys … sorry!”

The battery acid that had caused my angry growl had also sent an electric current through my legs, which vibrated, bounced, against my chair, hitting the underside of my desk. Roooooaarrr…!

I shifted in my seat again, embarrassed. Nobody had whispered a response, so I snuck a peek over at my neighbor. His eyes had rolled back, leaving nothing but the whites. All at once, his head gave way to gravity, falling back into a cartoonishly openmouthed snort.…

This woke him just enough to yank his head upright but not enough to stop the full-throttle overcompensation that sent him face-first onto the Formica desk.

THWACK!

I jumped at the sound, even though I had watched it all unfold. Stares flew in from all corners of the room. C4C Forehead rubbed the growing red welt over his third eye.

“AHHemm…” said Major Grammar, our professor, who was a stickler for all things linguistic. He pointed to the back wall.

“Yes, sir,” mumbled C4C Forehead, who stood up and slunk to the back of the room to join C4Cs Drool and Snore for the remainder of class.

I looked at the clock again. Four more minutes. Four minutes until practice. Four minutes until I had to face Her Horrible Her.

Three minutes and forty-nine seconds.

My belly twisted and burned in anticipation of seeing Her Horrible Her again. Practice had always been the highlight of my day, and I hoped, prayed, that my sport, my love, would still be my saving grace.

* * *

I jogged into the gym as quickly as I could, avoiding extensive locker room exposure. I had become an actress, trying my very best to appear as normal and undamaged as I could. The gym was empty. The net was already set up. I took a ball out of the royal-blue canvas cart and went over to the cinder-block wall. I threw the ball up and smacked it, its trajectory sending it first to the floor, then the wall, and finally back toward my right arm. I smacked it again. Floor, wall, hand. Smack. Floor, wall, hand. Smack. I got a rhythm going.

Betrayal, hurt, pain. Smack. Betrayal, hurt, pain. Smack. I switched hands, rocked back and forth, kept the rhythm going. This is my sport, my catharsis, my saving grace. This is my sport and I love it.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.