like today never happened --;
Running is-- running used to be the worst possible action you could've done with your legs. The first time you glanced over your class schedule, you were quite pleased. That is, you were pleased until you spotted the words in small, bold type:
Personal Fitness
Personal Fitness means one whole semester of running and exercising and learning how to "eat right." Personal Fitness is the second high school subject that you were unbearably, unbelievably bad at, because despite how fit and healthy you appeared to be one the outside...you're quite unhealthy. The last time you'd done a sport or participated in an activity that required you to go outside was when you were in the fifth grade.
But now-- in some school named after some dead man-- it's a graduation requirement.
On that grueling, agonizing Monday, a full hour and a half before school lets out; you walk into room 1106 and see nothing but white walls. Boring white walls and the occasional poster detailing the insides of the human body. You take a seat, not speaking a word to any of the other kids who're filling up the classroom. Girls with their newly dyed hair and painted fingernails and guys discussing fishing-- people actually do that?-- while shoving hands into their pockets.
The desk you picked is too close to the teacher's, and you realize too little too late that you should've picked a desk in the center of the room. Because in walks this boy and there's not even a word in the English dictionary yet to describe him. Because this boy that there is no word to describe picks a seat in the middle of the sea desks.
And with his dark wash jeans.
With his blue shirt.
With his messenger bag.
With his silver hair.
He's perfect.
&+
It's Thursday. God, you hate Thurdays.
Running's a bitch, you decide as you change in the locker room and walk outside to the track only to be greeted by the sun beaming down on your skin. It's uncomfortable outside and it's only made worse by the heart monitor and wrist watch you have to wear. Coach Ridings-- what that her name?-- is convinced that the only way to get a good work out is to make sure you're in Target Heart Rate Zone for eighty percent of the time.
You semi-collapse onto your butt and starting stretching and look out of the corner of your eye to see Riku and smile on the inside. He looks at you but you're too concentrated on his face to notice and by the time you do he's looked away. And so, you promise, the next time he looks at you, you're going to show him what an awesome smile you have.
Coach shouts to the class to stand up and to get ready... set... and go! As soon as she does everyone presses start on their watches and takes off jogging. While you remain in the middle of the massive pack of jogging students, your eyes search for him and you find him. His silver hair bouncing in a ponytail and his turquoise colored eyes focused forward as he runs to front of the group.
Watching him run makes your metaphorical heart want to implode and then explode.
A small smile crosses your face as you watch him run for the entire twenty minutes. Even though you stop because you can't jog more than four laps around the track continuously, he keeps on running.
&+
He appears one fine Wednesday in your Advanced Algebra/ Trig class. He's the last person to arrive, just after the late bell, and walks straight up to the teacher holding a neon green piece of paper in one hand. His posture isn't the best (neither is yours) and his hair is too long and his Vans are so old you wonder how they manage to stay intact. But he's still perfect.
Your math teacher, however, doesn't seem to notice this and, using his pen as an extension of his arm, points to a chair at a table that's too far away from your own.
And while he takes his seat, you hear the awful and crude voice of one of your classmates say in a not-so-quiet voice: "What's that Olette? You said you think he's cute? Do you think he's cute?"
Your eyes shift over to the girl that the question is for. She puts her pencil to her lips in a confident, girlish manner and nods her head in affirmation and says in a not-so-quiet voice: "Yeah."
Your heart crumbles because what if she likes him enough to want to go after him? What if she wants to be his girlfriend? She has things that you don't have and things that you can't possibly compete with. (Things he might like.) You have to remind yourself that thinking someone's cute and liking them are two different things.
And you watch him pull out a black binder-- maybe two inches thick or so-- and take a mechanical pencil in his left hand. When the pencil connects with the paper it's like magic and you continue to stare as your math teacher fills the background with noise about inverses of functions. But then as he brushes his bangs from his face you wonder if his schedule change removed him from the Personal Fitness class you shared.
&+
Inside of your head you run over possible conversation starters and possible conversations between the two of you. Of course all of them end with you giving too much information about yourself. You try to find a reason why you still haven't talked to him by repeating over and over in your head, "He's probably straight and has a girlfriend".
But you still find yourself thinking about all those times he looked at you. The time when he covered up his mouth to stop himself from laughing when your math teacher made an idiot of himself for the second time. His lopsided smile and how his teeth are almost perfect and the sound of his voice and the loose ponytail he puts his hair into before running or working out.
You make up your mind to talk to him, that way the two of you could be at least be acquaintances but all week you keep putting it off. Even though you were standing next to him and your arm touched his for two whole minutes. Even though you sat next to him in Personal Fitness after you got out in Waffleball. Even though you walked almost next to him during a run.
You still haven't talked.
&+
When you find out he's a senior and you're just a junior. Seniors are seniors and disappear after graduation and junior are juniors who come back after summer vacation for one more round. You realize you've only got ten months to be on the acquaintance level with him.
This thought fills you up with some kind of depression. You're sad-- oh, so sad-- because you wish you could have more time. (But little do you know you have even less time than you think). This kind of depression hurts more than any other kind of sadness. It hurts more than when you found out you got a forty-five on that AP US History quiz you took the other day. It hurts more than when you got that vaccination when you were five. It hurts more than when you broke your pinkie finger.
But then you realize that you're always going to want more time.
So you settle on the ten months.
&+
On a Tuesday, you're hanging out in the library because the one friend you had lunch with managed to get her schedule changed and so now she has "B Lunch" rather than "C." So, now, you're doomed to loneliness for one entire semester, but you decided to spend it in the media center rather than the cafeteria.
And while you're pretending to be working on some make-believe project for some make-believe class, someone walks in. Someone who just so happens to be the person who you're crushing on-- and crushing on quite hard on one might say. He flashes a neon pink paper at the librarian and it makes you think of your neon pink pass tucked in your pocket. And you can't help but think how cool and awesome he looks doing the same thing that you did just five minutes ago.
He sits close enough but far enough from you that it would be deemed alright if you went over there and attempted to begin a conversation. You take a deep breath and give yourself a quick pep talk.
You can do it. He's just a person. Like you.
You push back the wooden chair you're sitting in and walk over to where he is.
&+
Fridays are the best-- soon to be the worst. Fridays are the best because it means the weekend and it also means that you get to watch Riku run again. And everything goes according to plan. You dress out. You put on your watch and heart monitor. You do your stretches. You start jogging.
But halfway through something goes terribly awry.
Later on, they'll say you looked dehydrated and that your face was all red but you insisted you were alright. And your face had been all red but you had felt fine. So you continued on running but then something happened and your body begins to betray you. This sudden feeling of impending doom fills you up on the inside, and you make your way over to the coach.
A headache begins before you're five feet away from her.
You don't want to die. You don't want to die. You don't want to die. But as the headache gets worse and the dizziness creeps in and you stumble towards the coach panic sets in.
When your knees give out and the back of your skull collides with the track, this gigantic gust of air escapes from your lungs. But there's something off about the way the air comes out of your mouth, something so unnatural about it. Then before you know it, the whole entire class is surrounding you and you hear the coach tell you you're alright.
While she's snaps at people to move and to give you some room to breathe, you're being pulled indoors to the shade. The cool air washes over you, but that's not enough.
Because your eyes black.
Because you feel your heart giving out.
Because your lungs are exploding in bright reds and pinks and oranges of pain.
On your dying breath you open your eyes wide, as wide as they'll go. You arch your back and you suck in as much oxygen as you can. Oxygen, oxygen, oxygen! Your lungs exclaim.
The audience watches with shock and horror and unease as you die. As the oxygen escapes you before you can even take it in and use it. Unconsciousness eats you up before you can feel the physical pain of dying but the emotional pain of death is currently feasting upon you.
And you're unaware of the EMTs shoving people aside to save you.
And you're unaware of the air they're providing you.
And you're unaware of the scissors cutting open your shirt.
And you're unaware of the silence.
&+
"...uh, hey."
"Hey."
For Karou-chanXD.
I promised this fic to her about a year ago-- eep! This is inspired by actually, really real life. The end italic-y part is a take-it-as-you-please thing. You could take it as a possible ending to library scene. I do. This is self-edited so...yeah. & reviews would be awesome. Peace out!