Disclaimer: No ownership of The Breakfast Club, just playing
What would it be like to be him?
I can see all the sportos from here, of course; the bleachers were put here for fucking spectators after all. The jocks run around the track in twos and threes, warming up or whatever it's supposed to be called. Some of the athletics dicks are jumping around like idiots.
They talk to each other when they stop for water breaks.
They partner up for sit ups and stretches. Slapping backs and punching arms in a jokey way.
One of the fucking team.
I don't take athletics. Or gym. Or any of that shit. I might have been good at it; I'm okay with a basketball and I've got quick reflexes. Now. I played sport when I was in elementary school. I did most normal things when I was still a kid. Before my old man got back from jail. Before I learned that the best way to stop questions was to not let people see me changing in the locker room.
Even if I could've hidden all the bruises I wouldn't be much use on a team. Too many missing practices when I was locked in my room. Sure, I can outrun him now, or at least duck out of my window. But now it's too late, the teams were picked a long time ago.
I wonder what it's like to have friends who back you up, not just casual fuckheads who only look you up to score off you.
I can see Clark down there on the track. He's laughing with all of his sporto friends as they leer at the cheerleaders.
What would it be like to be him?
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What would it be like to be him?
I can see the potheads silhouetted up there. The bleachers look like the place to be on a sunny day like this. It must be nice to just kick back sometimes. They might be burnouts but at least they look relaxed. Why wouldn't they? They can do what they like with their time. No coach in their ear, yelling 'Faster. Harder.' No fucking second string pricks just waiting for their chance to take my place.
Every one of these guys training is my rival. Every one would kill me if he thought he'd get the scholarship instead.
Are we friends because we hang out? Or because we date the cheerleaders on some kind of insane rotation? Or because we like the same brand of sports drink? Or are we only opponents under the mask of friends? I can do more push ups than him, but he can do more sit ups than me...fuck!
I wonder what it's like to have friends who don't care what you do, not just boneheads who live to compete with you.
I can see Bender lounging on the top row of seats. He looks like he's asleep.
I'm so tired and my knee hurts.
What would it be like to be him?
