Just a short author's note! ^_^
1) Disclaimer: The usual. The characters don't belong to me *sob!*
2) Rukawa X OC/ you / whoever it is that you want it to be
3) Enjoy!
She was dressed in an ancient uniform. A very old and gray one that you wouldn't have guessed that it used to be a clean white a long, long time ago. It was passed down to her. Originally, it used to belong to old Mrs. Rackman, who then passed it down to her daughter who then gave it to her daughter who decided the uniform wouldn't fit her and gave it away.
It's hers now.
Old, worn out and ugly – but still useable.
Her skirt, a green-turned-brown colour, was very small and short. It covered the necessary places, but left the rest of her legs bare.
She knew exactly how she looked. How could she not? She had to look at herself in the mirror everyday, hadn't she? And then she would have to go to school, where fingers will point and mouths whisper, where – to put it frankly – she was always the butt of the joke. Like a stock of funniness, an available topic to talk about when there's nothing else to insult.
She was used to it, to be sure. It's something, she had decided, that you just have to accept. Like an annoying buzz in the background. Like an alarm clock that wouldn't stop ringing no matter what you did. But used to it or not, it didn't make life any more easier.
Now, life had gotten much harder.
She'd seen him last week. Tall. Black ebony locks. Cool cobalt eyes. A basketball player. School representative. Much talked about around school.
Others had noticed him way earlier, and had made faster progress than she would have ever dared to. An unofficial fan club was already set up (last time she checked, it's membership had grown to approximately hundred over), not to mention a personal cheerleading squad that accompanied his every game.
She was drying to join in. But even if she was welcomed, she knew it was rather out of her league. Openly salivating for him would be a little too bold and horrifying. Not that he'd noticed. One thing she'd learn quickly enough was that once he got hold of the ball, everything and everybody else is dead to him.
Still, it didn't deter his mob of fans.
She supposed as long as their screaming didn't kill anyone, it's fine. As for herself, she preferred staying back after school to watch the practice. Sometimes the team practiced together. Sometimes they practiced alone. But he was always there.
It was satisfying just watching him. The way he moved, suddenly fast and then abruptly slow. The flashes of frustration and triumph on his face, hardly noticeable but clear if you know where to look. The entire package, really. A must-watch, and a must-have.
It was also bittersweet to watch him. It's like watching your favourite movie and yet knowing that it's not going to end the way you want it to. Like wanting to go to Europe and yet knowing the farthest you'll get is the entrance to the airport. Did she want him? Of course. It was stupid to deny. Just as it was stupid to dream about it.
Her favourite spot was the topmost seat. Not too far and certainly not too close. That way, he wouldn't pay any attention to her (not that it'd make any difference even if she sat right under his nose) and thus leaving her free to pay all her attention to him without being too obvious. He would practice and practice up to ten o'clock, and she'd just … watch, contentedly. Then he would leave, oblivious to her. She would go too, usually the opposite way.
It worked well.
But not anymore.
The bright orange ball bounced up to her, barely missing her nose. She yelped once. Twice when the ball bounced back and hit her squarely on the head, sending her reading glasses flying into the air. When her vision cleared slightly, those impossibly blue eyes were staring at her from below.
"I'd like my ball back."
She stared back, awkwardly. Stupidly, she did a badly aimed throw of the ball to him. Then her eyes dropped down to his feet. "My glasses." It was barely a murmur, but the urgency oozed from her as she sprang to her feet and rushed down.
He picked it up and handed it back to her, almost bewilderedly. The groan escaped her throat and unwilling tears pooled at the tips of her eyelashes. Her glasses were shattered.
Hurriedly, she did a mental calculation. Repairing her glasses would cost around a hundred and more. Even the thought of the amount of money needed clogged her breath. That would take months to earn. Longer if Mother fell sick again.
She could skip lunches in school, perhaps. Walk home instead of taking the bus. And maybe even –
"You okay?" It was him again.
She nodded absently. Picking up her things and the pieces of glass on the floor, she left, her head lost in a world of numbers and money-making strategies.
He watched her quietly, his face blank. That had not been part of the plan.
Then –
Whoops. I forgot to apologise.
Hope you liked that. Plz review!