First of my oneshot collection! Inspired by a horrible day in gym class (which may or may not have been today) where I lost all my self-confidence over a game of badminton. Enjoy (while you wait for the next chapter of FTFNP)!
"I can't do this, I can't do this," the blonde's voice is high as she laughs at herself. It's been a few minutes now and she still hasn't managed to get the birdie over the net. It either falls off of the racket, jumps limply into the air, or stays (somehow) in her hand. Gale's friends roll their eyes (actually saying anything to her gets them a harsh look from Mr. Underwood) but he can't help but watch her with an odd fascination.
She's small and pale; that much is obvious. Her face is red, and her smile is becoming much more forced and pained. Gale notices how her hair shines in the overhead lights; it isn't exactly blonde, like Delly's or that kid Mellark's, but it's more of a gold. Like the sunset.
Her name is Madge. One of the richest girls in school, but she never acts like it. The only people that don't like her are jealous, gullible or holding some sixth-grade grudge. Gale only sees her in this class, as it is the only one that mixes all four grades at the high school. It's only been a couple weeks since he started his senior year, and it is today that he really starts noticing the frustrated girl across the court from him.
After a few more failed attempts, she stops trying to laugh at herself. It's clear that her discoordination is starting to make her self-conscious. Her partner, a tall, dark-haired girl, looks at her sympathetically and says, "I'll serve."
She smiles slightly and bites her nails as she watches the birdie fly perfectly over the net. Thom dashes for it and just barely hits it back. He grins, looking proud of himself, and Gale rolls his eyes but can't help but smile a little too; is Madge looking at him? If so, her eyes quickly dart in the opposite direction.
Gale watches in amusement as she suddenly realizes the birdie is flying towards her; his smirk turns into a gape as she hits it with smooth ease, as if she hadn't been miserably failing the last twenty minutes. It sails right towards him, and he hits it back just in time, right into the net. She holds back a smile as she coolly strides below the net to reach it. "Your serve," Thom shouts, and Gale sees him wink at Madge. He clenches his jaw without really knowing it.
"God help me," she muses, and Thom and the girl next to Madge both laugh a little. It only takes about seven tries before she makes a clean shot. Gale knows she must think that they've gotten impatient with her, and in all honesty, the three people around her are probably the only ones in the class who wouldn't make a rude remark or roll their eyes or sigh dramatically. Perhaps Mr. Underwood put them together for that reason.
The game continues slowly, and Gale glances at the clock several times in only a few minutes. Next time it's Madge's serve, he calls gently, "Try holding the racket at an angle." Instantly, he regrets it. She looks at him as though she's wounded; her face flushes a deeper shade of red. But she does what he says (without looking at him) and the serve just barely hits the tip of Gale's racket.
Finding himself blushing, Madge seems to play with a new vigor. She's not quite better, but she's becoming a little less terrible.
Thom notices his friend's movements become less sharp and balanced and smirks to himself. Gale? Getting flustered with this little Undersee girl? Sure, she's pretty, but she's not Gale's type. Or so he thinks.
Just as Gale raises his racket to hit the birdie, Thom "accidentally" nudges him, causing it to fly crookedly over the service line. Gale shoots him a frown and Thom can't help but laugh out loud. Tossing it back, Madge shouts, her voice shaking a little, "Try holding the racket at an angle."
Thom and the girl on Madge's team burst out in real laughter this time, and a real smile breaks out on Madge's face. He feels his cheeks grow warmer and looks down at the ground; when he looks up, Madge's smile is gone from her lips but still playing at her eyes.
"Sorry about them," Gale mutters as he and Madge take down one of the nets. "Thom doesn't know when to shut the hell up."
Madge laughs. "If it helps you any, that's the first time I've ever laughed at someone else besides myself in this class."
"Uhm," Gale clears his throat, "you're not bad, really." It's a lie, she is bad, but Gale says it anyway.
She laughs louder again, and Gale's heart stutters. "I hit it, like, six times," she shakes her head, attempting to tie a knot around the two poles and the net bunched in between them. "Dammit," she curses under her breath. "I can't tie knots, either."
"Here," he breathes, gently prying her hands from the knot. He pretends not to hear the soft gasp that escapes her lips. His fingers nimbly work the material into a tight knot, and she smiles again. "I don't know how they're going to untie that one," she smiles.
He laughs. "But really," he tries again, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're not too bad."
"Yeah," she nods, raising her eyebrows, "It only took me about a hundred times that one serve."
"Seven," his voice is small. He feels small. Gale realizes with some embarrassment that he has never felt so insignificant in front of a girl. It's not because she's off-putting or intimidating, but he can't put his finger on it. Just the way she glows, he decides. The way she laughs and smiles and crumbles before him without missing a beat.
"Hm?" she raises her eyebrows.
"Seven times, you hit it," he stutters, a little louder, feeling silly now. Why would he even count? But she laughs again. "I was off a little, I suppose," she says softly.
"Yeah," he chuckles nervously.
"I'm only really good at music," she shrugs. "Piano. I like writing songs and things like that. I'm not good at much else."
"I'm sure there's more," he tells her, imagining her long, slender fingers moving across the ivory keys of a piano - one his family could never afford. The piano in his thoughts fades, and suddenly he imagines the same fingers traveling down his jaw, her full, pink lips meeting his own...
"Not really," she shakes her head, not a drop of self-pity in her voice. "But there's no room for skills like that here."
"What do you mean?" Gale finds himself wondering.
"I have to be someone," she says. "It's high school. I can't be 'the girl who's good at piano,' so instead I have to be 'the girl who sucks at sports.'"
It bothers him how right she is. In a sense. Madge is going to be labeled as something; so is he. And there's nothing either one of them can do about it. But Gale wishes he could watch her be herself, not the red-faced girl in gym shorts that are far too big for her. "Anyway," she clears her throat. "The bell's going to ring soon. See you, Gale."
"Yeah," he rasps, "see you."
She smiles over her shoulder before walking out of the storage closet. And Gale feels so dizzy and overcome with some sort of feeling that he just stands there, wanting to figure it out but being unable to. He stands there for a long time, not hearing the bell go off, until Mr. Underwood lectures him sternly. Then he realizes he's not out of his gym clothes yet and the passing period is seconds away from ending.
"I'm not giving you a pass, Hawthorne," the teacher snaps. "Explain it to your teacher yourself."
"Yes sir," Gale nearly whispers as he opens the door to the locker room. Damn you, Undersee, he thinks, shaking his head. You're going to be the death of me.
Thoughts? Reviews appreciated! xoxo