Gary Barkovitch was doubled over, breathing hard. Christ, he hated this. It was the first day of 'practice', and apparently that consisted of running until passed out. He wasn't the only one hurting – Olson's face was bright red, though he kept pushing on through everything – but when Barkovitch was running beside Collie Parker, he looked about three times as bad by comparison.
"That's the last of your sprints," The Major said. A half-hearted cheer went up through the seven boys. Stebbins, who seemed to just be at the practices to see who showed up, didn't even glance up from his novel. "Now, go across without your feet touching the floor."
It really was a good thing that he didn't have anything to do after school – he usually ended up going straight home and sitting in his room. Lately he'd been teaching himself to walk on his hands. He could make it across his room, but just barely. He could try?
"How the f- how are we supposed to do that?" Parker asked.
"This is the last thing we're doing today. As soon as you get to the other end of the gymnasium without your feet touching the floor, you can go."
Barkovitch glanced around at the others one more time and went for it. He was used to having carpet under his hands, so he nearly fell, but then gained his balance and began to inch his way forward.
"Christ," Abraham muttered, watching Barkovitch walk on his hands across the floor. There's a straightforward way to get that done.
He glanced around, gaze landing on the bleachers.
Hold on…
He walked over to the bleachers and began to cross the gym on the bleachers. He passed Barkovitch in no time and was out of the gym before anyone could say anything.
He was pretty sure everyone followed his example, because soon enough, Parker, then Baker, then McVries, then the rest of them entered the locker room.
"I didn't know the little shit could do that," Parker mused, staring at the shirt he had in his hand. He apparently decided against putting it on, because he threw it in his bag and changed from shorts to jeans. "It's fuckin' weird. Who the hell has time to learn something like that?"
"He doesn't have any friends," Baker pointed out. "I bet he has lots of time."
"Well it's weird," Parker said, exiting the locker room. "Abe, hurry up if you want a ride home."
"Grab my backpack from my locker!" Abraham yelled after Parker.
Seven minutes later, Barkovitch entered the locker room. It was completely empty – that was good. To be honest, he'd fallen over more times than he needed to to make sure that he'd be alone in the locker room. Nobody in there liked him anyway, so it was just better to take his time getting there.
"Do you need a ride home?"
Barkovitch jumped and, shirt half-on, half-off, turned to see Stebbins leaning against the wall, watching him. He struggled to get the shirt the rest of the way onto him and thought about it.
"Uh, yeah, probably," he said. Stebbins nodded and opened his book again. Barkovitch had no idea how he could concentrate on reading while standing up – Barkovitch himself couldn't concentrate on reading much more than a chapter at a time, and that was sitting in a room with very few distractions, maybe with some heavy metal music to block out noise – but he was doing it, and at a pretty quick pace, too.
A few minutes later, Barkovitch shouldered his backpack and exited the locker room. Stebbins followed, book disappearing into his coat pocket.
The ride to Barkovitch's house was awkward. Stebbins didn't talk, except to ask where Barkovitch's house was. Barkovitch, who wasn't the best at being social and nice at the same time, concentrated on making it so that Stebbins wouldn't want to throw him out of the car and into the traffic.
"You know, you aren't as bad as people make you out to be," Stebbins remarked. Barkovitch paused, hand on the door.
"I just always get off on the wrong foot," Barkovitch said. Stebbins smiled almost dreamily and nodded.
"Yes. I suppose that would be it."
"A game? What the fuck is he thinking?" Parker asked, outraged. They'd had about five practices, they were not ready for a game. Stebbins, who had been the unfortunate bearer of the news, shrugged. "Who's starting?"
"You, Abraham, McVries, Baker, and Olson. You and Abraham are down on post, Olson's point, and the other two-"
"Yeah, yeah, I get that. Olson on point? Well, I guess he's fast… who are we playing?"
"I'm not sure the name of the school, but I'm actually fairly certain it is made up of mostly delinquents. We can't expect very good referees," Stebbins said. Parker snorted, then rolled his eyes as the bell rang.
"Ah, shit, I'm late again."
"Tomorrow night!" Stebbins called after him. He mentally congratulated himself on not dying. Collie Parker was not known for being nice.
"Tomorrow night I'll be home late," Barkovitch said as he passed his mother, who was beginning to get dinner ready. She looked at him, startled.
"Why?"
"I have to be somewhere."
Now she really had no idea what was going on. It was a little sad, but Barkovitch hadn't gone anywhere after school since he was really little – and practices only went until five, and those two hours could be explained by traffic, so they'd never asked.
"Where are you going? Is it somewhere for school?"
"Sort of…" Barkovitch said, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I'll probably be home around eleven. Or something. You can call The Major – er, Mr. —, if you want to know more."
He half-hoped that she wouldn't, but she gestured for him to stand still and got the phone. Barkovitch, who wanted desperately to shower, sighed.
After a brief conversation over the phone, his mother turned to him. "You're on a basketball team…" He nodded. "For kids that cause problems?"
"I… uh…" Barkovitch said, biting his lip. She was waiting for him to explain himself, but he wasn't sure how to say 'people hate me and I retaliate' without actually saying 'people hate me and I retaliate.' "It was kind of…"
"At least you're doing something," she said. Barkovitch blinked. That… wasn't the reaction he'd expected.
The worst part of having to take the short bus, Collie Parker realized, was the fact that it was one seat short. Everyone seemed to have gotten here before him, and now he had a huge choice beside him.
Abraham was the obvious choice to sit beside, of course, but he was being annoying and stretching his legs across the seat – across the entire aisle, in fact, onto Baker's seat as well. Stebbins did not look approachable.
"Ah, fuck it," Parker muttered. He picked up Barkovitch's bag, threw it at him, and sat down beside him. Barkovitch jumped and glanced over. "Don't even talk."
And this is all I have for this one. :) I have been having some sort of inspiration lately, thought, so it may be updated. Sometime.
