Notes: So...second chapter, in which we meet two more important characters.
Again, these characters were inspired by people in my own life, but the group dynamics weren't really quite so...extreme.
Unusually for me, there isn't too much necessary backstory to cover before I get to the good stuff. The plot really starts to get rolling next chapter. For now, this is just a short (for me) little snapshot of the lives of the characters.
Chapter 2: The Three Musketeers…and Coach
or, A Day in the Life of Seventh Period Gym Class
Our teacher, Coach Kaiser Allis, is a big, lumbering fellow always dressed in baggy blue and gray, with a signature whistle around his neck. He is a man of few words—if he speaks at all, it's to give the class orders, or to flirt with his female students.
Or so Holly and I suspect, both of us remembering when my former science teacher—also a coach—was fired for having "inappropriate relationships" with his students. She was the one who observed that it was always the coaches who did this (something that my mother once told me), and added, "The other coaches do it, too. Even Coach Allis, a little bit." And from then on, it was something of a running joke between us that he never interacted with his male students just to be friendly; only his female ones—and preferably the attractive ones at that.
"I had a friend last year who was a senior, in speech class with him," she told me once. "And he would flirt with her…wow, he wasn't even discreet about it." She put her hand to the side of her forehead and smirked. "I feel so bad about teasing her about it."
It makes me wonder if I should be worried that he calls me, Holly, and this other friend of mine, Astrid Thom, his "favorite students."
Astrid herself comes in late with a pass. She explains something about it to Coach, but her speech is heavily accented—not a stereotypical Capitol accent, but one that I can't place. She normally speaks in clipped sentences and single words to hide it, often trailing off at the ends of those sentences, and combined with the accent, I can barely understand a word she says.
"Got it. Go sit down, dear," Coach tells her, and he sends her off with a pat on the back.
She takes her seat on the floor next to me and waves. "Hi, Soraya."
"Oh…hey, Astrid. Glad to see you."
The girl shakes her head, wearing her constant good-natured expression, and tells me—
"Quinn?" I repeat, not sure exactly what she said, and what she means by it.
"Quynh. Q-U-Y-N-H," she corrects me. "My real name. My family…from District Three."
So that's what that accent is. I feel so utterly ignorant for not being able to identify it, now that I know better. This is probably how the Districters see Capitolites, boorish and self-centered and uninformed; people wouldn't know a District accent if it slapped them in the face.
Holly, sitting directly in front of me, turns her head over her shoulder at me, smiling. I whisper back, "Her, too? Who's next? Coach?"
It does strike me that Coach himself is only a little bit lighter-skinned than Holly, and he has a certain emotionally scarred demeanor about him, characteristic of people who've been through a lot of fear and turmoil and danger in a short, intense amount of time. We've all seen too much of too many Hunger Games victors to not recognize the signs. It's actually a distinct possibility.
"So…uh, Quynh, do you want me to call you that from now on?"
"No. Been called Astrid my whole life. To fit in."
Somehow, all this surprises me even less than when Holly told me of her District Eleven upbringing. Holly can hide behind smoke and mirrors because that's what she does, and she could pass for a Capitol girl anyway. Short of permanent alteration, there's nothing much Astrid can do for herself, though I do notice that she's washed off the makeup that puts a little more color in her ashy skin, and taken out the green contact lenses that make her dark eyes look rounder. I don't know what she dresses like on a daily basis, if she wears elaborate clothes to mitigate her obvious appearance—she's older than me and not in any of my classes, so I always see her in her gym T-shirt and shorts. For all I know, she could be a plain dresser, like me.
"Okay, listen up!"
About a quarter of the class, including me and Astrid, ever the obedient pleaser types, snaps to attention. The rest go about talking and staring into space and barely listening to Coach at all. He never seems to mind.
"We're starting a new unit today."
At this, Holly and I exchange glances. We've been stuck in a deadlock for a week, with us not really doing anything (ostensibly, we were playing badminton), but knowing that we were probably going to face a harder sports unit in the near future. The two of us have been waiting on tenterhooks to find out what it will be.
The fatal word falls from Coach's mouth: "Basketball," and the three of us release a half-groan, half-laugh.
"So, I want you all to partner up—"
"Soraya, you're my partner!" Holly whispers.
"—and get a basketball for the two of you. We're just gonna start with some exercises."
I stand up and make my way over to the cart full of basketballs and get a purple one—my favorite color. Today, I find myself feeling particularly brazen, considering that I thought I was going to lose somebody important to me, and it's important to tell her how I feel about her now:
"Hey, Holly, thanks for always being my partner. I know I make a lousy one, but…I'm glad. Usually, I'm too quiet to ask anyone to partner up with me, and somehow, I always end up being partners with the teacher."
She casts a knowing glance back at old flirt-with-his-girl-students Coach, and says, "Yeah, that happens to me, too." But she doesn't say it in a way that sounds like she's agreeing with me; relating to my experience just to make conversation. She says it more like she's comforting me.
I bounce the ball a couple of times, fidgeting, and then see Astrid walk by me and up to Coach, explaining to him that she doesn't have a partner.
"Oh, then I'll be your partner," he tells her with a smile that's a little too friendly, and I instantly feel awful.
"Astrid…" I begin, but she turns and cuts me off, telling me it's okay, she doesn't mind, really. I just shrug it off. Holly is already my partner, and I've already gone out of my way to thank her for it, so I don't see any reason to change it.
"There it goes! There it goes! It's bouncing away! Get it, Soraya, get it!"
I break away from my position in line and stumble off after the runaway basketball, laughing so hard that my eyes are blurry and the world starts to bend and lean to one side…
And then I realize that I'm about to take a nose-dive into the floor.
I shut my eyes, bracing myself for the hard impact, and skid across the smooth polyurethane before coming to a burning stop. After the initial pain subsides, I sense somebody's presence over me, and tilt my head, expecting to see Holly, and I do—and Astrid is next to her, looking honestly concerned, and against the florescent lighting, I can see Coach's face silhouetted between theirs.
"Hey, guys," I say, still laughing. "Did you see that?"
"Okay, you're smiling, that's a good sign." Holly hands me the basketball, which I tuck under one arm, not bothering to get up.
"So, how'd I look?"
"Surprisingly graceful. Smoothest fall I ever saw," she says, straight-faced, as she and Astrid and Coach all try to help me to my feet. I know they've all seen enough of my falls that they're not really surprised when it happens anymore.
"Wish we could catch all your blunders on video, the three of you. We could make a music montage." Coach's glance flits to the floor and back. "And be sure to tie your shoes next time, Miss Annison."
I follow his line of sight, and see that he's right: both of my shoelaces have come untied. Of course. I give a nervous laugh as Coach trudges off—he doesn't really walk; he picks up one leg and swings it in front of the other like an old badger—and Astrid asks me if I'm okay. At least, I think that's what she's trying to say.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Used to it, really."
The two girls nod in agreement. Combined, we've definitely taken enough falls to make a music montage and then some, because the three of us are the weakest, clumsiest, and all-around worst athletes in all of Panem. It's why we're friends in the first place—birds of a feather flock together, and there's strength in numbers. I'm convinced that if it weren't for them, I would be the laughingstock of the class, but when I've got them with me, we're the ones who're laughing.
"That's how it works," I like to tell them. "When you're being faced with imminent death by P.E. alone, it's torture. When you're facing imminent death together, with friends, it's a bonding experience."
I repeat it like a broken record whenever I can, and why not? I'm actually rather proud of myself for coming up with it.
"A'ight, listen up!" Coach bellows from across the gym, barely giving me time to recover from my fall. "We got ten minutes left. I want y'all to get with your partners and shoot some baskets."
We turn to the nearest basket and take turns for a while, making some but missing most of the time because we're laughing too hard to think.
As we always do amidst the hysterics, we begin to fall into a steady rhythm of thunk-thunk-swish, pass, thunk-thunk-swish, "Whose turn is it?", "I think it's mine," thunk-thunk, toss, miss. Lather, rinse, repeat.
This is usually when I lose track of things, and I start musing. Today, I observe my friends, the Gym Class Trio, the Three Musketeers. It's hard when you have a group of three sometimes, because you have a dynamic duo plus a third wheel who's maybe a bit insecure about being in the trio. I'm sympathetic to that role, because my shy nature has put me in it so many times over the years, but it also feels good to be in on the "duo" aspect, so I hardly want to stop.
Astrid tells me, "I'm going to do it backwards!" and turns her back to the goal. She throws up the ball, and to everyone's amazement, it sinks into the basket perfectly.
She's an interesting character, that Astrid. She's a head shorter than me and, pound for pound, a bit stockier, but of all of us, she's the least horrible athlete. It's probably because for all her shyness, she's not afraid to make a fool of herself, and gives it her all, even though she knows she's not the best.
"You try it!" Astrid tosses me the ball, her grin mischievous, and I get a sinking feeling of dread.
"No," I say. "No, no, nononono…"
"Yes." She reaches to grab me by the shoulders and positions me rather forcefully so that I can make the shot. That's another thing about Astrid. She plays rough.
Not wanting to fight her, I make only a passing attempt to toss the ball behind my head…
…and it goes in.
Holly and Astrid start cheering and patting me on the back, giving me a rush of pride. That's how I roll—I don't necessarily give everything my all like Astrid, but I'll always try it at least once out of sheer obedience and a hatred for conflict. Sometimes, about as often as not, it actually works out.
"Your turn," Astrid says to Holly, but Holly only shakes her head. Astrid knows better than to waste her time here, so she leaves her alone.
And that's what makes Holly, the tallest and thinnest girl in the class, the worst athlete I have ever seen, but it also saves her a great deal of embarrassment—she doesn't dress out, doesn't participate, doesn't try whenever she can get away with it. If I were smarter, I would do what she does and save myself the trouble, but my participation grade is important to me.
As I'm lining up for another shot, a familiar low beep-beep-beep comes over the loudspeakers, signaling an announcement, and the class slows to a halt when the voice of the lady in the office—nobody knows exactly who she is—informs us:
"Attention, students and teachers, please pardon this interruption. It has…it has come to our attention that with the…recent events in the city that there may have been a few…student casualties among the damage."
The hairs on my arm raise as I think of all the students going through the torture that I went through today, and the ones whose outcome will not be as good as mine. The woman is aware of this, and sounds genuinely sympathetic. Panem bless her soul. She does her job well, really cares about what she tells us, and we hardly even know who she is.
"We are blessed enough that we have very few of these casualties. There will be a temporary memorial in the hallway by the attendance office with the names and the pictures of these students, though a more permanent memorial will soon be instated on school grounds. If any students are particularly affected by these horrible tragedies,"—she means it—"then there will be counselors on standby for as long as there need be. Thank you for your attention, and good luck to all of you."
I find it to be an oddly touching and poignant sign of respect from the students—normally loud, unruly P.E. students—that after the announcement, it takes a while for them to get back to what they were doing.
The time to dress out and leave comes too soon—fifty-five minutes isn't enough—but I'm always sure to get dressed quickly and save the last few minutes of class to gossip about choir business with Holly.
"Did you see Hoang's hair today?"
"No," she says, a ghost of a smile appearing on her face. Knowing Hoang, this is bound to be good.
I bury my face in the soft fleece of my jacket, laughing. "Oh, you wouldn't believe it! It's blond and orange and green and deep red and black and all different colors, and—get this—it's sticking up in all different directions!"
Holly gives a mock gasp. "Really? Oh, wow, I can't wait to see it! What did he do to it?"
"He says he waxed it like that." I can barely speak for all my laughter, but I manage to say, "He probably spent a good hour on that hair this morning, and yet he looks like he just rolled out of bed!"
"Oh, that is so messed up!"
The bell rings, and we continue chatting as we walk down the hallway, until we run into Nikolai right before the foyer, going the opposite direction.
"Hey, Nik."
"Hi, Holly." He gives her a genial wave like he always does, and then says to me, "I assume you know that Holly's okay now, right?"
Oh, shoot. "Yeah. Thanks for telling me so soon, because that saved me a lot of trouble today." I try to make my voice positively ooze sarcasm, but it almost comes out sincere instead. I don't really do sarcasm—that's an area best left to Holly.
"Sorry. Couldn't get in touch with you." Nik turns to Holly. "You know, Soraya over here was absolutely worried sick about you today. Like, on the verge of tears."
Nikolai, you idiot, I told you not to tell her!
Too late. Holly puts her hand on my shoulder, like she always does; it's most people's primary mode of communication with me. "You were worried about me?" she asks, voice rising considerably in pitch.
"Yeah," I admit, because there's nothing else that I can say now. To counter, I desperately try to downplay it. "I mean, you're my friend, and I knew that everyone else was okay, so why wouldn't I be worried about you?"
"Aw, that's really sweet of you." She smiles and jostles my shoulder. "It's always good to know somebody's looking out for you."
Without further ado, she waves goodbye to both of us, and I'm left with wide smiles and a swelling heart for the rest of the day.
Closing Notes: So...nothing really to say here, except for the usual stuff about reviews. Next chapter will be along shortly.
Edit: Dang it, I just now realized that I had changed some names for this chapter (last-ditch effort to hide the similarities to my friends, not that it would help), but forgot to put the changes into effect for the first chapter, so now, I had two characters who had two different names each! Geez, you guys, you can't let me get away with an error like that. But it's fixed now, since the new names didn't really fit the characters anyway.