If there's a single subject I'm weakest at, it's science or math. Right now, chemistry is taking up far too much of my free time. Our class is scheduled for time in the lab room today, and for some reason, our teacher got it into his head that assigning anything other than our usual partners is a good idea. Allow me to explain.
During the first few days of school, we paired up. Naturally, Daiki is my lab partner. Nobody else is capable of handling that child, especially when he doesn't do any of the work himself, leaving everything up to his lab partner. I don't know how he's planning on having another partner do the work for him.
Now, normally the labs are plenty of fun, and today's is plenty simple, but what's making today more intolerable than usual is the boy I'm assigned to be working with. Nope, Alex doesn't get to have a female partner. I get an obnoxious brat who is infamous for making even the most patient of people will herself not to kill him as they scrape together the last of their dignity and self-restraint. For this kid, I have less patience and restraint than usual.
It takes all of two minutes for the incredibly irritable bluenette and I to realize that one way or the other, someone's going to kill my temporary lab partner. There are all sorts of acids and bases scattered across the table, and he's practically daring himself to dip a finger into one of them, which, I believe, is labeled hydrochloric acid. I'm almost up for egging him on, just so he'll stop brushing me awkwardly.
I kind of hope that this is, and isn't, a common occurrence for the other female students who've had the misfortune of being paired up with this kid. He's nothing special, really. Short-cropped dark hair refuses to hide sharp features, incredibly dark eyes, and prominent ears. His lips are incredibly chapped, something that is a little irritating to look at, but nothing I'm ever going to comment on. I just want this period to end as quickly as possible so I can escape the way his hands will accidentally brush my skirt. Daiki is keeping a sharp eye on this touchy-feely guy, but unfortunately, we're on opposite sides of the room, yet another unpleasant surprise, and he can't watch everything. I guess I'll have to fend for myself.
I've never had a keen interest in science, yet I find myself trying to work out a formula for a super-acid just so that this kid won't touch anything anymore. So far, he's caused two acids to spill into one base, setting off an unnecessary explosion, while I'm left to clean up with the very disgruntled teacher murmuring death threats against the kid. The teacher gives me a sympathetic look before racing to keep someone else from nearly killing himself. Somehow, this isn't working out as well as he'd hoped. What was wrong with the way we were before?
"Aaaaalex!" Daiki somehow leans across our table as I work out measurements. I glance up briefly at the goggled, aproned blue-haired boy and raise an eyebrow. "I'm bored." I let out a half-laugh, half-cough of amusement.
"There's nothing I can do about it." I say with all the self-restraint I have going into pacifying my voice. "You'll have to make do with your partner, who, for the record, you have abandoned. Not that I really mind." The bluenette watches my lab partner like a hawk for the brief amount of time the teacher allows him to stay away from his partner. I hope the teacher has learned something valuable from this experience.
"Are you going out with that guy?" My lab partner asks as I measure out our ingredients. He's done nothing but hit on the girls at the surrounding tables.
"Yes." I reply flatly, firmly. The boy gives a hum of interest. I can't seem to recall his name, but I think it started with a Kawa-something-or-other. Kawamura, I think.
I end up doing most of the work until about halfway through class, when the boy jostles into me. I can't tell if it was on purpose or if he did it by accident, but hell if I care. My hand get entirely too close to the safety flame of the Bunsen burner, and I shove it under cold water as soon as I can hurry to the sinks at the back of the room. I then realize, with great displeasure and a rising sense of fury, that Kawamura the Killer is right beside me, grinning as he leans closer. I raise an eyebrow.
"Go back and finish our labs." I say with irritation. The shorthaired buffoon chooses to stay entirely too close. I resist the urge (just barely) to give him a black eye. Violence or not, I don't have much self-control left today. We manage to scrape by.
The blue-haired wonder is seething by the time we get to our next class. Most of it is probably because he had to actually work and got told off by the science teacher. Watching was both concerning and amusing. "I have a game today." I say as we go up to the rooftop. "So I'll be home later than usual." The bluenette makes a noise of acknowledgement.
Game prep is a daylong event, in my eyes. Two days, really. Most of it is getting mentally prepared, eating as healthy as humanly possible (especially on limited funds), and drinking a plethora of water or sports drinks. I normally save any sports drinks until the game is underway.
Today is promising to be scorching. I haven't had to play in this sort of heat for a while, but I'm sure it'll be fine. The usual crowd of parents is huddled underneath a tent to shield them from the sun. Lucky them. The rest of us make do with the shade of the dugout.
Heat waves are practically visible off the baking clay. I think the only people who get any respite from the heat are those benched, and the outfielders, since the grass doesn't usually get all that hot. I'm just happy it isn't turf, since that would add another five to ten degrees. Then again, we'd all suffer equally. Kidding, kidding. I don't want my teammates to suffer at all.
I'm not catching today. At least, not yet. I'm taking up third base since our usual third baseman went and got herself a broken leg. I don't know how, and I'm not sure I want to know. Something about stairs and sprinklers. Or maybe soccer. I can't really remember. All I know is that the dirt is reflecting heat back up onto my face, and I'm very, very glad I've invested in sunscreen.
The game is more quickly paced than our others. I think we're playing Kaijou, based on the color of the uniforms, but I haven't had a chance to properly read the kanji scrawled across their jerseys. There's just one thing I don't like about this team. Just the one, and it isn't that they're giving us some healthy competition. I cannot stand the way their third baseman is looking at me.
I mean sure, yeah, we could make this personal, claim that she just wants to assess my skill in relation to hers, or we can call it for what it is. I see murderous intent, and it isn't sitting well with me. Or maybe she's glaring because the sun is so horribly torturous today, and it's putting just about everyone in a foul mood, including the sweet, if somewhat calculating, Hayashi. She's already snapped at one of the benched girls and expressed her displeasure about our separated battery combo to me. It's nothing I can help, so I choose to let it slide.
The ball is coming my way, and just as I'm about to snap it up for what could be the easiest play of my life, some massive wall of flesh runs me over. I'm not talking face down, eat dirt, crunch-crunch-crunch. I'm talking flying back a couple feet. Everything is dark for a few moments. Then I hear a horrendous thump, and a great numbness spreads across my neck and the back of my head.
Someone is talking to me. I don't know who, and I'm not entirely sure why, but I'm hoping things will get a little clearer. I can't even understand anything very clearly. I realize that slowly, surely, I can open my eyes. Things are far too bright. My ears are ringing. Why am I curled up in a ball? Pain comes swelling back into the picture. Why am I crying? Landing like this is uncomfortable. Did I cleat myself? Part of my shin is throbbing like there's no tomorrow. "Alex?" My hands are curled around my head like it'll protect me from another hit, but there's no hit to expect.
I wait for things to focus. "Don't get up too soon. Only when you're ready." A melodious voice filters to my ears, drowning out the incessant ringing. I push myself up into a sitting position. "Can you tell me your name?"
"Alex." I say somewhat slowly. "My name is Alex Heights." Something, no, someone is rubbing circles on my back as I push myself into a more upright position.
"Don't get up if it feels like you're dizzy or nauseous. We're not rushed for time. Go slow." I'm trying to get myself back into control.
"Haicchi!" Is that Ryouta? "Hai!" "Alex!" My name is ringing through my ears, and I'm not gonna lie, it's a little worrying. I'm a little dizzy, so it takes me a few minutes to get to my feet, where I waver uncertainly. Pain is blooming across the back of my skull. My neck is screaming of whiplash. I grit my teeth and try to stand.
I suppose they key word in that sentence is try. I teeter uncertainly. I'm still trying to see straight, but things are getting clearer and I'm blocking out anything that could disturb my fragile certainty. It takes a while, a long while, for me to attempt walking. I nearly crash to my knees at the first step, and it takes me another few minutes to persuade them that I'm perfectly okay. I jog up and down the foul line a couple times to get myself back in motion. "I'm fine." I say. My speech is a little sluggish. "Perfectly fine. I can play out the rest of the game." Coach looks dubiously at me, but allows me on the field on the condition that I take catcher, not because it's somehow less demanding or any safer, but just because I'm close to an umpire, it'll be easier to keep an eye on me, and the gear should provide me with some amount of protection, given it doesn't give me heatstroke.
As I gear up and take a couple pitches from Hayashi, tossing down to second on the last throw. "Haicchi, are you sure you can play-ssu?" I glance at the blond through a section of the backstop.
"What are you doing here, Ryou?" I ask, waiting for the batter to come back into the box. "I'm fine." I'll be the first to admit that maybe I'm not as okay as I like to say I am, but I'm more than capable of playing. I feel better than ever, more energized than before, although a gloom hangs about my thoughts. I see no harm in continuing to play. After all, this game isn't any fun unless you give it your all. Otherwise it's slow and torturous, boring and tedious. Maybe it's just me. No game is fun without some first rate competition coming from the other dugout. I'm more than ready to play this out until the end. Our victory is almost completely assured at this point. I'm more than confident of it.
All appears to be well until the third baseman comes around to third again. The opposing third baseman, that is. I'm less than happy to see her there, practically staring me down with eyes like coals. I'm ready for her this time. My teeth are gritted, my jaw is set, and my eyes are steady. I'm not afraid of a little pain. After all, if there's anything I know how to do, it's how to take a beating. I've been doing it for years on end. I'm not afraid of cleats or bats or hell, even boys who should be jailed, anymore. I'm not afraid of getting hurt.
She comes, like I expect her to, cleats high, smirk carving across her face. This play is mine, and I'm ready for it. I won't hurt her, no, not purposely. If she just so happens to break her ankle, well, what can I say? I hope her impact with me jars her. Her leg is rigid when it should be ready to flex and give way to the force soon to be exerted on it. Oh, well. I've seen enough. I wait for the spiked cleat, with gleaming metal, to crash into me once more.
It's not as messy as I thought it would be. It's quick, clean, and obvious who has won. I stop the brat a good half a foot from the plate with my body. Her cleat is actually stuck in my chest protector, meaning that she must sharpen her spikes. My glove, ball inside, presses firmly against her leg. Then I watch, with amusement, as she tugs her spikes free, kicking me by "accident," and fleeing for the safety of her dugout. If her coach has any sense at all, he'll pull her before she disgraces her team.
All seems like it's going exceptionally well. That is, until I spin a little too fast and have to ask for time. My head is spinning. I can hardly see straight. "I don't think I'm okay anymore." I squeak to the umpire. "I'm going to throw up."
Gear is pried off me hurriedly as I get increasingly greener. It takes two to haul my sorry ass off the field as my stomach attempts acrobatics. "Lie down!"
Three girls are hustled off the bench, gear is shoved aside, and I'm pushed onto the bench and forced to lie on my back. It wouldn't be quite so bad if a frigid rag hadn't started to numb my forehead, and if a ton of questions weren't being fired my way.
"Where are you from? How old are you? When is your birthday?"
"The States, sixteen..." I'm blanking rather badly on the last question. "Birthday... November 7." Yeah, that date makes sense. It definitely makes sense now that I think about it.
"How did you get hit?" My mind goes blank.
"Could... could you repeat that, please?" Something stressful is pushing at the back of my mind as I force my way up.
"How did you get hit, Hai-chan?" I scowl as I try to wrack my memory. "Do you know?"
"Did someone hit me? I probably tripped. I can be clumsy." I murmur.
"What's the date today?" Anxiety is building as I shake my head slowly. I don't know today's date. "How did you get to school today?" My lip is trembling, so I bite down on it to keep it still.
"I don't know." I say slowly. "I don't remember. Is Daiki here? Daiki knows. He never comes, so never mind."
"Hai-chan, can you tell me what you ate for breakfast? Or anything you ate yesterday?" My mouth opens and closes like a fish's as I attempt to recall things that should easily come to mind.
"I can't recall." I say once more. I look out at the field. "How long as this game been going on?" All I see are wide eyes.
"Hai-chan...You have a concussion. Do you feel any numbness or tingling? Does anything feel strange?"
"My head hurts and my neck doesn't want to turn." I reply, "But other than that, I feel fine! Did I trip? Is that it? I should tie my shoes more often." Who is this person talking to me? I don't think I've met them before. "Coach, tell them I'm fine!"
Coach Harasawa only shakes his head. "Come with me, okay?" I blink in surprise.
"Am I in trouble?" I don't understand why this person keeps questioning me, and why Coach isn't doing anything about it. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Come with me to the stands. I want you to tell me if you recognize anyone there." He says firmly. I frown before following him, my cleats making awkward clicks against the scorching cement.
It's nothing but a surprise for me to see a few familiar faces. "Ryouta? What are you doing here?" I ask as the bubbly blond strides over and starts to fuss over me. I scan the stands once more. "What are Daiki and Satsuki doing here? They never come to games like these. You three have got to be boiling."
"Haicchi, that was a nasty fall! What's wrong?" The blond watches as I give him a look of confusion.
"I fell?" I look back at Coach. "I fell? Is that why I'm out here? It's probably nothing. I'm fine!" The dark-haired man only narrows his eyes further as he looks at me.
"Haicchi, you don't remember-ssu?" I can see the pinkette and Daiki walking over quickly.
"Daiki and Satsuki are here? Why? Ryou, why are you here?" When did these three show up? Why are they all looking at me like I'm crazy? A bunch of rapid Japanese flies over my head as Ryouta and Harasawa talk, only for Satsuki to butt in, Daiki in tow.
"Why am I out here?" I ask. Something uneasy is settling in my chest. "We have a game? Why aren't I playing?" Something is missing here, and I can't recall what it is, other than a feeling of mild horror. I look up at the blond and the bluenette in turn, my lower lip quivering once more.
"Why does my head hurt?"