Hey y'all. Sorry, this hasn't been updated in a rather long time. Update is here. We're going to pretend that hockey is a PE unit in April.
Dedicated to BTRFanatic13 because I just love her and she said she's all caught up on this story, so I'll give her something to catch up on.
Enjoy! Happy reading!
He was fine. He was perfectly placid, content, calm enough to function.
It was gym class, and while he didn't have a particular liking for middle school physical education class, he appreciated they were playing hockey. Floor hockey, with some safety modifications, but at least he knew how to play that.
He was one of the fastest on the team, and he assumed his skills would transfer from the ice to the floor fairly easily. He assumed wrong, because in less than two seconds, on the first day of the unit, he had been checked in the face and slammed into the mats on the wall.
On the first day of the unit, much of the class time had been used as a discussion period about the origins and history of hockey. This was good, because Logan knew most of these answers. His participation grade wasn;'t all that good in gym class, so he raked up some extra points.
Luckily, due to the amount of class time spent on discussion, after Logan slammed into the boards, the bell rang and he could legally run into the locker room, change fast, and head to algebra.
He was already dreading the second day of gym class.
Unfortunately for him, his gym classes spanned across three consecutive days. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Kendall had the same gym period as him, so at least he knew it wouldn't be too bad. Kendall was expecting the harsh checking now. Yesterday, he hadn't been.
Logan would probably be fine.
That was, if he could get out of the locker room. As of right now, he couldn't, he didn't know why.
Kendall had gotten changed faster than him, as usual, so he was already out there. Logan had gotten weird looks from everyone else who passed him on their way out. Pretty soon, he was the only boy left in the locker room. And he couldn't move.
He could hear everyone from the gym, it was, in reality, only a few yards away. It looked like miles from his spot to anywhere else. He couldn't move.
They had started their recap discussion.
"Where's Logan?" the teacher asked.
"He was just in the locker room," Kendall replied. "I should—"
But the teacher told him to sit down. The discussion continued.
No one knew the answers to any of the questions. Logan was the only one who actually paid attention, who remembered what the teacher talked about. He had a knack for memorizing rules especially. He knew the rules of hockey so well. That was, ice hockey. He was pretty sure you weren't supposed to check people into the boards while playing floor hockey.
But he can't go over there and tell anyone that. His feet are still planted firmly on the ground.
He twists his hands together. He should be able to solve this, easily. This is a simple problem with a simple solution.
Simple problem: he can't move,
Simple solution: take a step forward and move.
So why isn't he doing that? Why isn't he moving?
He hears one of the boys yell as they are checked into the mats. He hears the clattering of the hard plastic hockey sticks against a puck made of some tough rubber material. It sounds nothing like real hockey. Real hockey doesn't frustrate him this much. Not just from hearing it.
It hurts.
The teacher blows a whistle, sharp and piercing through the noise. Everything is silent.
For that, he should be grateful, but he can't be, because the sharpness of the whistle has already messed him up enough.
All he can do is stand there, pressing his hands against his ears, muttering to himself, because this is stupid.
—
What's stupider is how he cries. He cries when everyone's back in the locker room. They're all too busy, talking, laughing, changing, to notice what he's doing. Kendall, as usual, does notice him.
He wraps his arm over his shoulders, leading him to a more secluded corner of the locker room. "Logan?"
"I–I didn't go out. I was—I was going to, but I just—"
Kendall shushes him, telling him that they're going to talk to the teacher now. Kendall leads him out of the locker room, and Logan tries to turn back. He already knows he's in trouble, he doesn't need Kendall to be here to see it. But Kendall wouldn't leave for anything.
The teacher is talking. He cuts to the chase, not sparing any time to register that Logan is full-on sobbing in front of him. He just talks.
Logan doesn't catch much of it.
Just: "I'm going to have to write you up for a cut."
Cutting class. He didn't cut class, he wanted to go out there. He had technically remained in the general area of the physical education class. And, he couldn't have moved for the whole hour that the class lasted. That wasn't his fault.
He attempts to explain this, but he can't, because he's crying harder now.
The teacher is going to write him up for a cut, and he doesn't cut class! His mom will be mad, everyone will be mad, everyone will be confused—he can't even think properly.
The teacher blows his whistle again, departing. There was no need to blow the whistle.
It's echoing in his ears, rattling in his skull.
"No," he says. "No, no."
He just cries harder.
—
It's another disastrous dinner. It's veggie pizza, Kendall's favorite, and he can't even eat.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" his mom asks, placing two slices on his plate anyway. Just in case he miraculously works up an appetite again, which he won't. But he smiles at her, at least she's making an effort.
He sighed. "It's—"
But Katie's there, right across from him. She's got a normal appetite, she's eating. She's fine.
There's no way Kendall is explaining this with Katie right there. He didn't explain himself to her last time, he didn't need to. He barely wanted to explain this to his mother. He didn't understand it, not completely, and he didn't want her to worry about something she couldn't fix.
Logan was his best friend, Kendall could probably fix it somehow. He just didn't know how yet. That was okay for now, it always took a little while for a plan to come to him. Plans required planning, and that was fine.
As long as this plan revealed itself in a few minutes.
"It's—just school."
That's not a lie, he hates lying to Katie and his mom. But it's not a lie. It is school, it happened in gym class, which was a class at school. It was just school. That was true, if not vague.
"Did you get a bad grade, Kendall?" Katie asked. "A kid in my class isn't good at reading, so he got a bad grade, and he cried."
Kendall restrained himself. He wouldn't slam his hand down on the table, he wouldn't get frustrated or upset. Not in front of Katie. Not in front of his mom. Not over this.
Because, he was mad, and he was frustrated, but when he acted on it—
He wouldn't act on it yet. He waited until he was the only one awake.
He was certain he had done this around the same time last year.
He punches the wall. It's the same spot.
The wall cracks easily.