The Learning Curve
Chapter 2
Cipu
It was a typical first-five-weeks girl's gym class at Green Meadows High School. Sex ed., more sex ed., and more sex ed. I've heard so damn much about what the stupid coach calls "Aunt Flo", I'm going to puke. Why does she have to refer to periods like that? Does she think we're stupid? All I know is, only the girls get subjected to the Sex Ed. torment. The guys- well, the guys usually play soccer or touch football or something. But we have to change into our jerseys and bloomers, just the same. Just to sit there and re-learn about the, ahem, female cycle. Like we've never seen a pad or tampon in our lives. Why don't they just buckle down and get to "where babies come from", huh? Around here they seem to think girls have the intellect of kindergartners, anyway.
Well, today, we were lucky. The coach's little disgusting lecture was over fifteen minutes early, so we were ordered to sit and watch the guys play soccer.
I don't really take notice of the guys' class that often, but, playing offense, I saw the long-haired boy that beat me at chess and helped me up after my thrashing, the guy with the number "17" on the back of his gym jersey. The popular girls were just staring at him, drooling. But, then again, they stare and drool at anything that moves on two legs and reeks of testosterone. God, my lab mice are smarter than they are. The normal ones, that is.
The ball was passed to the guy-with-the-17-on-the-back-of-his-jersey - oh, hell, I'll just call him "what's-his-name" for short- and he was very adept in his handling of the ball and kicking, almost catlike in his movements and reflexes. "What's-his-name" was ganged up on by members of the other team's defense, but he didn't care. He just stood motionless for a while, the ball near his feet, and flicked his right earring.
The next thing I knew, he was standing by the goal with the ball, about to score. No one could touch him. He kicked it hard in, and...
GOAL!
The popular girls were looking at him all googly-eyed, like he was a celebrity or something. The other guys just stood there, scratching their heads in amazement.
"Crap, that kid's weird", I overheard one of his classmates say to another.
"I'll say, but maybe he should try out for the team! He's amazing!"
I have to agree with that sentiment. There was something about him, something unusual. But I couldn't quite place what...
Maybe I should observe him more.
They guys' class, done with their soccer game, walked by us.
"What's-his-name" glanced over in my general direction.
"Umm... hi. You did a nice job with that goal," I said hesitatingly.
"Thanks."
"Umm... do you want to meet me at my locker after school?"
"Are we going to play more chess?"
"If you want."
"Where is your locker?"
"You remember where first period study hall is? It's right around there, locker number 1030."
"Okay, see you then." He walked away.
I staggered back to the girls' locker room, knowing I had to change back into my uniform.
What was with that boy?
The thought cycled over and over in my head. Sadly, the more I thought about it, the less apparent the answer seemed.
I folded up my jersey and bloomers, put them in my gym locker, and pulled on my skirt and blouse.
God, I have to stop thinking about "What's-his-name" and prepare my brain for literature next period. Calm down, Cipu. It's not the end of the world... it's just another guy.
