Some of you wanted the weekend. Some of you wanted me to skip it.
So I, in the Canadian spirit of Wilfrid Laurier, struck a
compromise. What was this brilliant compromise, you ask? Read and
find out.
CHAPTER EIGHT - - - - - - - - - - -
"The weekend should be longer," drawled Bryan lazily. The lavender- haired boy was sprawled across Tala's bed, feet hanging off the spread to drag across the clothes-strewn floor. The redhead himself was propped up on the windowsill, scribbling madly on his clipboard, and merely nodded his head in assent.
Then there was silence. The dying sun outside that gave today its name was now almost invisible beneath the horizon, and with it, the birds stilled their song. Finally, Tala looked up, crystal blue eyes questioning. "Bry, what the hell are you doing?"
For his childhood friend was hanging from the ceiling.
"I'm hanging from the ceiling."
"Well, duh. Get down from there before you break the light fixture thing."
"Oh, let him have his fun," interjected Ivan. The shorter teen was leaning against the doorframe, eyes half-closed in lethargic amusement.
"Hey! It's my room! Sergei, knock some sense into those two idiots."
The chestnut-blonde rolled over from his comfortable position on the floor. "Hm? Oh, I give him three minutes before he falls."
"No way," argued Ivan. "He only lasted one-and-a-half last time, and now he's heavier. One minute, tops."
"Your faith in me is astounding."
"I said, get off my ceiling! Dad wasn't too happy with last week's hole, and now you're gonna break the light, too?"
"I'm not going to break it..."
"Yeah, he'll just damage it heavily."
"Oh, and that's sooo much better. Bry, get down NOW."
"...Fine."
The tall youth swung his long legs down from the 'light fixture thing' to land lightly on the bed, when said piece of furniture collapsed. With a strangled yell, Bryan collapsed upon the floor, disturbing quite a bit of dust that billowed about his prone body in a manner amusingly similar to the trail left by the Road Runner of Saturday cartoon fame. Except for the fact that the being that had made this particular cloud of grime wasn't moving.
"Uh... Bryan, you okay, man?"
"...No. I think I..." Bryan paused, not too sure how his soccer captain would take the news. "I think I twisted my ankle." There was a pregnant pause, in which, as one, Ivan and Sergei turned to Tala to gauge his probably violent reaction.
They were not disappointed.
"KUZNETSOV, YOU MORONIC, INCOMPETENT, WORTHLESS WORM!!! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!? YOU'RE MY BLOODY RIGHT FORWARD!!!"
The scream of rage had hardly ceased echoing before the sounds of a very angry teenager racing around began.
The two friends not involved shuffled a few paces back before plopping back down onto the floor to watch the carnage. "Well," offered Sergei, "it could have been worse."
"Yeah, it could have been us." [AN: If anybody can tell me where those lines came from, I'll give 'em a cookie.]
- - - - - - - - - - -
Come Monday, the news of Bryan Kuznetsov's literal fall from grace had traveled from the lowest, gangly, flat-chested freshman to the teachers' lounge. Mr. Yagami had, naturally, taken it the worst, and all those in his homeroom could see that now would not be a good time to tell him that somebody had placed glue on his seat (he found out anyway. It would have been hard not to).
The announcement that the final team list would be pasted upon the Athletics Board after school wasn't helping things. Before, there had been some talk of the pending soccer season. Now, the buzz that reverberated around Bakuten High rivaled a colony of bees in its noise. Energy and adrenalin was running high, and even the usually impassive instructors were beginning to get a little sidetracked (as proven by the Geography teacher Ms. Lang's use of the inflatable globe of the world as a soccer ball).
Kai, being Kai, was doing a commendable job of ignoring the hype. Admittedly, it was getting harder and harder as dismissal drew closer, seeing as he was being constantly swamped by well-wishers. Honestly, it didn't really matter if he had their luck, or their compliments: he would either make the team or be cut regardless of their comments.
The other boys who had tried out were in similar positions, although they, for some reason, had a few less supporters than the slate-haired teen.
Slumped in his seat in his second-to-last-period Math class, Kai wondered if he could sprain his ankle as well. After all, Bryan had managed it, somehow. Although, glancing up at the ceiling, a slight smirk flickering across his features, perhaps dangling from the fluorescent tube lighting wasn't so much of an option.
- - - - - - - - - - -
"Hey! Watch it!"
"YOU watch it! That's my friggin' head!"
"I can't see!"
"Neither can fifty other people!"
"My foot's going numb."
"I need an aspirin."
"OY!"
"OUCH!"
"I am SO glad I'm not claustrophobic."
And so it was that half the school's population (staff, students, et. al.) attempted to peer over one others' shoulders, push each other out of the way, and generally create chaos, havoc and pain as they tried to read the newly posted team list. The proceedings did nothing for the uber-short Kyoujyu as he tried not to get squished. Finally, the bespectacled boy gave up and backed away from the crowd, eyes (hidden as they were behind shaggy brown bangs) scanning for his friends.
Every so often, Takao's loud, unmistakable holler could be heard above the screams of agony and surprise, but that was all the indication poor Kyoujyu had that the midnight-haired boy and Max had not yet been killed by the overwhelming horde. Unwilling to venture into the metaphorical jaws of death again, the brunette turned to regard Rei. The Chinese teen was leaning against the wall beside Kyoujyu, a decidedly unbalanced glint in his amber eyes.
He seemed to be muttering to himself.
"...four, five, six, no, wait, did that count?, seven..."
"Uh, Rei? What are you doing?"
"Eight, nine, counting casualties, ten, eleven..."
Knowing that conversing with the raven-haired youth would be impossible once said boy was in his sadistically amused mood that was normally only brought on by stressful days and late nights (actually, now that Kyoujyu thought about it, Rei had probably had his fair share of both of those lately, what with soccer season starting and all), Kyoujyu took up his own place on the wall. The cold plaster on his back was not entirely comfortable, but it was certainly preferable to the suffocating mob. Observing it all through slightly fearful eyes, the brunette was reminded yet again why he wasn't interested in sports.
Suddenly, a piercing shriek resounded through the air. Neither Rei nor Kyoujyu had to look up from the fallen bodies and the oh-so- fascinating linoleum floor respectively to identify the shrieker. Almost immediately after the initial screech, the bouncy, hyper, overjoyed form of Takao could be seen (or heard, actually, from the outraged yells of anguish that marked the happy boy's passage through the mass) bounding through the crowd, one arm stretched upward towards the sky in a gesture of glee and victory.
"I MADE IT!! I MADE THE TEAM!!"
The declaration, normally deafening, was considerably muted in comparison to the surging mob's noise, but bespectacled boy and Chinese teen both heard it. Rei immediately abandoned his tally of wounded and raced over to Takao to offer his congratulations. Kyoujyu was equally elated, as was Max, who had just managed to extricate himself from the seething throng.
"My hearty and congenial well-wishes, Takao. I am overjoyed that you would have achieved that wish you have worked for—"
"Aw, cool the geek-speak for a sec, Kyoujyu! Takao can't even understand it!"
"Takao can't understand a lot of things, Max."
"HEY! Don't I get some sort of congratulations or something?"
"I believe I have already offered them."
"Oh, is THAT what you were talking about...?"
Around them, the crowd was just beginning to disperse, some with large, beaming grins as large as Takao's, but most with slightly disappointed expressions. As the four friends moved off down the hallway with their fellows, on their way home, none noticed the shadowy figure that had been standing a little ways down the corridor, garnet eyes narrowed in speculation.
Now, the form stepped further into the light to examine the team listing. Blood-red irises widened upon reading what was written there.
'The following players have been selected for the 2003-2004 boys' soccer team. All new members are designated with an asterisk. By trying out, all who were chosen have consented to performing ALL duties assigned to them. First practice is in two days: Wednesday, after school, the field. Those listed are expected to be there, no exceptions.
Beaufort, Olivier *
Chen, Lai
Foreman, Matt *
Giordano, Enrique *
Hiwatari, Kai *
Ivanov, Tala
Jordan, Steve
Jurgen, Robert
Kinomiya, Takao *
Kiselev, Ivan
Kon, Rei
Kuznetsov, Bryan
McGreggor, Johnny
Parker, Michael *
Savin, Sergei
Takahashi, Ichiro *
Wu, Kevin * '
Crimson orbs rested slightly longer on the third sentence, the fifth name, and the twelfth name. Kai wasn't that surprised that he'd made the team (it would have been quite a blow to his ego had he not; failing just wasn't in his vocabulary), but he was curious as to how Bryan's injury would affect the team.
But it wouldn't be influencing him directly, so he didn't pursue that train of thought for much longer, choosing to drift away from the Athletics Board towards the exit instead.
At least, he didn't *think* Bryan's injury would be influencing him directly...
- - - - - - - - - - -
To be Continued
Though it seemed a good place to stop, this particular chapter seems a bit... shorter. Usually I keep writing until the crick in my back from hunching over my keyboard causes me temporary paralysis, but the well of inspiration went dry early today.
If anybody chances a guess as to where I'm going with Bry's sprained ankle affecting Kai's position on the team, I'll give him or her a cookie. Wait, I already promised a cookie to whoever could tell me where Ivan and Sergei's conversation came from.
Damnit, that's two too many cookies gone. *goes off to sulk and hope that nobody knows the answers to her questions*
CHAPTER EIGHT - - - - - - - - - - -
"The weekend should be longer," drawled Bryan lazily. The lavender- haired boy was sprawled across Tala's bed, feet hanging off the spread to drag across the clothes-strewn floor. The redhead himself was propped up on the windowsill, scribbling madly on his clipboard, and merely nodded his head in assent.
Then there was silence. The dying sun outside that gave today its name was now almost invisible beneath the horizon, and with it, the birds stilled their song. Finally, Tala looked up, crystal blue eyes questioning. "Bry, what the hell are you doing?"
For his childhood friend was hanging from the ceiling.
"I'm hanging from the ceiling."
"Well, duh. Get down from there before you break the light fixture thing."
"Oh, let him have his fun," interjected Ivan. The shorter teen was leaning against the doorframe, eyes half-closed in lethargic amusement.
"Hey! It's my room! Sergei, knock some sense into those two idiots."
The chestnut-blonde rolled over from his comfortable position on the floor. "Hm? Oh, I give him three minutes before he falls."
"No way," argued Ivan. "He only lasted one-and-a-half last time, and now he's heavier. One minute, tops."
"Your faith in me is astounding."
"I said, get off my ceiling! Dad wasn't too happy with last week's hole, and now you're gonna break the light, too?"
"I'm not going to break it..."
"Yeah, he'll just damage it heavily."
"Oh, and that's sooo much better. Bry, get down NOW."
"...Fine."
The tall youth swung his long legs down from the 'light fixture thing' to land lightly on the bed, when said piece of furniture collapsed. With a strangled yell, Bryan collapsed upon the floor, disturbing quite a bit of dust that billowed about his prone body in a manner amusingly similar to the trail left by the Road Runner of Saturday cartoon fame. Except for the fact that the being that had made this particular cloud of grime wasn't moving.
"Uh... Bryan, you okay, man?"
"...No. I think I..." Bryan paused, not too sure how his soccer captain would take the news. "I think I twisted my ankle." There was a pregnant pause, in which, as one, Ivan and Sergei turned to Tala to gauge his probably violent reaction.
They were not disappointed.
"KUZNETSOV, YOU MORONIC, INCOMPETENT, WORTHLESS WORM!!! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!? YOU'RE MY BLOODY RIGHT FORWARD!!!"
The scream of rage had hardly ceased echoing before the sounds of a very angry teenager racing around began.
The two friends not involved shuffled a few paces back before plopping back down onto the floor to watch the carnage. "Well," offered Sergei, "it could have been worse."
"Yeah, it could have been us." [AN: If anybody can tell me where those lines came from, I'll give 'em a cookie.]
- - - - - - - - - - -
Come Monday, the news of Bryan Kuznetsov's literal fall from grace had traveled from the lowest, gangly, flat-chested freshman to the teachers' lounge. Mr. Yagami had, naturally, taken it the worst, and all those in his homeroom could see that now would not be a good time to tell him that somebody had placed glue on his seat (he found out anyway. It would have been hard not to).
The announcement that the final team list would be pasted upon the Athletics Board after school wasn't helping things. Before, there had been some talk of the pending soccer season. Now, the buzz that reverberated around Bakuten High rivaled a colony of bees in its noise. Energy and adrenalin was running high, and even the usually impassive instructors were beginning to get a little sidetracked (as proven by the Geography teacher Ms. Lang's use of the inflatable globe of the world as a soccer ball).
Kai, being Kai, was doing a commendable job of ignoring the hype. Admittedly, it was getting harder and harder as dismissal drew closer, seeing as he was being constantly swamped by well-wishers. Honestly, it didn't really matter if he had their luck, or their compliments: he would either make the team or be cut regardless of their comments.
The other boys who had tried out were in similar positions, although they, for some reason, had a few less supporters than the slate-haired teen.
Slumped in his seat in his second-to-last-period Math class, Kai wondered if he could sprain his ankle as well. After all, Bryan had managed it, somehow. Although, glancing up at the ceiling, a slight smirk flickering across his features, perhaps dangling from the fluorescent tube lighting wasn't so much of an option.
- - - - - - - - - - -
"Hey! Watch it!"
"YOU watch it! That's my friggin' head!"
"I can't see!"
"Neither can fifty other people!"
"My foot's going numb."
"I need an aspirin."
"OY!"
"OUCH!"
"I am SO glad I'm not claustrophobic."
And so it was that half the school's population (staff, students, et. al.) attempted to peer over one others' shoulders, push each other out of the way, and generally create chaos, havoc and pain as they tried to read the newly posted team list. The proceedings did nothing for the uber-short Kyoujyu as he tried not to get squished. Finally, the bespectacled boy gave up and backed away from the crowd, eyes (hidden as they were behind shaggy brown bangs) scanning for his friends.
Every so often, Takao's loud, unmistakable holler could be heard above the screams of agony and surprise, but that was all the indication poor Kyoujyu had that the midnight-haired boy and Max had not yet been killed by the overwhelming horde. Unwilling to venture into the metaphorical jaws of death again, the brunette turned to regard Rei. The Chinese teen was leaning against the wall beside Kyoujyu, a decidedly unbalanced glint in his amber eyes.
He seemed to be muttering to himself.
"...four, five, six, no, wait, did that count?, seven..."
"Uh, Rei? What are you doing?"
"Eight, nine, counting casualties, ten, eleven..."
Knowing that conversing with the raven-haired youth would be impossible once said boy was in his sadistically amused mood that was normally only brought on by stressful days and late nights (actually, now that Kyoujyu thought about it, Rei had probably had his fair share of both of those lately, what with soccer season starting and all), Kyoujyu took up his own place on the wall. The cold plaster on his back was not entirely comfortable, but it was certainly preferable to the suffocating mob. Observing it all through slightly fearful eyes, the brunette was reminded yet again why he wasn't interested in sports.
Suddenly, a piercing shriek resounded through the air. Neither Rei nor Kyoujyu had to look up from the fallen bodies and the oh-so- fascinating linoleum floor respectively to identify the shrieker. Almost immediately after the initial screech, the bouncy, hyper, overjoyed form of Takao could be seen (or heard, actually, from the outraged yells of anguish that marked the happy boy's passage through the mass) bounding through the crowd, one arm stretched upward towards the sky in a gesture of glee and victory.
"I MADE IT!! I MADE THE TEAM!!"
The declaration, normally deafening, was considerably muted in comparison to the surging mob's noise, but bespectacled boy and Chinese teen both heard it. Rei immediately abandoned his tally of wounded and raced over to Takao to offer his congratulations. Kyoujyu was equally elated, as was Max, who had just managed to extricate himself from the seething throng.
"My hearty and congenial well-wishes, Takao. I am overjoyed that you would have achieved that wish you have worked for—"
"Aw, cool the geek-speak for a sec, Kyoujyu! Takao can't even understand it!"
"Takao can't understand a lot of things, Max."
"HEY! Don't I get some sort of congratulations or something?"
"I believe I have already offered them."
"Oh, is THAT what you were talking about...?"
Around them, the crowd was just beginning to disperse, some with large, beaming grins as large as Takao's, but most with slightly disappointed expressions. As the four friends moved off down the hallway with their fellows, on their way home, none noticed the shadowy figure that had been standing a little ways down the corridor, garnet eyes narrowed in speculation.
Now, the form stepped further into the light to examine the team listing. Blood-red irises widened upon reading what was written there.
'The following players have been selected for the 2003-2004 boys' soccer team. All new members are designated with an asterisk. By trying out, all who were chosen have consented to performing ALL duties assigned to them. First practice is in two days: Wednesday, after school, the field. Those listed are expected to be there, no exceptions.
Beaufort, Olivier *
Chen, Lai
Foreman, Matt *
Giordano, Enrique *
Hiwatari, Kai *
Ivanov, Tala
Jordan, Steve
Jurgen, Robert
Kinomiya, Takao *
Kiselev, Ivan
Kon, Rei
Kuznetsov, Bryan
McGreggor, Johnny
Parker, Michael *
Savin, Sergei
Takahashi, Ichiro *
Wu, Kevin * '
Crimson orbs rested slightly longer on the third sentence, the fifth name, and the twelfth name. Kai wasn't that surprised that he'd made the team (it would have been quite a blow to his ego had he not; failing just wasn't in his vocabulary), but he was curious as to how Bryan's injury would affect the team.
But it wouldn't be influencing him directly, so he didn't pursue that train of thought for much longer, choosing to drift away from the Athletics Board towards the exit instead.
At least, he didn't *think* Bryan's injury would be influencing him directly...
- - - - - - - - - - -
To be Continued
Though it seemed a good place to stop, this particular chapter seems a bit... shorter. Usually I keep writing until the crick in my back from hunching over my keyboard causes me temporary paralysis, but the well of inspiration went dry early today.
If anybody chances a guess as to where I'm going with Bry's sprained ankle affecting Kai's position on the team, I'll give him or her a cookie. Wait, I already promised a cookie to whoever could tell me where Ivan and Sergei's conversation came from.
Damnit, that's two too many cookies gone. *goes off to sulk and hope that nobody knows the answers to her questions*
