Physical Education is the pits. No pun intended.
It's the only way in the world you could find twenty teenagers hanging from a jungle gym being chastised by a single, solitary, evil PE teacher.
And to think they say tyranny is dead.
"Can't… breathe…" Lane gasped, gripping the bar as if her life depended on it, "Gonna let go now…"
Rory shot her a wild glance, "No Lane you can't let go! Don't let go Rose, don't let go!"
"Too bad Jack. Bye…"
"Bye? No bye don't—
Too late. Lane was down.
Rory looked around. Most of the kids, like Lane, had already dropped from the bar and were taking the time to stop the spastic attack on their arms. Her eyes locked with Jess', who, god forbid, hadn't let go yet.
He returned the frown, "Let go."
Rory glared, "You first."
"Oh, very mature."
"And this comes from the king of maturity himself. I'm honored."
"I'm not the one who eats Froot Loops for dinner."
"I wouldn't be talking Mr. Frosted-flakes-for-lunch."
"Let go."
"Like hell."
If they had noticed everyone had already dropped from the bar except them, and the awed expression on the evil PE teacher's face, maybe they would've stopped. But they didn't, and the bantering continued.
"Nice shoes," he remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"The better to kick you with, my dear."
"You couldn't kick a person if your life depended on it."
"Yes. You, however, don't count as a person. A spineless worm? Yes. A squirming little maggot? That too. But a person? You're dreaming."
"Then pinch me, because I would really like to wake up right now."
"I would, but my hands are attached to this bar here. I'll be sure to do so later. And maybe I'll even throw in a smack on the head or two, god knows you need it."
"Gee, you're too kind."
Meanwhile, the evil PE coach was getting very excited. Finally, he would not longer be an overweight, middleaged, take-out-for-dinner-every-night, scares-women-away-with-his-Al-Paccino-impression, guy. He would be an overweight, middleaged, take-out-for-dinner-every-night, scares-women-away-with-his-Al-Paccino-impression guy whose two PE students broke the school record for the longest arm hang.
He thought too soon. And as Jess and Rory engaged themselves in a furious foot-battle, all hope withered away from his poor soul.
"Hey!" the evil PE coach yelled, waving his arms, "No footsie! You only have 8 seconds till—
There was a crash. And with the two seething teenagers lying sprawled on the mat went the poor yet evil PE teacher's dream of ever becoming teacher of the year.
Half an hour later, Rory was left holding an ice pack to her head as Jess sat beside her in the nurse's office, fumbling with the rather unmasculine looking Hello Kitty band aid on his forehead.
And of course, Rory would have to name herself crazy not to take advantage of his humiliating situation, "Nice band aid. Very manly. Were they out of Dora the Explorers?"
"Shuddup. I'm not the one with the lump on my head."
"Yup. I have the lump. You have hello kitty."
Jess was in the middle of replying with some half assed comment when his pager began beeping. Scowl still fixed on his face, he fished it from his pocket and muttered to himself, mostly very impressive one line curses.
Rory watched on, amused, "Off to plant cherry bombs in the girl's bathroom?"
Jess scoffed, and after shoving the pager unceremoniously back into his pocket, pushed himself off the chair, "Wouldn't you like to know," he muttered darkly.
"Jess." He turned around, looking annoyed. Rory pointed to her forehead, "A piece of advice, I don't think your big thug friends will appreciate adorable kitty-cats the same way you do."
After watching Jess hastily rip the Hello Kitty band aid off his head, Rory settled back to stare at the clock ticking by. Wincing as she pressed a little to hard on the lovely blue bruise forming on her head.
"Stupid Jess," she grumbled.
Jess. The name brought back painful childhood memories. Mostly of disembodying sticky blue gum from her hair and crawling about feeling around for her glasses Jess had decided to hide under Smelly Nelly's chair. See? Painful.
She furrowed her eyebrows, what confused her though was he the fits of momentary generosity he would have occasionally. She would be bawling about her lost book and he'd hand her a tissue. Granted, it was he who had actually taken her book in the first place. And handing her the tissue was more like shoving it in her face and grumbling, 'Jeez stop crying already' but nevertheless, fits of generosity.
She groaned and buried her head in her hands, forgetting about the bruise momentarily. But only momentarily. She winced in pain and pressed the ice against her head, "Stupid."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Behold Lorelai Gilmore: the only mother that sends her child on late night break ins to the grocery store. And no, not because they were out of coffee, nor was it because they needed food. But because she had a really back craving for marshmallows. And no, not just the normal kind of marshmallows. Because, as Rory pointed out, they had normal marshmallows sitting right on top of the fridge.
"But I need my colors!" Lorelai whined.
"What about the white marshmallows? This is discrimination right here, Martin Luther would be very disappointed."
Nevertheless, Rory soon found herself being shoved out the door, despite of her protests.
Humming to herself as she returned from her trip to Doose's, colored marshmallows in hand, she stopped abruptly as she caught sight of a hunched figure shuffling slowly down the sidewalk.
As uneasy scenarios of shrunken clowns and chuckling Taylors carrying chainsaws ran through her head, she squinted in the darkness, "Hello?"
The figure grunted and uttered a few strings of very elaborate curses under his breath.
Recognition grazed her features. There was only one person that knew how to swear like that, she started towards him, "Jess? What are you doing in the middle of the sidewalk at night? Yes I realize stupidity plays a large factor in your inconceivably dense head but—holy crap!" she yelped, as she caught sight of his face, "What the heck did you do? Run through a firing squad?"
"Something like that," he muttered.
"Stupid," she remarked, rather unhelpfully. Which she realized and began to pull him towards her house.
He resisted, "What… the hell are you doing?" he questioned slowly,
"I don't want you falling over and dying all over my sidewalk. Cleaning up your blood on the driveway is not how I plan to spend my Thursday mornings."
"So you're letting me go in… your house?"
"Yes," she stopped to raise her eyebrows at him, "Do you have a problem with my house?"
Apparently yes considering he was looking at her as if she told him she was joining the mafia.
Rory stared at him impatiently, "Hey if you want to roll over and die, be my guest. I'd just rather you do it in a way that doesn't bloody and dirty up the front lawn."
He reluctantly trailed after her as she wandered over to the side of the house and pulled the window open, holding it in place as she gestured for him to climb in, "Ladies first."
Jess raised an eyebrow in question, "Wow. Making an injured guy crawl through the window. You're too nice."
"Hey, do you want to give my mother a panic attack? Poor thing just watched Chuckie, and I'm sure she won't hesitate to hit you across the head with a shovel and bury you under the house."
Jess grumbled something about disrespect towards the crippled under his breath but obliged, lifting himself up and tumbling over the ledge, wincing as he hit the floor.
"Okay Private Ryan," Rory said, crawling after him, "Remind me to send a letter of complaint to the firing squad. Next time they decide to attack you and beat you to a bloody pulp, I want dibs on the machine gun. And for a hospital ride to be included before you decide to scare the neighbors half to death with your Al Capone impression. Now that that's settled, where does it hurt?"
"Well to start with, my face is cut up."
"That's not too bad," Rory remarked, moving into the bathroom to find the first aid kit.
"Yeah, now add that with the pussing gash on my side, lovely blue bruises littered across my back, the weird pointy bone thing sticking out of my ankle, which, by the way, is twisted in a very disturbing angle, and you've got yourself a dead man in need of a hospital."
"… okay so moving past not too bad?"
"Try on the brink of screaming in agony and tearing my entire leg off all while smashing my head against the wall."
"Then with all due respect, I don't think you need a hospital. Try insane clinic. Or maybe a green room. Either would work."
Jess didn't bother to respond. Although the eye roll might suffice as a half response.
Rory stood in front of him, plopping his foot on a chair and holding the supplies one on each hand. Looking more like she was giving him a hair cut than anything, "Okay, so how's your foot."
Jess merely lifted the pant leg for her to see for herself.
She winced reflexively when she saw the damage, and tilted her head to the head, "How come your foot's backwards?"
"Long story."
Rory just stared at the foot, rubbing alcohol in hand.
"I think…" Jess said slowly, "You should start small."
"I think so too," She replied, still staring at his foot, "You know you're only supposed to have one ankle right?"
Jess held back a groan. This was going to be a long night.