ATLA is not mine. (Does anyone know when the season is resuming? I can't wait for the next episode.)
School is officially stupid, though I've never really liked it. I hate science fair; I don't understand why we have to do it year after year after year. I hope you enjoy my next chapter more than I enjoy stupid science fair.
Ch. 3 "A day at the fields"
Five days shalt thou labour, as the Bible says.
The seventh day is the Lord thy God's.
The sixth day is for soccer – Anthony Burgess.
"You gonna eat that?" Sokka asks eyes narrowed at the untouched cookie on my plate.
"You can have it," I say giving the cookie to him. On normal occasions I would have said no just to tease him, but not being in the teasing mood, Sokka got off easy.
"I heard from Haru, who heard from Jasmine, who heard from Tammy, who heard from Lily, who heard from Ashley that you were seen with ZUKO ALONE in the hallway." Sokka holding his knife in a strange jousting position jabs it in the air on every word he speaks
"Yeah," I say rolling my eyes, "But today, I was also seen alone with Aang and Suki."
"That is completely different. Zuko is a bad kid. He beats people up and skips class and I hear his father is also really bad and he has a really nasty scar and"
"He's a better soccer player than you," I say cutting Sokka off in mid-sentence, though you couldn't really call it a sentence, "And he saved me from getting attacked by Azula and her posse. He's not that bad of a kid." Why I am I defending someone I'm still mad at.
"That's for me to decide," Sokka says in a huffy haughty voice.
"Just eat your cookie."
Instead of sleeping in on most normal Saturdays, today I find myself walking out to the soccer fields where I have a feeling; all the screaming girls are here to see Zuko.
"Hey Suki," I say beaming as she joins me on my caravan to the field, "You don't look as tired as me."
"I am so excited. My dad is a soccer fanatic always watching, playing, or coaching soccer. He passed his love of the sport on to me. I was really disappointed when I found out I was too late to join the girl's team," Suki says with all the enthusiasm of a second grader with a new toy truck.
"I tried to play it once, but I wasn't very good. I think I ended up on the ground with a sore butt and a bruise on my forehead."
"What position does Sokka play?" Suki asks eying the boys running up and down the field in they're warm-ups.
"He's a midfielder."
The student section of the stadium is overfilling with students, and I would rather not sit there, but I can't turn down Suki's pleading eyes. So, instead of being warm and cozy in my nice bed, I'm stuck between some stupid senior boy and Suki and below some of the giddiest, screamiest, obsessed girls I've ever seen.
As soon as Zuko is announced, the girl's behind me break out in the loudest and obnoxious cheers. Frankly, I see nothing special in him; he's just a cocky kid and probably a narcissist too.
The starters slowly make they're way out to the field, some stretching and others just jogging in a circle. Aang is in goal and Zuko is up top. Poor Sokka is sitting on the bench. The bright yellow jerseys of North High's Jaguars contrast with the dark shaggy locks of Zuko's hair creating a severe, but pleasing effect; which is about the only thing that Zuko has going for him. That and his rock hard abs, strong arms and legs, and Katara why don't you just shut up.
At half-time, the score is zero to zero. The first half was very frustrating, the ball never seeming to be in possession of one team for more than two minutes. Zuko was elbowed in the face, but refused to leave the field when asked if he was okay. The girls behind me thought that that was the most wonderful thing, and he was being extremely brave. I personally think he just didn't want to lose any of his pride.
Five minutes into the second half, the stupid senior next to me spilled his coke down my pants, leaving me to try to dry it with paper towels in the girls' bathroom, which didn't really do much. The score still being a tie, the coach hasn't put Sokka in yet, much to Suki's dismay.
"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, he has the ball, he's going to score, he's going to score, look at him, look look," a girl behind me is squealing, with the score board reading sixty seconds left to go.
Zuko, dribbling through the line of defense makes a quick move and cut and takes a hard shot at the goalie. The crowd erupts into cheers as the ball buries itself in the back of the net. Suki is going crazy along with the rest of the girls, but I can't help thinking he's going to be really full of it today; scoring the winning goal.
"Can we stay and wait for Sokka?" Suki asks, watching the boys file into the locker rooms.
"I would rather not."
"Please, I don't want to stay here by myself." After more arguing, and being forced against my wishes, I'm waiting outside the boys' locker with Suki and bunch of other silly girls.
Sokka, with a glum look on his face, walks slowly toward us.
"Hey," I say, sympathetic to the fact that he looks like a whipped dog, "Maybe you'll get to play in the next game. Aren't you going to play a team next game last year that you guys beat five to zero? I'm sure the coach will put you in then."
"Probably not, he never puts me in," Sokka says glumly, but his eyes look a little more hopeful.
"But at least you won," Suki puts in glancing at all the celebrating players and then back at Sokka's slumped gloomy frame.
"Oh crap! I left my purse in the stands." I exclaim glancing at my bare arm. It's my favorite, although it's my only purse. It's green and red plaid, kind of out of style, but still really cute nonetheless, "I'll go back and get it."
"Do you want us to wait for you?"
"It's okay, I'll catch up."
Because the stands are filled with the debris from the game, I find my purse buried under a popcorn bucket and two Snicker wrappers. The only defect is a drying brown spot probably from a coke, on the lower bottom of the purse.
"Probably from that stupid senior," I mutter. All the screaming girls at the boys' locker room are now gone, except for one solitary figure: Zuko.
"Decided not to go with all your screaming fans," I say briskly, getting a chuckle from Zuko.
"No, but they were pretty excited about my goal."
"How did I know? How did I know? I knew as soon as I talked to you, you would say something about making the winning goal," I say curtly. Much to my agitation, he just puts a wide smirk on his face.
"It was pretty good wasn't it," He says with as much as an arrogant air as if he were Zeus.
"No, it wasn't. Before you shot you almost tripped, and if it wasn't for the midfielder on the right distracting one of the defenders, your goal never would have happened." Much to my satisfaction his smirk disappeared.
"Well sorry it wasn't to your liking, but if it wasn't for me, we wouldn't have won the game." What a jerk.
"If it wasn't for Aang's six saves in the goal you wouldn't have won the game either."
"Why aren't you like the other girls," Zuko says intensely, "Why don't you just congratulate me like they do?"
"Instead of congratulate, you mean hang all over you like you're the king of France. Well excuse me if I have morals," I scream angrily. Zuko really has a way of making me angry and not just annoyed angry like Sokka.
"Morals! All you have to say is nice job, or that was a good goal," Zuko says fiercely back. His Hazel eyes are huge in their anger; glowing in the light of the sun. If I wasn't so angry, I'd tell him his eyes are looking very pretty.
"I think the whole team did a good job, and I would have said it personally to you, if you weren't being such a butt."
Zuko chuckles and it's not a derisive chuckle. "Butt! Who uses that word anymore?"
"People who don't like to swear," I mutter, "I believe there are other words perfectly acceptable to use instead of cussing."
"So, are you telling me that when you get really angry; so angry you just want to explode, you don't swear? You just say your dainty little words like butt," Zuko says, though the anger from his face is all gone, now there's just laughter.
"Yes! And the only person who's ever made me super angry is you."
"And yet you just called me a butt."
"Well, if you would rather be called a butthead, I can readily oblige you," I say, thinking that one of Zuko's fan girls would probably kill me if they heard how I am talking to him.
"Katara! What are you doing?" Sokka says storming toward us, dragging poor Suki behind him, "I gave you permission to get your purse, not have a conversation with this maniac." Zuko just glared at Sokka, probably just as annoyed as me.
"Our conversation just ended, but I'm certain that I can talk to whoever I want to." I say pointedly.
"Well! I don't give you permission to talk to him." Sokka says angrily grabbing my arm and pulling me away, "He doesn't deserve your conversation."
Because on Saturday night's the kids are far away from the classrooms, I find the music room deserted. The familiar walls with pictures of famous jazz artists like Nina Simone and Glen Miller make me feel happier than I've felt all day. Carefully, I assemble my clarinet. The silver keys shimmer in the dim light of the room, and the black of the body blends in with the darkness around me.
The school's music appreciation week is coming up, and two days are dedicated to jazz. The jazz band I'm in is going to play at a jazz dance being hosted by one of the local jazz clubs who's going to provide the music after us. Mr. Nepter, my band instructor, said the three best kids will get to do a blue's scale improv solo. I want that solo, and I'm going to get it.
I pull out the paper containing the different blue's scales and pick the b flat scale. I play the notes carefully, starting low and soft, eventually rising in volume and notes, then going back down. Eventually, I build up to high sweet note and just hold it, loud and clear, then in rapid playing fall down to the bottom of my range. The notes fill the room around me, bouncing off the walls and desks and into my head. The music is like a drug, filling my head and making me dizzy.
The sounds, all different and unique travel around me. Soon I'm with my idols belting out my notes on stage, being cheered for crazily by a huge crowd. My solo comes and everyone goes quiet with anticipation. By the end everyone's cheering so loudly, I can't even hear myself play anymore. Then the lights, sounds, and music are broken by the P.A system announcing curfew is in ten minutes.
Hoped you guys enjoyed that chapter. Your reviews make want to keep writing, so I love to read them all.