All Things Considered [🗸]

5. ainsley-san

ONE MAGNANIMOUS FACT ABOUT AINSLEY WALKER is how immaculate her eyeliner routine is.

Her winged eyeliner seems like something pulled out of a celestial haven or some shit, and when we walk through the hall, Ainsley talking about the scary-ass exam she took for Stats, we feel a couple of stares here and there.

Ainsley doesn't seem to notice, pulling her curls into a ponytail as her sneakers pad against the flooring. Her shirt is actually more oversized than mine is, and her fingers drift down to the waistband of her shorts to tie it into a little bow. 

The strings of my shorts are into a tight knot and I haven't been able to untie that shit since I bought the shorts junior year.

The gym comes into view, and I find myself exhaling something resembling a groan because P.E. can be absolute hell and I highly regret not taking it freshman year. I'd never have to step foot in the gym again.

Of course, I'm a dumbass, so I didn't do that.

Ainsley throws an arm around my shoulder which takes quite the swing from her height but she does it regardless, the gym lighting greeting us as we step into the space. Bleachers are off to the side and we meander toward the center where everyone in the class is in one circle, Coach explaining the game plan for today.

We'll be playing ultimate football: the ugly child of American football and Ultimate Frisbee.

Which is absolutely amazing due to the fact that I have exactly zero coordination skills whatsoever. Which is only made further amazing because Paxton Irving is a complete bullet on land and in water.

Which is great.

Paxton seems to know it too, because after Coach Liz selects the teams, his eyes catch mine from the opposite side of the circle, as though we're both silently acknowledging the fact that I'm absolute shit at most sports except track and badminton. Basketball isn't terrible either, but of course, ultimate football had to be the sport for today. 

Paxton's eyes flick away but I can still sense the slight glint that crosses over them as he makes his way further into the gym, a taller guy that I'm certain is Kieran Ahmadi grinning next to him.

"I'll be ref," Esteban's calling out, already brandishing his hot pink whistle as he stands in front of Coach who nods. He got here before Ainsley and I, as he usually does, and he's always quick to volunteer for referee or team leader. Ainsley likes to call it a power trip, Esteban likes to call it being a good citizen. I'd say both.

In moments, everyone is spread across the gym. Everyone dons the ugly-ass pinnies that we wear every class, pinnies that have genuinely always been a natural ritual. I'm assigned Team Green, and somewhere on the other side, Ainsley and Paxton are Team Orange.

The game seems to blur by. I'm in complete confusion, so when Ximena Ruiz attempts to pass the ball to me but it gets intercepted by Paxton, I'm not one hundred percent sure what to do. All I know is that Paxton's throwing the football toward the end zone and I should probably stop that.