Thalia

Chapter 23: Practically Doomed

Chapter 23: Practically Doomed

I see a few seniors lighting a firecracker and I run the opposite direction. They've been at it for days now and it's getting pretty annoying. I mean, Thanksgiving is this weekend and they want school to end with them practically blowing up the stairwell like this? That's a pretty dumb decision some loser who wants to experiment how fast he can get arrested would do. My ex-boyfriend's dad's a retired cop so I have my sources.

The warning bell signalling there's have thirty seconds before you're late for the next period rings and I bolt straight through the doors for Mr. Spradlin's P.E. class. This gym gets darker and darker every single day; it's like a horror movie in slow motion. Today, there's only six working lights for the whole gym and yesterday there were seven. This school is so unbelievably cheap, it's not even funny anymore. I understand you're "saving up" for more kids to get into college, but it's not the smartest thing to have us get a physical education while we're too busy trying to find light.

I'm not a flipping bat, I don't have echo location.

Mr. Spradlin claps his spinal-cord-ripping clap and makes way to the center of the room. "Okay, punks!" Like anyone says that anymore. "Today is a relaxing day mainly because I don't want to do any work. At all. My wife just got pregnant and I was constipated about four hours ago, so. Yeah, it's dodge ball day. Do whatever the heck you want to: dodge, throw, catch or just get knocked out, I don't really care. If anyone needs me, I'm in the men's bathroom." 

That's abhorrent. 

The school gym wouldn't be so unattractive and dingy if they just brightened up the lights, change our red and black walls to our school colors--green and white-- and maybe asked Home Makeover to come here and do some touch-ups. These walls are chipping like crazy and the floor is the only  "new" thing in here. 

Near the storage doors, my bully-like classmates are hurrying to grab a few dodge balls and line them up on the half court line. Dodgeball is just a way to release anger and beat up somebody, legally. In no way can this be considered fun and an active way of learning healthy choices. Since when was throwing hard balls at people's faces--possibly giving them a concussion--healthy? That's right; it never was.

Soon, seven Dodge balls of Annihilation are lined up and teams are separated by Emily since she's forced herself as referee for everyone without even asking us. I planned on knocking her out, too since she almost blew my cover. She has worked her way on my Hit List for this school.

"Okay, everyone!" She announces. "On the blow of the whistle the game starts! One! Two!" She draws the whistle to her lips and blows into it. What freak carries a whistle around, daily to school? Oh, crap, I'm not even running and all of the balls are already taken. Guess I'll just have to sit here and wait to be assaulted by my loving peer--

"Ow!" My hand rapidly flew up to my forehead as I hear another cry out in pain next to me. Those rascals! I wasn't serious about smacking me in the face! 

"Rose, Zoey! You're out!" Thank you for pointing that out you block-headed Dixie cup. We obviously know we're out of the game, you don't have to tell us, we have the bruises to prove it. You don't see me running around school, pointing out your buck teeth and randomly spazzing neck jolts, now do you? So shut up, Emily before I make you fake pregnant again.

We cross over to the gym walls and sit on the floor to watch the rest of the game. It's not technically fair since one side is mainly boys and the other, mainly girls. This darn game's rigged.

Zoey pulls her knees up to her chest to hide her phone and starts touching random parts of the screen with her concentration face on. She can focus on a phone, but never a steady conversation when food's in front of her. Cool.