All Things Considered [🗸]

6. date

THERE SHOULD BE A MANUAL ON HOW to avoid a football flying at your head at fifty miles per hour.

Dion Reyes is unleashing a vengeance through his throwing. For the first time, I don't think that vengeance has anything to do with me.

It's strange how we wound up here. However, I can plot out how we did. First issue: both P.E. classes are combining outside. The sun's hellish today. Naturally, Coach Liz decided to force us outside and push both classes together.

Normally, both classes being outside together wouldn't be a big deal. It occurs about once a month. That being said, Cayden McCarthy is in said other class. Dion is used to pairing up with him but clearly, more shit hit the fan. Ergo, Dion was making his way toward Esteban Mendez and Ainsley Walker when Coach Liz stopped him.

She decided to line everyone up and pair people up with complete spontaneity. There was no pattern whatsoever. Coach Liz always undoubtedly, unfailingly does this. She'd paired Reyes and I up. We solely stood right next to each other in the hopes that she'd pick every other person. She didn't. 

Thus, we are here and Reyes is trying to kill me.

On the other side of the field, I can make out Cayden McCarthy's mop of not-quite-blonde hair as he talks to a shorter guy, the two of them tossing the football back and forth occasionally. Mostly, however, they're talking.

The ball that Dion threw at me falls to the ground and I pick it up, eyes flicking to him. During any instant in which we're paired up, Dion and I have always had a policy. Aside from the occasional insults, there's a silent agreement that we don't exchange a word. Nothing. There's not much to say and neither of us seem to be in a talking mood.

That being said, I can still see the slump to Dion's shoulders and the way his eyes flick across the field before returning to the football. All he does is tug at the necklace on his neck. It's silver, thin. He alternates the necklace, too. Occasionally there's a flower hanging from it. Tenth grade, he had the Deathly Hallows simple hanging from it. Today, it's plain.

He continues adjusting the necklace, digs his sneakers into the grass. His eyes are unfocused, flickering, unable to focus on any one thing. He keeps on tapping the ground with his white sneakers, scratching at a non-existent mosquito bite beneath his black shorts.

Watching him gives me second hand stress.

However, I'm willing to ignore him until he nearly knocks my head clean off with his next throw. Eyes widening, my hands rise to the air in complete what the fuck as I glance at him.

"Reyes," I'm saying and the faint breeze bristles past me. "You almost took me out. Calm down."

And Dion's eyebrows knit together like he's about to argue or say something in return, but the levelness I've managed to muster in my tone is recognized and instead, he exhales. "Sorry."