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CHAPTER FOUR Party On
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THE WORST CLASS IN existence, in Cecelia's humble point of view, was Physical Education. Gather your students—who have come to school to learn, to fill their brains up with facts and methods—and force them into itchy uniforms, with shirts with tags that scratch at their backs and shorts that constantly ride up their asses. Make them run, do jumping jacks, play flag football, and give marks for athletic ability—something that comes naturally—instead of improvement or hard work. Then, once they're all sweating and out of breath, shove them into changerooms and give them five minutes to get dressed for their next class. And, because of money, make the rooms completely open, so that everyone can see everyone else's body as they peel off one shirt and replace it with another one. While they're still sweating.
So, yeah. Cecelia Thin-As-A-Stick Olivier (as she'd been called in one of her group homes—it wasn't a very creative name, but it still hurt, especially when it was accompanied by actual sticks being thrown at her) hated gym class. But, to her dismay, she still had to participate in it every day. Coach Wilson wasn't a very strict teacher, but he also didn't appreciate when one put minimal effort into their workouts. He'd once made Alex do an extra lap around the field after he'd gone on his phone for one second.
Normally, Cecelia at least had her brother as a kindred spirit. Christine wasn't in their class—she had AP Literature—so it was just the two of them. The two of them would cling together, commiserating about how much they despised mandatory physical exercise. Of course, it was obvious that it was worse for Alex, especially before his top surgery, but he typically didn't mind his sister's complaining.
Today, though, Alex sat on the other end of the bleachers, his head cushioned in his arms. Instead, he sat beside Michelle Jones and a Senior Cecelia didn't know the name of (...yeah. To make an already awful class worse, Phys Ed was co-ed and spanned across all four grades). There were no free seats near him, which meant he'd purposefully chosen to avoid her. Which did hurt a little.
It took Cecelia a minute to figure out where to sit, but she was mercifully saved by Betty, who waved her over. She, Liz, Jason, and Seymour (another one of Liz's friends) were all in Cecelia's class, but they often managed to get themselves out of participating by claiming they had to prepare for one of their many clubs. Lately, they'd been using Homecoming Committee as an excuse.
She settled beside Betty gratefully, crossing her legs. Liz gave her a smile, but didn't have the time to chat. Class was beginning.
Coach Wilson had wheeled a television out in front of all thirty of the students, the screen of which was so small that those at the back had to squint their eyes to slits to make out what was happening. Fortunately, Cecelia had scored a spot near the front, but even she was leaning forward. Maybe that was a sign she needed glasses.
