Chasing You (Viktor Krum X Reader)

Chapter 24: I Try Out for the Ballycastle Bats

Chapter 24: I Try Out for the Ballycastle Bats

It's blisteringly hot outside when I arrive on the pitch, along with, like, fifteen men with firebolts propped against their shoulders, chatting amongst themselves as we wait for the tryout to begin. As I look around, I notice there are no other women present.

Typical quidditch. They say they're all-inclusive and most teams boast being co-ed, but they mostly just shove a woman on each team for publicity and call it a day. The Ballycastle Bats already have a woman as the keeper, and the sausage fest around me begins to sow doubt in my mind.

There's a man with a clipboard chatting quietly with another man near the almost-deserted stands of the pitch we're at; the only people in the stands are a few straggling family members. My dad and Nat couldn't make it because of work, but Cedric is sitting on the bleachers, his leg bouncing with nerves.

Little bastard has the audacity to be nervous when he's safe in the stands.

In the sky, the keeper of the Ballycastle Bats is hovering beside one set of hoops, kicking her leg lazily as she waits. The men with firebolts all look over their shoulders at me in one incredibly synchronized and non-surreptitious movement. Heat prickles my neck and my ears when they start laughing. I want to bury my hand-me-down Cleansweep Seven in the dirt. Bury myself in the dirt. I want to believe they're not making fun of me, but it really seems very obvious they are. And, even though they all banded together as soon as they got here, calling each other over, shaking hands, talking about the tryouts, they only spared me a couple of glances and a lot of roaring laughter.

Which is not awesome.

I watch them giggle some more and take a deep breath. It doesn't matter. I don't need to be accepted into their little group. Only one of us is going to make it, so—whether I make it or not—I'm never going to see them again. I don't need them to like me. I set my broom down on the ground beside me and begin to stretch my muscles, starting with my arms and working down. I hear the men start laughing again, but I just close my eyes and focus on my breathing, trying to remember all the stretches Viktor showed me.

As I'm tenderly stretching my heels, the man with the clipboard rounds us up and begins talking about what we have to get through. The tryout is only going to be an hour long, he says, which is terrible because that means I have to showcase everything I have in an hour.

It starts out very simply: the coach arranges us in lines in the air and we shoot and pass the quaffle. It should be simple, right? But the men conveniently miss me when they pass with an, Oops, sorry, Sweets; didn't see you there, as one of their buddies shoots a shot that should have been mine. But it doesn't matter. I get back in line and wait until one of them hurls the ball at me as hard as he can and take my shot. I barely make it underneath the keeper's arm and one of the men shouts, "Lucky shot, Sweets!"

I don't say anything and return back to the end of the line.

I'm only making about half of my shots, and it has a lot to do with how bothered I am. I'm upset and shaking with my anger, cheeks flushing hot whenever one of the men calls me 'Sweets." I'm making impulsive shots, fumbling with the ball.

It's everything I shouldn't be doing. I spare a glance towards the man with the clipboard and take a look at his lips pressed tightly together and his raised eyebrows, and I just know that I've already blown the tryout.

When the man calls us down, I'm breathing heavily, fighting back angry tears. One man elbows another in his group and nods his head toward me. They snicker quietly.

"We're going to divide you into teams and have you play a scrimmage," the man with the clipboard says.

"Listen, Sweets," one of the guys says to me, Firebolt under his arm, "there's no shame in quitting while you're still ahead. We wouldn't want you to get hurt playing up there with us. You know how we get up there. A little thing like you shouldn't be messing around with us."