Yours Musically

16. A Striking Act

Chapter Sixteen - A Striking Act

After three days of resting at home and having Mrs. Brooke at my beck and call despite me telling her I was feeling fine, I was back at school.

My fever was gone but my foot still hurt whenever I put too much pressure on it. But it was healing. I'd tried jumping on my bed the evening before to test the pain and it had started to hurt a little only after the fourth jump.

So, I was definitely good to go back to school. Unfortunately.

"Can't...breathe..." I wheezed, coming to an abrupt stop and lifting my hand over my face to shield it from the sun. I squinted my eyes at the PE teacher a few feet ahead, standing with her hands resting over her hips, watching me.

"Come on, Andrews," she hollered. "You're slower than your usual self today. Come on!"

"Wow, thanks," I sneered under my breath, counted till five in my head and started dragging myself forward. By the time I finished the lap before seven other students, I was totally spent.

The coach nodded at me. "Keep that up and I might change your grade back to A. Also, stop skipping PE."

"Okay." I nodded, lifting a bottle of water to my lips. I only skipped it twice.

"Also, could you run to coach Sanders' office and hand these in?" She shut a file full of papers and handed it to me. Before I could respond, she was already walking away.

"Run to the coach's office," I repeated, still breathing heavily. "Of course, she wants me to run out of breath and die."

"There are worse ways to die." Cheryl patted my shoulder.

Meera snatched the file out of my hands. "I'll take it. Can you be a little more careful with your foot? I told you to skip PE and here you are racing like a horse."

"Jeez, Meera. You're worse than Mrs. Brooke. And that's considering the fact that she barely let me step out of bed in the past three days. She brought me stuff even before I could ask for it like a freaking telepath. It's just a little wound. It's not like I fractured my foot."

"Are you kidding me? The cut's big and looks very deep. I'm surprised you didn't have to get stitches."

"I knew I shouldn't have sent you its picture." My eyes narrowed.

"You what?" Cheryl spat.

"She asked me for it."

"Why would you need a picture of a wound, weirdo?" Cheryl smacked her shoulder, frowning.

"I don't know, curiosity?" she muttered sheepishly. "But you know what? I'll show you how bad it is, Cher. I bet you'll cringe too every time you see her putting pressure on it."

She started pulling her phone out but Cheryl held up a hand. "No, thank you. No offense, Becks. I'd rather keep my breakfast down."

"I understand." I nodded. "But it's better than it looks, trust me. Or I wouldn't be at school, let alone running in PE."

"Fine. But I'll take this to the coach." Meera flashed the file at me.

"Thank you." I blew her an air kiss and she caught it, pretended to crush it and spill on the ground with a sarcastic smile before walking away.

I chuckled.

The coach's whistle blew again. "Alright, everyone! Who's ready for another lap?"

I sighed.

"Just sit this one out." Cheryl pointed towards the benches.

"I'm good, really. It's like I have super healing."