Meet the plastics (Regina x fem reader)

6 - The training field

I'm forced awake by my alarm clock's shrill beeping. The dim red light blears the time as 6.00am when I crack open an eye to shut off the excessive noise. Monday morning.

I groan and pull myself into a seated position, hearing the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears as I try to shake off the last remains of sleep clouding my mind. I have an hour until I'm expected at training at 7 - the first day of preseason.

The cold floor feels like ice against my bare feet, causing me to shiver involuntary. My kit bag is staring at me from the corner of my room, sat neatly on my desk chair with my training kit folded on top. I go about my morning routines in a pleasant silence, finally lacing up my running shoes as the last step.

Today, we're running. I hate running. Unless it's with a ball at my feet.

The world is still wrapped in darkness when I step outside, the premature orange of the sunrise barely peaking out from the horizon. Despite it being late August, the air is crisp, and has me gulping for air as I adjust to the cooler temperature. Pulling my sports bag further up my arm and modifying my backpack with my academic equipment inside, I begin the journey to the sports hall, music blaring in my ears.

I arrive five minutes early, smiling to myself when I notice I'm the first person here.

"Good morning, Y/N." I turn around to see Coach Danvers' firm stance by the doorway of the locker room as I arrange my things on my part of the bench underneath my name plaque (a piece of laminated paper stuck via blu-tack).

"Good morning, coach," I recite back, with a small, sheepish smile which she returns in a much more confident way, as I slide my water bottle from the holster in the side of my bag.

"It's nice to know someone's as committed to this team as I am." Impatience drips from her voice, my eyes flashing over the clock on the wall signalling it's now 7.15, and I'm still the only one here. She rolls her eyes briefly, arms never unfolding as she mutters something under her breath about everyone always arriving late before I watch her frame retreating from the room.

Five minutes later a bombardment of sound fills up the atmosphere, crashing over the peace I had been happily settled in. First it's the music, loud and screechy from an old speaker, the noise creeping closer. Then the chatter, and finally the laughter. I brace myself for the impact.

Although when it comes, it isn't as overwhelming and excruciating as it usually is.

This year has seen a lot of changes to the team, since most players graduated after last season, meaning half the team this year is to be filled with lots of new players I haven't seen before, from attending previous games as a spectator and joining in on training at open days.

I'm midway through my own monologue in my head, recalling all familiar faces and their names and trying to recognise new ones, when strangely, a brunette makes her way over to me and perches next to me on the bench. A beaming smile adorns her face, goalkeeper gloved hand sticking out in front of her. "Y/N, right?" I nod my head warily.

"Hi, I'm Kate." Her smile only widens when I take her gloved hand in mine and shake. She then points to the row of hooks above us on the bench. I skim over the paper that says 'Kate Bishop'. "I take archery too."

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," I try and drain the shyness from my voice and simultaneously my face as I can already feel the warmth creeping over my cheeks.

"So, you're a winger?"

I nod, curling my fingers around my water bottle as I take a sip. "I'm guessing you're a goalkeeper?"

"How did you guess," she jokes, pulling her kit bag from the floor and onto the bench as she begins unpacking her belongings. "What's it like on the team? Anything I should be warned about?"

"No, not really everything's good," I breathe out, steadying my breath.

"Ah, well, I just got through trails last week. Apparently they needed a new goalkeeper as their scholarship decided to pull out last minute." Her foot is lifted onto the bench, ungloved hands starting to tie her laces into a double knot. "How are the other players?"

"Have you not spoken to any others?"

She shakes her head, "no, well not really. One of the seniors greeted me earlier after I was unsure where to go. But you seem more down to earth, so that's why I came to you." Kate smiles.

I smile back, finding the right words to answer her previous question. "The others are fine, I guess, I haven't really spoken to any of them, either."

"Why not?"

I shrug my shoulders but before I can respond, Coach Danvers enters the room and tells us to be in the meeting room in five minutes for the first briefing of the year. The loud music dies down, someone switching it off as everyone gathers everything needed for the briefing and then the run afterwards which everyone in the locker room is dreading.

My breaths come out in ragged puffs of steam, not quite matching the visuals of smoke, as the more the morning ticks along, the warmer the air grows. Sweat coats my forehead, rubbing it clean with the back of my hand before continuing. We're nearing the end of the run by now, Kate straggling behind me as I slow down my pace as to not make her feel left behind as the pack pushes forward, yet still behind the both of us.

I can feel my muscles stretching and contracting with each step, feet thudding against the freshly trimmed grass. Five minutes later marks the end, and sees most flopping onto the floor, either crouched down or flat out on their backs. I opt to keeping my spine straight and my hands rested on my knees.

I find Kate staggering toward me, having gotten caught up a few paces behind. She stumbles over and pushes herself to sit on the grass. "I think that's put me off running forever." She declares dramatically, and all I can do is offer her a genuine laugh at her reaction.

***

After a brief shower in the locker room, I head to English - my first and only lecture of the day - before finding Janis and Cady in the library to catch up with some studying.

A pencil is twirled around elegant fingers, "when is your first match again?" Janis asks, glancing up at me and then her sketchbook as she draws something down. Cady places her pen down and rests her hands over her textbook, awaiting my answer. A warm butterfly feeling swarms my stomach - they care.

"Two weeks Friday," I say in response, eyes trained to the paper in front of me as I continue with my essay. Trying to remain nonchalant, I can't help it when a small smile creeps up over my cheeks.

Janis raises an eyebrow, pausing with her work. "You'll have to remind me again closer to the time." She giggles softly, and I put my pen down, deciding the paragraph can wait.

"What about your art show? That's this Saturday, right?"

"Yeah," Janis nods, "I'll message you the time and address later if you can still make it?"

"Of course I can."