CINNAMON

2 Chapter

Jason - eleven years ago

"Hey, listen," my best friend stopped by me, although I couldn't call him that in front of anyone, so let's just say my accomplice, when I'd ever need to kill someone in the future.

"I have a message for you from the coach, and I quote, 'You need to get your lazy ass of yours in there because we're going to lose again because of you,' end quote," he bowed for congratulations.

"Thanks for the quote," I sighed and packed all my stuff into my bag.

"More like for the paraphrase, I feel like it was delivered with more anger, but no worries, buddy, also next time," he patted me on the shoulder for consolation that I didn't need.

Thank goodness the bell saved me from a conversation with this imbecile, who had more useless words in his head than the one who just gave us a two-hundred-word essay on environmental issues.

Moving to the cafeteria took some effort; I always hated lunches here, but I didn't have much choice today, as per Pj's words, I had to finally show up for practice. There were so many people here that I started to wonder where our school had gotten so many kids from, as no one would ever call this place a public high school.

The first worst mistake was coming here, the second one only revealed itself when I looked at what they put on my plate. When I read on the lunch menu that there would be steak, I didn't think it would be inedible.

"So, how did the test go?" Pj threw his lunch across from me and almost jumped over the table just to get to his chosen spot; I don't know since when they give out free stuff here, which is why there are so many people, or maybe it's just that I haven't been here in a long time.

"Are we really going to talk about that?" the test was a disaster, ladies and gentlemen, and I can't wait for the evening showdown with my beloved father.

"So, you didn't know it?" how do I explain to him to leave me alone with this? My GPA isn't suffering, unlike someone who was already drafting a disinheritance agreement since I won't be making it to Harvard with my intelligence like he did.

"I didn't know; it's probably not accurate to say that I didn't write anything," he rolled his eyes at me, as if I had just told him that Santa Claus never existed and it's just a psychological trick by parents to get their kids to behave.

"Are you serious? You'll be kicked out of the team," it was about time.

"So what," I just shrugged and tried to stomach the unidentifiable thing in front of me, as my bank account is frozen indefinitely.

"You're such a jerk, Jason, you know that?" I'd better get up and leave. On my way out, I didn't forget to slam the door, which made an amazing sound, so all eyes were suddenly on me. But without any hesitation, blushing, and who knows what else, I calmly headed towards the exit.

And if you thought I hadn't shown up for practice, you'd be completely right, but not today.

At first, I received surprised looks from all the participants, and then I could "excel" in sports. I pushed myself through it, I was almost out of breath just during warm-up, but let me tell you, I forgot what basketball brings me. When you dribble the ball, it represents all your problems. The force of the shot represents how deep they are, and depending on how you aim for the hoop, it shows how serious you are about them. It's simple physics; if school were like this, I'd surely excel as well.

Currently, I was currently taking out my anger on my father, who threatened that if I didn't come here, I'd go home by public transport, which would take up three precious hours of my free time. And it will happen, today I'll be traveling by train for the first time in five years! Three hours! Absolutely fantastic, I probably didn't even pass math, even better.

The end of practice was a considerable relief for my body; it felt like it was on fire from all the constant running around. I didn't even think about taking a shower; I just threw on a hoodie and literally ran to the damn station.

When I got there, I could count it as an extra workout; the sign above me blinked with the announcement of a thirty-minute delay. So, I collapsed onto a bench. I had to strip back into my tank top from all that running; otherwise, I'd probably have boiled alive. Everyone gave me nasty looks as they passed by; it probably wasn't the best idea to show my mentality to them, especially since it was shaping up to be a very cold November outside.

After half an hour, when I finally found a free spot next to some girl who looked like he came straight from a hippie festival, I could finally put on my headphones and close my eyes.

"Can I sit here?" the sound reached me, which indicated the quality of my headphones, and a pair of eyes looked at me, giving me the feeling that they could see right through my soul. The girl and I immediately nodded in agreement.

She sighed with relief and first moved her case, probably from the violin, next to her, and then collapsed into the seat.

Another hint, she's into arts. She looks artsy too, messy bun from which almost everything had fallen out, covering her fringe, which was still visible in a few places. Her outfit was the exact opposite of mine, me in sweatpants and a short t-shirt, her in elegant trousers, a knit turtleneck, and on top of that, a brown coat, which I must admit didn't match her purple hair at all.

"Do you have a problem?" I quickly took off my headphones and didn't even notice that the woman who was sitting next to me had dissappeared somewhere. 

"What do you have there?" I pointed to the case. Seriously? Couldn't you ask a dumber question?

She frowned until a wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows; she must do it often, otherwise she wouldn't be so visible. "Um, a violin? I thought it was obvious."

"Who voluntarily plays the violin in the 21st century?" Listen, buddy, another question like that, and a friend might think you've escaped from an asylum.

"Who in the 21st century voluntarily wears short sleeves in minus temperatures?"

"Touché," I couldn't escape her gaze as she kept scanning my hands, where there were some bruises. Basketball isn't the only sport where I can leave my anger behind.

"Sport," I told her, even though I think I don't owe her any explanation, and I put my hoodie back on and pulled down the sleeves.

"What kind? Beating people?" She raised an eyebrow hypocritically.

"No, basketball," why am I even telling her this? We're just strangers who will never see each other again.

"Put some cooling ointment on it and prepare a brew of rosemary at home. It'll heal faster," she said it as if she went to beat someone every week.

"My brother is quite a brawler, so I know a lot of useful advice," she just looked out the window the whole time.

"I didn't fight," I don't even know why, but I feel the need to defend myself. She looked at me with a sneaky look, and I can tell that this story will interest her.