If Only (GxG)

Chapter 4 Surprise

A/N
🎶The Chain by Fleetwood Mac🎶

『 °*• ❀ •*°』
Alison's POV

I really wish I could be one of those girls who genuinely enjoys group activities. The kind who wants to join Charlotte's Winter Dance Committee, who finds real joy in making streamers and banners, in forging new friendships over shared glue sticks and glitter. I imagine myself sitting on those rickety, dented school chairs in the echoing hall, laughing with my peers, bedazzling decorations like it actually matters. I picture myself getting swept up in the silly dramas—Josh and David both asking the same girl to the dance, the scandal of it all.

I wish I could be that girl. But I'm not.

When I look at Charlotte, I don't see a friend. I see a girl who flings herself at every fake-tanned, overly groomed football player, and I can't help but wonder—what happened to her? Which parent royally screwed her up to make her this desperate for attention?

And as for the drama? Oh, I hear the gossip about Josh and David. It's impossible to avoid. But instead of finding it thrilling, I just think—what idiots. They can't see that the girl playing them against each other will never actually care about either of them. Why are people so persistent in making such stupid choices?

I suppose I'm a cynic. And it drives me insane when people delude themselves into thinking any of this matters.

So, instead of sitting inside with new gal pals and a tub of glitter, grinning like a fool, I'm outside, in the cold, listening to a folk band and trying to study. Sad, I know.

And to make matters worse? I can't study. Because no matter how hard I try, I can't get Ms. Bradley's face out of my head.

Yes, I'm aware of the irony.

I've only recently come to this realization: I'm just as deluded and foolish as the people I judge.

I'm in a terrible mood today.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. I shove my books into my bag, head to my locker, and then to PE.

Athletics for the next few weeks. Running, at least, is tolerable.

Anything involving a ball? Absolutely not.

I make my way to the changing room, quickly swapping out my uniform for a pair of black running shorts and a fitted top. Since neither Amy nor Ross is in this class, I only exchange a few friendly words with familiar faces before heading out to the gym.

As we cross the outer running track and step into the vast indoor space, I silently greet it like an old friend. I spend most mornings here, after all.

Waiting for us are the school's two PE teachers—Mr. Richards and Mrs. Sable—along with the other sixth-form PE class. Something is clearly up.

Mr. Richards claps his hands together, his deep voice carrying over the group. "Alright, everyone! Mrs. Sable and I have decided to make things a little more interesting today. As you all know, the Olympics are coming up this year, and we thought we'd celebrate by shaking up our athletics course."

He's tall and fit, his bald head shining under the fluorescent lights, his thick mustache twitching as he speaks. Beside him, Mrs. Sable beams, looking every bit the part of the athlete she is. She's blonde, tall, and lean, built for speed—unsurprising, given she plays scrum-half for the local rugby team. She's used to shouting orders, and it shows when she speaks, her voice crisp and commanding.

"You'll be split into teams under either Mr. Richards or myself," she says, then pauses, chuckling. "And to stop us from getting too competitive, we have the lovely Miss Bradley here as referee."