Isolation Play [#JUSTWRITEIT // #SPORTS]

Ch. 1 - Red Card on the Apathy

This is Blair! Ain't she cute? :)

Isolation Play

1| Red Card on the Apathy

The stifling September heat sat in a haze on the classroom full of sleepy students, the faint drone of Mr. Hayes' voice creating an all-too effective lullaby. I myself was about to succumb to the temptation of a nap, were it not for the sudden thud of someone else's head slipping off their propped up hand and onto the desk. The room of kids was so bleary that barely anyone could muster a chuckle. Not even Mr. Hayes had the energy to do anything but sigh at the student, who was now rubbing his forehead with a look of confusion on his face.

I rolled my eyes and started packing up my binder, eyeing the clock that was about to signal the bell. When it rang, the room came alive, people scattering to their friends or out the door. I was about to follow when Mr. Hayes called my name.

"Blair, a minute, please?"

I cast my eyes to the Heavens, silently pleading with the ceiling to possibly – if it wasn't too much of an inconvenience – just fall and send me to my death. Turning around, I made my way to his desk where he was shuffling some vile math papers.

"Yes?"

He took his sweet time, lovingly patting the worksheets into order before delicately paper-clipping them together. I tried to fix my weirded out face back into my usual blank one, but he looked up too fast and caught it anyway.

"I don't appreciate that expression, Miss Watson, and it would do you well to have a little more appreciation yourself for this subject, since you're on the verge of failing it."

With a small nod, I kept my mouth shut, ears slightly heating up behind my blonde hair.

Mr. Hayes sighed and reached to his right for a packet. Handing it to me, he said, "I've taken the liberty to make you a bundle of practice pages, and I don't mean to sound demeaning, but grade twelve math is really not that hard if you just applied yourself for once."

The not-so-subtle dig once would have bothered and haunted me for weeks, but now it just stung for a moment before rolling off my shoulders like water on a window pane. Accepting the papers, I murmured a small thank you and finally exited the room. Outside in the hallway, I swung my backpack around to the front of me, huffing, fighting with the worksheets to get in the bag. With all my attention on the task at hand, I had no time to notice the wall of football players I was about to crash into.

When the sudden contact with one of their massive shoulders sent me staggering back, the guy I hit didn't even flinch. In fact, he barely noticed. The dismissive glance he sent my way – in actuality he just looked right through me – caused a burst of familiar frustration afire in my stomach.