[dead book, like my motivation, i suck at writing, go find someone else]

Pull me in, push you down

“A self-respecting woman is like the Sword of the Stone. Only a very special man can pull her.”-Hayya Ali

Basketball, again. I groaned almost annoyed by the game. It wasn’t that I wasn’t athletic or I wasn’t good, it’s just that too many hormonal teenagers playing in the same basketball court, sweating like no tomorrow and eventually licking it off their upper lip. It was revolting.

Sweating was not something I like, nor does anyone else but that wasn’t the worst, oh no. the guys decide to top it off by smacking us in parts that were supposed to be kept to ourselves. Some girls lustfully screamed while I just hissed in return.

It was more of the mixed environment that I disliked, not the game. The game was ecstatic and full of energy. My head-eye co-ordination had improved ever since I got accepted and you would expect guys to be into soccer and football but they decided to perv on us instead.

I changed into my sport clothes, which consisted of a sport shirt, which the hem landed on my hip and the trousers that reached my ankles and sport shoes. My scarf had to be tucked underneath my shirt throughout the game but I bought a shirt two size larger so it was very baggy on me and didn’t seem like a second skin.

Exiting the change room, I noticed girls, pinning their shirts with safety pins on the inside so it wasn’t obvious that they were attention-seeking. P.E class wasn’t all that bad, sure I had annoying guys to live with and other girls that hated me for the name I brought to the girls that love to be naked but I knew my place.

-

After the coach had introduced us to the newbies of the school and the people who would compete with us, we were put into two teams.

“Who wants to be center?” Coach Turnip asked us. That was my name for him; his real name didn’t suit him which was Mr Turner. It sounds strange but he actually did look like a turnip, an annoyed one.

He was always exasperated from the heat of the game even though he wasn’t playing and all he really did was, screaming at us while we ate the ball as dinner.

He had quite a tiny head for his large stomach and thighs. His red face classified him as a turnip.

I could see where his real name came from, Mr Turner, was always changing paths. One second he would be extremely happy that we were going to make the ‘School Championship’ for Bay Hills, and then the next second, he would be screaming that we aren’t doing well enough.

I think bipolar disorder sort of suits his personality.

As if shot out of my trance, I raised my hand and Chase did too. I sighed as he shot me a wink and a smirk. I don’t know what was wrong with this guy, but he had this special technique that really pushed my buttons, and it always seemed to work. I rolled my eyes as I turned to coach.

At least, he wasn’t in my team today.

“Hayya and Chase, you both are up.” Coach instructed as he sat back down in his green chair, motioning for us to move into positions.

I told the team their places and all abided well, I was glad I didn’t have the bothersome bimbos on my team and I could see Chase was struggling to tell them their positions as they were lustfully sighing in return and twirling their hair.

No matter how much I hate those girls, they weren’t bad players; I would like them on my team if they accepted me, which probably wouldn’t happen.

Chase, ready to go, stood in his position eyeing me closely as his left eye brow was raised, challenging me. I laughed and bent my back, readying myself to grab the ball before he did. He stared at me squinty-eyed as the coach, stared back and forth between us, sensing tension.