26. BEFORE
If it hadn't been for Matt's utter disinterest with anything to do with athleticism, and his unsurpassed love for writing, he probably would've pursued a career in swimming. True it may be that the boy couldn't catch a ball to save his life or sprint 20 metres without tripping, but his breaststrokes were, as his PE teacher Mr Quincy called it, phe-fucking-nominal.
"Is it even legal for a teacher to swear?" Adam clattered, looking peaky, while the boys lined up in front of the local pool that their school had finally managed to book after months of scrounging up whatever money they had left.
"Probably," Matt responded while admiringly staring at the way the maroon water glistened like a pretty jewel. "But it's not like our school could afford to lose another teacher. It's already hanging by a thread."
"Right, you pasty lot," Mr Quincy bellowed, clapping his beefy hands together, his own red face stretched into an enormously satisfied smile. "Let's see which one of you nearly drowns yourself today. Into the water in THREE, TWO—!"
There was a loud splash as a number of boys dived into the water before Mr Quincy could blow the yellow whistle around his neck (Matt being one of the first few). Others hesitated momentarily before sliding into the pool in a less graceful fashion.
"Fernandes!" Mr Quincy yelled, bounding upto the only boy left standing outside of the pool. Fernandes looked up and Mr Quincy stifled a sigh – oh, there was always one he had to deal with. Seventeen years as a PE teacher had gotten him well-acquainted with that famous facial expression. Only he hadn't expected it from Fernandes who'd managed to retain a perfectly satisfactory record with sports. He was decent in football, less so in tennis, and above average at rugby. Mr Quincy could hardly have guessed that swimming was an issue for him. Swimming.
"What is it, Fernandes?" Mr Quincy sighed, already knowing this was a losing battle. "Allergic to chlorine?"
"Can we stick with that?" Adam responded weakly. At this moment, the boy reminded Mr Quincy of a particularly traumatised rabbit, his blue eyes wide and round with fear, strips of blonde hair sticking to his forehead with remnants of water droplets from the shower they'd had before entering the pool area.
"It'll cost you three laps around the school field," Mr Quincy warned. He'd already informed his PE class about his forfeit system, the whole school knew about it as he made it a point to tell every new class he had, and it was quite reasonable. In Mr Quincy's books it was perfectly alright if you didn't want to participate in a particular sporting activity so long as you made up for it by nearly choking to death running around the school field, which was really quite small, but seemed to stretch for miles after one round of fast-paced sprinting.
The boy didn't bat an eyelid. "I know. I'll take it."
Mr Quincy sighed. "Very well. Sit down on one of those benches there, then. It's going to be a long wait for you."
But the boy clearly had no reservations about this as his face, which was previously so scrunched up with worry that he'd gone even pinker than Mr Quincy himself, was now less wound-up with anxiety, and he even managed a small smile at his PE teacher before plopping down on one of the benches with a face so content one might've thought he'd just been told he was the richest man alive.
"What was that all about?" Matt asked later when they were all in the changing rooms. Unlike Adam, he was sopping wet, his face and chest flushed from triumphant exertion. To no one's surprise, Matt had managed to be the star of the swimming session and he was clearly pleased about it, despite the nonchalance he tried to adopt when the rest of the boys clapped his back with obvious respect, something he wasn't accustomed to.
