Three Alphas, Three Mates

Chapter 4 - Physical Education

Let's just say that the amount of time we spend outdoors "recreationally" is extremely limited after the Walmart incident. Before we know it, it's already Monday. School. Darn.

I don't necessarily have a career path when it comes to school, or anything really. I'm the kind of person that has a closet full of all the things I've started and never finished, and an academic transcript to match, so it isn't surprising to see that they gave me random electives like Home Ec and Art.

But PE is where I draw the line.

I took that already, and I still can't run a lap to save my life.

Michael laughs his ass off at me until I point out he's got statistics. Then he's not laughing. He's a calculus man. He won't stand for this. He royally marches his big baby self (along with my big baby self) over to the counseling office before class starts.

"I'm sorry young lady," my counselor sips her tea gently. I can smell it from over here, chamomile. I hate chamomile. I'm a peppermint and green tea woman who does not take gym. "All students here are required to take physical education throughout their high school career. It's just as important to us as math or reading."

I stare into her cold, dead, amber eyes and watch the steam rise onto her glasses. How can she do this to me? After thanking her for her help (or lack of it), I walk out of the room and sigh. I wait for Michael in the lobby area outside of her office. His counselor's door has "Mr. Finkley" in big red letters, and after a while, it opens. Michael walks out clutching his schedule as though it were physically causing him pain to touch it.

"What happened?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "It's a requirement."

"On top of calculus?"

"Yup. I can't believe this is the place I'll graduate from."

I can't believe he's leaving me after this year, but I don't say that. I don't say anything, because I don't know how to tell him that constantly moving from school to school after this will be so much harder without him. I don't want to think about it. That's next year's problem.

Gym is this year's problem. Michael and I part ways, and he heads off to some kind of programming thing. He's excited, that's all that matters. He tells me to try to have fun, make friends, and don't pass out after the first lap.

I tell him not to break the computer.

He makes no promises. I don't either. When I turn down the next hall, I can't believe my eyes. The school building itself, like everything around this town, is already pretty cool, but the gym is huge!

I open one of the three sets of glass double doors leading in and walk onto the upper level, which is like a track around the whole area. Steps on every corner lead down to the lower level which is a basketball court with like ten hoops! What is this?

I lean over the railing, just a little bit, to checkout the volleyball area. It's right next to the equipment room which is filled to the brim with all kinds of things from what I can see, from soccer balls to lacrosse sticks, and people shuffle in and out of it. Some guys currently walking out with basketballs are laughing and shoving each other. I see jet black hair and a cocky grin at the very front. Carson?

Axel, wearing a tight black shirt, chases after him, laughing. He's trying to get the ball from his hands. The third is talking to two other guys, looking as stoic as ever. He looks over at his brothers and sighs. Then he looks up. Our eyes connect.

His eyes narrow.

Seriously? Shouldn't I be the one who's upset?

Suddenly, I feel someone grab my arm.