because of you » a.i. [EDITING]

5: speechless

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ALL I WANT — KODALINE

 "but if you loved me / why'd you leave me?" 

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FIVE: SPEECHLESS

If my day wasn't already terrible enough, now I had to get ready for a gruelling P.E. lesson with people I had only just met a few hours ago. Apparently, this lesson was a one-off because, as older students, we "no longer require physical education" but we need a recap of the basics so that we can apply for sports clubs. They want us to be prepared to waste our time on shitty clubs nobody will even bother to turn up to in the long run anyway. I'd actually enjoy netball, however, it would mean I'd have to willingly communicate and work as a team. That's way too much to ask of me. 

As I tug my ridiculously skinny jeans (I've definitely picked up the wrong pair) down my legs, the denim bunching up at my ankles as I do the humiliating task of trying to get them over my feet, I notice a group of girls giggling in the corner while in their matching lingerie—what? Surely they didn't plan that. I couldn't help the cringe from surfacing as I glanced away from them with their horribly-bright pink push up bras and their barely-there thongs. They couldn't be any more cliché if they tried. And, come on, have they ever heard of comfort? If the underwear doesn't cover my whole butt, I don't want it.

Not before long, one of them is avidly staring in my direction and then the rest have followed suit in laughing as loudly as possible like it makes any difference to the crushing of my self-esteem. I hope they aren't laughing at me but something told me they might just be. It was understandable: I was a mystery to them, somebody so quiet that they'd only ever heard me softly reply to the register. I wasn't a mystery, I was only me. I was shy and awkward and uncomfortable and I say whatever I want before I think about the repercussions. 

Oh. They're not laughing because I'm not scantily clad in a similar pink get-up, they're laughing because my Trolls (yes, they were from the adult's section) briefs had somehow become entangled with my jeans that were now vacating the floor. It's my first day and I was flashing everyone. Without another thought, I cross my legs before reaching for my underwear and cover what's left of my dignity. 

I quickly pull on black leggings that are just a tiny bit too big for me and shove the cheap and cheerful running shoes I bought in the sale bin last summer before leaving the changing room. I didn't want to leave after them, feeling far too sheepish to trail behind after the traumatic experience that had just occurred. Sure, it was humiliating, but it was rather odd that they were staring at something private. Don't they know how to show a crumb of respect?

The P.E. teacher is as stereotypical as they come; her nose has been broken so many times that it's now crooked, her shorts-clad legs are covered in nasty-looking bruises and her hair is tied up in a sweaty ponytail. "Hmm," the teacher, Miss Phillips, hisses after absentmindedly blowing on her whistle and making me jump in shock. 

I notice everyone else, excluding the girls who had been laughing at me, had been partnered up with someone of the opposite sex. "Smart," she adds, looking over at me. "Irwin," she shouts as she points behind me, and I turn to see the floppy-haired hazel-eyed boy. "Partner up," she concludes, motioning for us to stand together.