About a Loser

Chapter 1

Gemma's Point of View

The first time we meet is on a Sunday at 6:17am, and by the way, Sunday 6:17 am is also a pretty accurate description of how I feel.

Actually, scratch that. Sunday 6:17 am still sounds way better than the shit that I have gotten myself into. Let me explain: I'm not a particularly social person. Never have been. If you showed me a picture with rainbow-colour frosted strawberry cupcakes on one side and scrambled eggs on the other and asked me which one I was most similar to, I wouldn't hesitate to point at the plain white wall in the background. That's just who I am, not even interesting enough to be the tablecloth or the shadow of a plate of scrambled eggs.

So, yeah, for a plain white background wall like me, every time is pretty much a Sunday 6:17 am already, but this particular one is even worse because I am the new kid coming to a new school halfway through the year, I have never joined a sports team before and there is no reason why my classmates here should be nicer than the ones at my old school. But let the games begin.

There I am, sitting in my car which I have parked at the McDonalds parking lot, just a few minutes away from Red Oak High School. I keep checking my phone even though people like me get a new haircut more often than a text message.

It's 6:15 am and training doesn't start until 6:45; so why the hell are you half an hour early again, Gemma?

To be honest, half an hour is still kind of an understatement, because I have already been sitting in this parking lot for a good ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I'm chronically early. It's a curse.

On the bright side, it means that I've got a lot of experience in dealing with situations like these. Someone less careful might have driven straight to school, but I know that I'd be lucky if the gates were even open yet, and there's nothing worse than having to explain why you're half an hour early anyway. I mean, why are you asking, idiot? Do I look like I've got a reason?

So that's why the McDonalds parking lot is the perfect place to be right now. Apart from almost every other place on earth, of course, like, say, Japan or maybe the Australian outback. Actually, now that I think about it, even Pluto would be better than this. At least, if I was on Pluto right now, that would be a valid excuse not to show up to this stupid training and enjoy the last week of christmas break instead. Even my mom would have to accept that even the best runner can't travel a 330 light-minute distance and still make it to school in time for track practice. And I'm afraid I'm more than a 330 light minute distance away from being just an average runner let alone a good one.

I check my phone again and it's still 6:15. Why did I let mom sign me up for the track team? Why?

The answer is, of course, that I didn't let her. She's a bit like a pot of boiling milk, that, if left unattended for even just a few seconds, will cause a horrendous disaster. Except that unlike boiling milk, she knows exactly what she's doing, she just thinks that for some reason, a messy kitchen would be a major improvement in her daughter's life. And now there's no going back, because the only thing worse than showing up to training would be not showing up and having to explain my absence later.

Of course, there's still the option of not showing up at all, but I know that it'd eventually catch up with me and even thinking about having to explain myself for skipping something makes me so nervous that I can't take the risk.

It's 6:16 now and I'm probably already sweating more than most people will during todays workout. Except me, of course, 'cause I'm shit at sports. I'm shit at pretty much everything, really.

A car pulls into the parking lot. It has a big dent in the back that kind of looks like a smiley face. How ironic that even the fucking car can smile when I can't. I make the mistake of trying to look at the driver, hoping that it's some random guy who just got back from a night shift.