The Elements of Rage | ✔

• T W O •

"She wanted a storm to match her rage."

  ・ ・ ・ 

"Today we will be playing World Cup!" Coach Max yells. "For those of you noobs who don't know, this is a soccer activity. You will have a partner—Assigned! Assigned!! Get away from each other!—and will work against all the others to score a goal! You will only be using one half of the field and scoring in the one goal! Each pair will have a country's name—That I will choose! Stop shouting!— and whoever scores the most goals, wins! Now stop asking questions, here are your partners!"

He seems like a fun teacher.

"Victoria and Cole, Brazil! Luke and Elijah, Iceland! Lewis and Colt, Japan! Axe and Ronald, America! Mitch and Rori, Australia! Rage and Boaz, Argentina!" He calls out the pairs and their country.

Coach Max continues, but I don't pay attention, having already heard enough information.

I scan the room until I find a pair of dark eyes locked on my own. The owner is tall and muscular, means we have a good chance of winning.

Striding over to him, I confirm, "Boaz?"

He nods and remarks, "I take it you're Rage?"

"Yup. Do you play soccer?" I ask hopefully, pulling my long black hair into a ponytail.

I like to win. I like being the best and trying, especially in sports and other physical activities.

Boaz merely shrugs, his amber eyes lazy and bored. Okay, maybe he isn't a talker. Not a big deal. Up close, I notice his peculiar hair. It is black and the ends appear to be singed, as if his hair has been caught on fire recently.

Together we head out to the soccer field and wait for the others to come and Coach Max to get it started.

"You take that side, I'll take this side," I direct gesturing quickly and then jogging off once I see his shrug.

Bending my knees, I get ready to run and take off as soon as Coach throws the ball in. I race up, dribble the ball towards the goal, and pass it off to Boaz when the other teams get too close. But we do not score. Instead, I look over and see Boaz laying on the ground on his back, his arm over his eyes.

Is he sleeping?! In the middle of the soccer field?! In the middle of class?! In the middle of our game?! AND NO ONE IS GOING TO STOP HIM?!

"Boaz!" I shout. "What are you doing?!"

"Imschlupck," He groans. "Aghtirag."

"What?!" I exclaim jogging over so that I am leaning over him.

"I'm sleeping," He repeats in English. "And tired."

"Well, get the hell up and run!" I roar, quickly losing patience.

I don't do well with people who don't put out any effort, especially when I am forced to work with them.

"I'm good," He grunts, flopping over.

This is a joke. This must be a joke. Nobody acts this way in real life.

Right?

"Coach always pairs the new students with Boaz," The green haired girl, Victoria explains apologetically.

I see what this is. This is an injustice! I will not stand for this just because some lazy ass can't get his ass off the ground and

"Run!" I boom.

Seeing it has no effect on him, I kind of lose it. But not all the way, thank goodness. I still have some control over my anger. For now.

Leaning close, I hiss, "You will get your lazy ass off the ground by the time I count to three or I will skin you alive, cook you, and eat you. Or, I will feed you to the piranhas, limb by limb. Or, I will run you through the garbage disposal inch by inch. Or, I will tie you to the back of a car by your hands and drive you through the streets until you finally die. Or, I will take a knife and slit you, navel to nose and eat your organs. Or, I will pluck out your eyeballs, shove them down your throat, chop your fingers off one by one, shove them down your throat, cut off your—"