Unsung

Chapter Twenty-Eight

As we passed by each of the others, I watched them work their bows and shoot at various targets.

Ris had an all-black bow that he was busy lifting and shooting in a sort of methodical way. Raise bow. Pull back. Shoot. Grab new arrow.

Raise bow. Pull back. Shoot. Grab new arrow.
It was all so perfectly timed that it almost seemed as if he were moving to his own internal beat. Like the rhythm of a song that only he could hear.

I watched as each arrow hit the same place on the target, which was about forty feet away. They weren't actually ending up in the middle circle, but the accuracy of where each one did land was dead-on. Almost as if he hadn't been aiming for the center of the bullseye at all.

Next to him, Ty was holding his own bow, but didn't look nearly as comfortable doing it as Ris had. Gone was the smoothness of his attitude. Instead, his face was scrunched up in concentration as he pulled back on the string. His body hunched over in an almost unnatural way and he paused awkwardly for a moment, before letting the string retract back to its original form. He never let go of the arrow.

Drew had been watching him too, and stopped to correct Ty's posture as I continued on down the line.

Sophia clapped and jumped up and down after each one of her arrows hit its colorful target.

Looks like God had found her fit to have good aim.

Still, it was kind of cute how happy she got after each shot, and my annoyance over our earlier conversation started to dwindle.

Austin stood on the other side of Sophia and slowly picked out an arrow, putting it against the string. Then, with a sort of calm control, he pulled it back, letting it suspend there for just a few moments and then let the string slip through his fingers easily. I watched the arrow soar straight down the pathway and hit its paper target. The target that was about twenty feet further than anyone else's. Austin didn't celebrate like Sophia though, just picked out another arrow and repeated the process.

Moving on, I walked past a few empty lanes and then slowed down as I came up behind Garrick. I couldn't help but admire the view.
Today he was wearing a different pair of mesh basketball shorts, the same beat-up shoes and a program T-shirt that read, "Not all HEROES wear capes." His hair was pulled back again with the help of a headband, this one bright orange, and his locks rose up in a wild halo around his head.

Garrick hadn't noticed me yet, so I stopped just out of his eyesight and watched him prepare to shoot. First, he wiped his hands on his shirt, like they were sweaty from exertion or nerves. Then, he took a few steps backward so he was standing right behind a thick white line that had been drawn on the ground. Finally, he reached down toward his carrier...

And tipped it over, dropping all of his arrows to the ground at his feet.

"It's scary that they let you shoot at all," McKayla said from the lane next to him.

Garrick fake-laughed and then made a face as he dipped down and picked up one of the fallen arrows.

"At least I can hit the target," Garrick said. And then, with his head still turned in McKayla's direction, he placed the arrow in front of the string, whipped the bow up, pulled back and...
Swoosh.

The arrow landed right in the center of his bullseye.

"Whoa," I said, the word escaping my lips and giving away my presence at the same time.
What he'd done had been totally impressive.

And way hot.

Garrick shot a look over his shoulder and smiled when he saw me.

"I can hit the target," McKayla grumbled. "Drew just won't let me."