Flippers

• five; and the lion met the lamb •

                   F I V E ; and the lion met the lamb 

        ALEXANDRA STARTED, her trademark smile plastered across her face. I forced myself to concentrate, and be hyper-vigilant for any aces she threw my way. 

       "What event are we playing for?"

       "800 meters?" 

       "50 meters." She countered. Short sprints were her strength. Not mine.

       "200 meters." I challenged.

       "100 meters." She stated, raising her eyebrows.

       "Agreed." No-man's land. I could sense the compliance tricks both of us played. So did she, and it was evident from her smile. It was not malicious, as much as it was curious. She was in the zone.

      "What stroke are we playing for?"

      "Individual Medley." From the little time we had spent together competing as kids, I knew for a fact that she never participated in that event. Neither did I, but I was worth a try. The Door-In-The-Face Technique.

      "Butterfly." No way. I couldn't finish 50 meters of the stroke even if my life dependent on it. Breaststroke and Freestyle were also not options, since those were her dominant strokes; and she was bloody brilliant at it. Watching her swim was akin to a bird gliding across the waters.

      "Backstroke." This was the only thing I was fairly decent at, and most importantly, the stroke that Alexandra rarely participated in.

      "Breaststroke."

      "No. Backstroke."

      "Freestyle."

      "No. Backstroke."

      "Fine." She agreed. Interesting. Perhaps to the crowd, the exchange would make me seem assertive, but in reality, she had indirectly made me beg for it. A fact that only the both of us seemed to recognize. A Power Play. Her smile grew.

      I needed to neutralize it.

      "One last thing. Since you're playing by the rule book, every dare has a forfeit, doesn't it? A penalty, if I lose. I want one." I had low-balled her, and desperately prayed that she take it.

       Negotiating with Alexandra was equivalent to a tricky negotiation with my mother. Instead of asking her, you had to state it, had to be affirmative. For example: A 'Mum, could I please go clubbing on Wednesday?' would lead to her actually giving you her opinion. And to be honest, that would always be met with a straight 'no'. But, on the other hand, with the statement― 'Mum, I am going clubbing on Wednesday, and should be home soon', the chances of being 'allowed' for a night out would be relatively higher.

      In retrospect, so would the imprints of her fingers on your face. Terms and conditions did apply, of course.

     "Fair enough. If you lose, I want you to strut down the pool deck in a bikini and do as I say. And before you say no, it will not be something that the school will not allow. It will be within the rules. If you do that, I will ask my girls to back off. Starting from today― and after the event, if you do as I say. You want a forfeit, there's your forfeit. All you have to do is shake on it."

     Oh, she was playing me. And she was playing me good. 

     No, Parsley. If you really want to be assertive and confident, you can start with small things. Maybe, you can raise your hand and actually give your opinion in class. Maybe, you can take part for elocution instead of occasionally writing articles under a pseudonym. Maybe, you can participate in a cultural event for once, on the frontline. Anything but this. Khaleesi will not spare your head if you lose. You barely can stand naked in front of the mirror. Forget walking in front of the whole school in a bikini with your love handles and fat rolls enough to feed the whole continent of Africa.