Sixth Year (Snowbaz)

9. Football Tryouts Pt. II

Baz

There's something ravishing about Simon Snow when he's concentrating. The chewing of the end of the pencil, the way his eyebrows knit together, the focus in his blue eyes. It's easy to stare at him when he's like this, so I let myself. 

I spent every night of the week helping Snow study Political Science, Greek, and History. And each sunrise woke coaching him. Today is the the second football tryouts. Last night I instructed Snow to sleep in and save his energy. He, of course, obliged and trotted happily off to bed after I helped him with his 'History of Magic in Australia' essay. To be honest, helping Snow means I'm slowly falling behind in my classes. Yesterday, Miss Possibelf confronted me about the lateness of my Magic Words commentary and I didn't know what to say. I've never handed in anything late before. Maybe it's time to talk to Snow about the time frame of our agreement. If I keep being so diligent in my tutoring, Penelope Bunce is sure to top the class at the end of the school year.

Snow wakes up at approximately 8 o'clock this morning. I'v been up, dressed and at my desk since 6 because I need to focus on my own academic success. I figure this is a good time to bring up some ground rules.

"Look, Snow." I say, turning around in my desk chair to face where he sits up on the bed, looking gorgeously disheveled. "Not that I'm not incredibly intelligent, but all this helping you has me falling behind."

His face scrunches up.

"Baz, you said you would help me," Snow whines.

"Not like I have a choice," I mutter. "Snow, no offence but half the time I'm writing the essay for you."

"That's 'cause you're always taking the pencil out of my hand," he says defensively. "And your vampire hands are bloody freezing!"

Hmm. That wasn't quite the romantic Twilight-esque moment I had fantasised about. No pulling up in the silver Volvo.

"Well from now on I'm only giving you pointers, I got an A- on my last Latin paper because of all the energy I've been wasting on you."

"I think you're forgetting what you have to lose here Baz," Snow retorts with a wicked glint in his eye.

"I don't think my Mother would be too pleased with me failing school," I spit in frustration. I'm not fond of using my Mum's death as an excuse, but sometimes having a dead parent provokes the sympathy I require.

The glint in Snow's eye disappears and is replaced by a sombre stare and pitiful frown. Snow possesses a certain type of empathy, being a fully fledged orphan himself. He understands the pain.

Face still soft, Snow's voice comes out stubborn again.

"Fine," he scoops his school uniform up in his arms and slams the door of the bathroom. I leave for school while he's in there and as per usual we don't talk the whole day.

***

When my Greek lesson finishes in the afternoon I make my way up to my room to get changed, then walked swiftly down to the pitch. I've made a habit of wearing a headband to keep my hair out of my face. It makes me look strangely like Keira Knightley in Bend it like Beckham, and I emit the same homosexual energy.

When I make it to the changing rooms at the neck of the woods to put away my bag, I see Snow perching nervously on the wooden bench against the wall, his right leg bouncing intensely in his purple sock (he wears the team socks even at training).

"You ready, Snow?" I try to sound unbothered but a little too much warmth comes out.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he pushes his hands onto his thighs and gets up, striding past me out the entrance. I can hear the heaviness of his breath.

Today's tryouts are similar to last week's, and I find myself more confident than ever thanks to a week of early morning trainings. The players trying out weave speedily through cones and make shots at the goals with varying success. Much to my surprise, Snow is one of the more successful participants. Of course, his skill and precision has improved drastically over the week, but it has still only been a week. Never the less, he darts across the field aptly and fiercely. Whenever I'm able to catch a breather I study him carefully, the smooth curve of his toned legs and the keen look in his eyes as he spins around his opponents like fine silk on a golden spool.

At one point it's him against me. Snow puts up an excellent fight. His footwork mirrors mine so well that I almost didn't get the football past him. He's good, but I'm still better.

At  5, Coach Mac blows his whistle to signal that the training session is over. He waves us all in, Simon bullets over to the edge of the field, I join the circle just behind him. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Bunce and Wellbelove sitting on the stone wall that lines the East side of the pitch. Snow must have invited them expecting victory. For the sake of his ego I hope he gets in.

"Alright guys and girls, this year's line up is as follows:" Coach Mac says, guarding his clipboard so no one could see the verdict.

"Jane Bingham, Flora Duffield, Niall Finnigan, Basilton Grimm-Pitch..."

I'm not surprised.

In front of me I see Snow's hands jittering ferociously. Many of those, who's names had not been called out in the obvious alphabetical order, heads' had started dramatically sagging. This included Dev who looked absolutely gutted. He smoked like a chimney and lived off of biscuits and crisps so it was really no surprise.

"Ross McMahon, Sarah-Jane O'Leary, Michael Redwood, Simon Sn-"

"Yes!" Snow exclaims in front of me. He spins around to me and throws his arm around me in a bout of mania and claps me on the back. I'm so taken aback I nearly fall over. I see Bunce's glare out the corner of my eye.

"Get in!"Snow yells happily. He's let go now and faces again towards Coach Mac. "Sorry, Coach." I watch as his face goes red.

Coach Mac finishes off the list which consists of thirteen people. Two of whom will be on the bench, which may include Snow, so the giddy grin on his face makes me worry.

"Sorry to those who didn't make the cut, there's always next year," says Coach Mac thoughtfully.

The players make their way back to the change rooms, some solemn and some elated. Simon, however, darts over to Bunce and his precious Wellbelove. I hate to watch them together, so I follow the crowd to shower and change.