the ups and downs of micahs

5

▷ micah blue ◁

swelter [ˈswel-tər]

noun | a state of oppressive heat

I managed to survive my first four days at Farin Valley, only to die on Friday.

    Currently: Thirty students, packed like sardines on creaky metal bleachers in a large, Olympics-like gymnasium where the temperature plateaued at a sticky eighty degrees.

    I could feel the sweat teeming on the nape of my neck, bound to run down my back, but instead of taking my sweater off, I sweep my hair into a high ponytail and suck it up with a slow, agonized breath.

    I'm sitting on the highest bleacher, which I now realize is a mistake because the hot air is rising and, while the whole gym is a steaming oven, the first bleacher is probably way cooler. I wipe sweat out of my eye and gaze down, where I'm met with the backs of Sidney, Watson, Jesse, and Micah. They're all laughing, sort of huddled into a little group that I notice everyone is trying to peek or listen into.

    Micah and I have become more familiar with each other, upgrading our greetings from blushed, open mouths to waves with smiles, and our interaction from small talk to conversations with substance. He was way more than a pretty face; He was intelligent and attentive and chatty, which made my heart flutter in a less romantic way these days.

    "Listen up, kids," Coach Nelson's voice spreads over all of us and every head faces toward him. He begins to pace back and forth, his too short gym shorts causing him to waddle like a baby duck.

    "It's the first Friday of the school year, so that means we will be engaging in a game of icebreaker dodgeball!" His husky tone goes slightly excited, but everyone groans. I just stare confused because, what the hell is "icebreaker dodgeball"?

    "I hope everyone brought their shirts and shorts because you're going to be drowning in sweat. You have five minutes to change, GO!"

    With a crescendo of chatter, we all raise our disgustingly wet bodies from the seats and traverse down the noisy metallic steps. Micah and company are the first to reach Coach Nelson's table, grabbing their shirts and making their effortlessly cool, "haha you wish you could be us" way to the locker rooms.

    When I reach the shirt table, Coach Nelson eyes my body and grasps a medium sized shirt that he intends to hand me. I wave his offering away with a breath.

    "Uh, can I actually get, like, an extra large?" Coach Nelson shakes his head incredulously and tries to hand me the shirt again, but I deny it once more.

    "No, seriously, I need that extra large." The girl that stands next to me in line looks at me with heavy, confused eyes, and it takes everything in me not to snatch the shirt from Coach Nelson when he finally hands it over to me.

    I rush into the locker room and I feel transported to a Bath and Body Works as my entire respiratory system is swamped with sweet scents of rose lotions and vanilla body perfumes. I wheeze slightly as I find an available locker between two barely clothed girls, who maintain conversation even though their boobs are out and I'm blocking their view of each other.

    I've come to the conclusion that every girl that goes to Farin Valley High is some kind of model. Perfect skin with golden tans and shimmering glows, fabulous hair that falls in waves or reaches to the sky in perfect spirals and coils, smiles that rival the Sun at its peak hours, and all these other things that I could describe for hours.