Hiccstrid Shorts

The Bench

I sat on the steel bench, watching balls fly past. I had gotten out from a dodge game. Again.

The 'Out Bench' Was almost a second home. Whenever we played sport at school, I would be last picked for the teams, or gotten out straight away. They always came for me as soon as we started, knowing I was the easiest target. No-one ever passes the ball to me, thinking I won't catch it. But, I can. I easily catch things. No-one ever gives me a chance. No-one ever even acknowledges me, the mentally-lacking get more attention and encouragement than I do. Unless, of course. He's there.

Hamish Haddock. He's the only reason why I don't end up crying before sport. Because he pays attention to me. He passes the ball to me when no-ones looking. He gives me encouragement, telling me to give it my best shot. And when I get people out, they scream at Hamish, thinking it was him. He always tells them it wasn't him, but they never think more of it.

I raised my eyebrows in shock as Hamish took a hit to save another team-mate. Luckily the balls were soft and made of foam, causing no real injury to his ribs. He smiled at me as he joined me on the bench, ignoring his friends yelling at him for taking the hit. After all, Hamish was their best player.

"Hello," he greeted, ruffling his hair with a hand.

"Hey," I return before fiddling with my thumbs. The atmosphere around him always made me nervous, yet excited and jolly.

"So... How long did you last this time?" He asked me, nudging my shoulder with his elbow. Hamish loved teasing me, probably because I was the only one who would let him do it without his ear getting chewed off.

"Roughly two minutes," I smiled, looking up to meet his eyes. Oh, those eyes. Every girl talked about his eyes at break times, how they glow, and to everyone's knowledge except for Hamish's. They were wide, full of wonder and life, hope and dreams. The greens were mysterious shades, from a few neon flecks to a dark, forest green.

"Good job! I'm surprised how no-one notices how good you really are," He told me, watching the game. Everyone in our team wanted him back in, trying desperately hard to call him back in the game, but the other team was catching all their throws.

"I'm not good," I shot at him, perhaps a little sharper than I should have. His eyebrows shot up, and he flicked to me, eyes angry. I almost shrank back from him, and I felt so small under his strong gaze. I was scared for a moment, worried he was going to hurt or yell at me.

"Yes you are, Ashley. You, and everyone else, don't realise that. But guess what," affirmed, his eyes softening for a moment before switching to a look of all determination in the world.

"What?" I scoffed, rolling my eyes and looking at him.

"I'm gonna change that. I'm gonna put in a good word, and this year, you won't get a D in sport." He claimed, smiling.

"Please. You won't make a difference. One twelve year-old, cool kid could not make a difference in my report or my reputation." I defended. Of course, I would feel so wonderful if he did do this, but I wasn't the most enthusiastic. It could go two ways. One, everyone will believe him and my ranks will rise. But the second, if no-one believed him, he would start begging, making him look desperate and small. He would slowly lose his friends, which is the worst feeling. Trust me. He would sink to my level, and his life would suck from there onwards.

"Cool-kid?" He repeated, raising an eyebrow and smirking. "Did you just call me a Cool-kid?"

"I-uh. No. No I did not." I stuttered, and performed a mental facepalm.

"And you stuttered aswell? Ash, if I know you well enough, that means you're ly-ing." He sang, teasing me once again, but before I could say anything, Scott, his cousin, called him.