Cheap Shots

00:19

UNEDITED

19.

Justin wasn’t exactly thrilled with me when I keyed him in on the fact that I’d be having to spend quite a bit more time with him in the trainer’s office. 

            He seemed very keen on checking in on every sport possible, leaving me to fend for myself.

            I guess people crowding his office for days on end wasn’t exactly fun, especially when athletic trainer’s didn’t get very much pay.  “I’ll see you later,” he told me, “Ice that ankle to reduce the swelling, and keep it elevated!”

            “Sounds like a party,” I mumbled sarcastically as Beckett walked in with a heat pack already wrapped around his hand.

            He wasn’t paying attention to anything but the small book he was holding with his good hand, flipping the pages with his thumb ever so lightly.  I squinted my eyes at the front cover of it, trying to catch a glimpse of what it was that was so intriguing to him.  ‘Hamlet.  “You’re reading Shakespeare?”  I exclaimed, shocked.

            He looked up from his book with wide eyes, almost as if he didn’t notice me lying on the bed with my foot propped up against a pale yellow foam triangle.  I looked ridiculous, how could he not notice me?

            Snapping the book shut, a small blush spread across his cheeks as he looked up guiltily.  “Yeah.”  He cleared his throat; “We have to read it for Literature.”

            I raised an eyebrow and nodded my head, pretending I believed his petty excuse.  I took Literature last year, and we never read any Shakespeare. 

            Why would he want to cover up the fact that he reads plays?

            “Can I see that copy?”  I asked, “I want to see what part you guys are at, I’ve read it before.”         

            He tossed the book over to me and I caught it easily, the spine smacking against the palm of my hand.  The cover was worn and slightly ripped on the corner of it, the front cover held together messily with tape. 

            Opening the book, I automatically flipped to where there was a yellow post it sticking out, marking a line in Act 1 Scene 3, the quote messily copied onto it.  In very illegible letters, the quote, “This above all: to thine ownself be true,” (Hamlet 1.3.78). 

I frowned in bewilderment as I realized that no other pages were marked.  “Are you only on this part?”  I asked, “The ‘thine ownself’ part?”

            He shook his head, “That’s just my favorite line.”  There was something off about his expression, a face mixed with sadness and anger that confused me even more.  Why would he mark off one quote in the whole copy, and lie about reading the play in the first place?

            “Why?”  I questioned curiously.

            His expression suddenly became guarded, and he looked away.  “It’s personal,” he told me.

            I nodded, not wanting to get into personal business, knowing that it could be very bad, and I didn’t want to ruin my somewhat happy mood.

            I threw the copy back at him, the book hitting him square in the chest.  He grunted a thanks and I just nodded, taking out my phone and opening up the music app to play something that would get rid of the morose mood. 

            2000s Pop Radio came on immediately, my built-in speaker blasting some Back Street Boys as I sang along messily.

            My phone beeped in the middle of Shape Of My Heart with a message from Lauren (who had decided not to come to school with me today.  I had changed my mind so that I wouldn’t have to make up all the homework I would unquestionably get today over the long weekend when we were getting Halloween costumes).  When’s the next field hockey game?  I’m making you guys posters (;  Isn’t it sectionals now????  I rolled my eyes at her artistic abilities, something I’d never been good at: drawing.

            I have no idea, JACQUE?  I responded back to our group chat, a little angry that Catherine was in it as well.

            I still didn’t forgive her.  Jacque and Lauren were pushing for me to accept her apology; according to them she’s shed more tears over this than she has in her entire life, which I find highly improbable.  It was doubtful that she shed one tear, besides the pity cry in the hallway on Monday, which only came because she saw my half deformed face.    

            The cut had lightly scabbed over, that awkward re-growth of skin that wasn’t a scab but wasn’t healed either, and was still a nasty red color.  I looked like a full-blown Harvey Dent.

            Not sectionals yet, we have one more game.  COME ON ORION- you’ve got to stay updated with this stuff, the games on Friday night @7 @ home.  Can my poster be sparkly?

            Whoa, getting crazy, two @s in a row… Sectionals was a game away?  It didn’t feel like it, with Halloween in two weeks, sectionals seemed like it would be farther away, treading into November. 

            Yeah, ha-ha.  As soon as I received Lauren’s response too, I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and watched as Beckett read his poetry.

            The corners of his eyes crinkled as he read over some lines, and while skimming others his eyebrows would furrow in disgust.  Shakespeare was kind of bawdy, so that was reasonably expected.  Little pervert.

            “Stop staring at me,” Beckett mumbled suddenly.

            I rolled my eyes even though he wasn’t looking at me.  “There’s nothing else to do.”

            “I know I’m good looking, but if you want-“

            “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I warned, picking up a water bottle on Justin’s desk and tilting it towards him.

            “What are you going to do?”  He taunted, looking up from Hamlet, “Sieve?”

            “Depends,” I responded back cockily, pretending to think about it.

            He rolled his eyes, “Nice threat.  Points for effort.”

            I shrugged, “It needs some work.  How about you read to me so I don’t become bored out of my mind.”

            “How about no?”

            “Yes it is,” I said, lying back on the bed, taking the heat off so my foot could rest for a little bit.

            “Fine,” he muttered, slowly inhaling before reading part of the play in his deep voice, not bothering to tell me which characters were speaking.  I wasn’t really paying attention to the words anyway.

***

my friends and i are having a slight argument: which is more attractive? (BESIDES AN AMAZING PERSONALITY) guys w/earring or no earring? SEPARATE ARGUMENT: tattoos? hot? or not? COMMENT, I WANNA WIN! (also rly curious)