Under Pressure - Septiplier

Chapter Eleven

Chlorine and the smell of too many people stinks up the sidewalk outside the natatorium, emanating from the doors leading to the building, sulking out, saturating Mark's lungs. He curls up in a corner near the door, between the brick wall and a "pillar" that juts out a bit from the wall for decor. Mark chooses the location because corners are more comfortable for curling up in. He draws his book closer, curling the pages between the covers and letting them fall. Such a soothing sensation on the tips of his fingers, simplistic and conventional.

Mark ignores the din of splashing and cheering and chatter and yelling and laughing, seeping through the cracks encompassing the edges of the doors. It's much quieter out here, but it still takes some effort to prevent the racket from troubling him. Each noise is still sudden and random, still volatile and unpredictable. Tom is on the varsity swim team, now that's he's a junior, things are incredibly competitive. This is the year where colleges are really looking at him. Sixteen, two years away from college, and Mark is resigned to his fate of constant attendance at swim-meets, still only eleven years old.

A pair of white vans steps into view, marching into his peripheral vision with toes resolutely turned toward him. Mark hesitantly peers upward in confusion, brows rising. He doesn't know anybody who wears white vans. He doesn't hang out with the kids who keep up with the trends. The girl has dark brown hair, big brown eyes, a slightly impish smile quirked upon her lips.

"So, is this the reading corner?" she asks, holding up her book. It's well worn, spine cracked, pages dog-eared, corners bent from flicking them absentmindedly as she reads.

"I guess?"

"Mind if I sit next to yah?"

Mark hesitates. Her behavior is abnormal from girls he's met before. In sixth-grade, they all still seem to have the "cooties" aversion to anything male, or they are too shy to approach guys, or they act like one of the bros. However, he's one of the nerdy, "weird" kids. Girls aren't exactly something he deals with on a regular basis, as foreign a species as the family cat that only shows up from the fissures and clefts of the house to be fed once a day.

"I guess?" he mumbles again, deciding it's best to be polite and kind. After all, this girl doesn't seem particularly annoying. Her grin appears to brighten, practically blinding as she plops down. She leans back against the clay without care, cracking open the book. There is a familiarity in the motion. She has done this many times, and that reassures Mark.

"My name is Amy, what are you reading?" she asks, attempting to ignite conversation between them. Mark lifts his book, providing a silent answer as her eyes absorb the cover design.

"Ender's Game... What's it about?"

Mark bites his lip. She clearly wants to hold a conversation, but Mark is not in the mood. He feels exhausted and worn down, sodden with the scent of chlorine and the damp feeling that purveys the air in and about the natatorium. He turns the book to the back and shows her the blurb in answer.

"Oh, huh. So it's a space book, right...?"

She wants to know about the book, and with the way she inflects her voice and glances at Mark, she wants to know his name as well. Lots of questions, lots of matches falling upon damp, sodden kindling.

"Mark, and kind of? It's more about... fighting, and strategy," Mark answers, pulling the book back and opening it back to his current page.

"What's the best thing about it so far?" she queries, the impish smile back. A strand of hair dangles in front of her face as she tilts her head down and turns it toward him. Mark's brows furrow. What a strange thing to ask. Not the best part, not his favorite scene. The best thing about the book.

"The symbolism. There's one chapter called Phoenix, which is the 'army'"- Mark says, doing air quotes -" he's in. As the chapter goes on, it discusses how Ender feels like he's stuck, no longer progressing, caught in an endless cycle," he explains, his passion rising from the ashes of the dull swim-meet. His eyes sparkle, like the crystals in brown sugar, warm and sharp.

"Like a phoenix," Amy finishes softly, closing the loop of explanation, which in itself comes back to the beginning. Mark nods, a pleasant smile on his face. He tucks his lips inward, cheeks chubby and round as he softens the smile, not wanting to blind Amy with an unwarranted grin. They were discussing symbolism, not cracking jokes.

"And then throughout all of it, there's this giant that he has to deal with in this game he plays, and it"- Mark stops himself, a huff departing from his lips. He doesn't want to spoil anything.

"I guess I'll just have to read it then," Amy muses, the impish smile back. It was a mischievous thing, somehow comforting and sweet, but still a playful gesture. Mark laughs softly and nods.

"Yeah, you should," he grins, smile shy and soft. He meets Amy's eyes before looking off to the side, tentative and as flitty as a bird.

"Maybe I can borrow it from you when you're done," Amy hums thoughtfully, "Tonight I'm just reading one of my favorites though. My parents are at some meeting with the principal about donations and deals with their coffee shop. I got bored and wandered," she divulges.

Mark nods in understanding. This makes more sense now, as he has never seen her at a swim meet before, but she is wearing a bracelet with their middle school letters stamped on it. The two continue to talk, leaping from topic to topic, laughing softly, gasping over shared interests. Mark cracks a joke, and she laughs. Mark follows as well, amused and amicable in her company.

"Yo, Mark! Let's roll!" Tom calls from across the ways, where his family now stands. Mark glances up, only now noticing the increasing stream of people leaving the natatorium, the chatter swelling, eddying about until it pools in the small groups that break off.

"Sorry, I've gotta go," Mark apologizes, climbing to his feet. Amy gasps and digs in her pocket until she pulls out her phone to hand it to Mark.

"Give me your number real quick," she nearly demands. Mark quirks a brow at the assertive nature of the statement but does as she requests. He hands it back, gives her a light wave, and heads off to his family.

"Absolute Chad levels of energy. A total player!" Tom rags, grinning with pride for his brother, and the golden piece draped over his neck to hang loosely on his chest. First place, as usual. Mark huffs as his dad ruffles his hair, attempting to ward off the attack and blushing.

"Was not," he mumbles as his only answer. A defensive glint sharpens in his eyes, not wanting to talk about the subject. He feels caught in the act, knife in hand, though the two hadn't gone within a mile's radius of flirting.

"It's cute," his mother hums. A knowing smile dons her lips as she pats Mark's shoulder, and the family walks to the car.

"Insolence," he playfully glowers, and the family laughs, climbing into the car and heading home. Mark huffs and shoots a glare at his family. A soft click sounds out, simply to ensure he's still doing fine, and he shakes his head, a slight smile gracing his lips.