- Adrenaline -

Chapter 6: Any Excuse Is A Good Excuse.

     I don't know if every high school is like this or not- we don't have a whole lot of interactions with places outside of Exclamation!, but here, you have to participate in gym every year. I think it's stupid.
     If we're supposed to be training for something, wouldn't they clone actual soldiers? I mean, Van Gogh was an artist, Mahatma Gandhi was a renowned pacifist, so why clone us instead of more people like Joan of Arc and John F. Kennedy? Those are good leaders, not fucking monks and artists.
     Sometimes I wonder what's outside of these stupid walls. What kind of other clones exist out there? Or are there any other clones at all? Why are all the clones in exclamation either teachers or students, and not farm workers, or cashiers? Why are our parents just... regular individuals?
     It's something I think about every gym class. I step into the showers with my bag to get changed behind the curtain, in my own privacy. Sometimes I can't help but get distracted, but even though I'm almost always late to gym, I never get written up. Berthas always stood up for me when it came to my body issues and anxiety.

     I hear a whistle and I quickly snap out of it, tying my shoes and breaking into a sprint to make it to the indoor track. As I walk it, everyone is split into groups of two. Today's the monthly fitness test, where you pair up and have someone watch you run, or hold down your feet while performing sit-ups. Easy enough to say that I hate it. Coach knows that, too. Mrs. Roosevelt doesn't give a shit if you're uncomfortable, and I'm pretty sure she drinks the tears off the gym floor after hours.
     "You!" She shouts, gravel stuck in her throat, "You're the last student to arrive late, so I'm pairing you up with Kennedy! You will take turns spotting each other and then run the track for 20 minutes! Go!"
     Kennedy must have been second to last showing up. Now I'm partnered with him. God, what is this? Some shitty fan fiction?

     I shuffle over to John, who smiles at me. I return it, though it feels forced. Bringing myself to smile in a time like this? Fuck off.

     "Don't look so down short stuff, I uh, don't bite!"
     I roll my eyes. Being next to him makes my organs twist and my heart start to palpitate. It feels as though the beating in my chest is shaking my entire body. I can see him frown. Roosevelt blows the whistle again, signaling us to get moving n
     The first couple of tasks aren't that bad. John completes the sit ups in no time, doubles his push ups, and absolutely destroys the rest of us at the pull up bar. Meanwhile I'm. Well, I'm trying. My fingers routinely run through my hair, messing with it as if it recharged my will power. I was nothing compared to most of the other students. John never stopped cheering me on though.
     Mrs. Roosevelt blew her spit-filled whistle again, pointing us all towards the track. I truly dreaded this. I'm not asthmatic, but I'm surely out of shape! Hopefully if I just run for ten minutes, I can stop and sit down. That's usually how it goes for me, anyway.

     But it didn't. As soon as my feet started moving, Johns moved right along side me. Johns a fantastic runner. When we were in track sophomore year, John would kick all of our asses to the wind. He won several competitions, but here he was, running with me, never leaving my side.
     I would glance at him in disbelief every now and then. He would look at me and smile, keeping his pace steady. It almost made me mad. He's doing this out of pity, I just know it!
     Five laps in and my lungs are starting to burn. John notices me slowing down.

     "Come on Vinnie man! You can do it!"

     I take a deep breath, picking my speed back up.

     "That's it little guy! Keep trucking, you got this!"

     Why is he being so nice to me? Does it matter?
     My sides are in stitches, but the cheering from such an athletic icon soothe the pain. I push myself, looking at the timer on the wall. 11 minutes.
     "9 more minutes, you can do it!"
     My legs are sore, my vision is blurry. Can I do it? I've already ran more than I usually do.
     The kind words keep my fueled. I've never been so encouraged like this before. I keep running. Five minutes left. It feels like there are cinderblocks on my lungs. My stomach churns. But he's so proud of me. I want to stop, but he's giving me so much hope.

     I don't hear a lot after the clock hits three minutes left. Except for,
     "I'll take him, sir."

     Next thing I know, I'm being carried down to the nurses office. I can hear two people talking.
     "What happened here?"
     "You shoulda seen him, miss! Little man ran nearly a uh, a mile in gym!"
     "Looks like he really pushed himself."
     How embarrassing.
     I got my vision back not long after, after recognizing how I am now in a very uncomfortable cot, with a cold rag over my forehead. John shakes my arm, smiling.
     "Hey uh, I just wanted to wait till your brain got back in gear! Good job out there, uh, Vincent!"
     I groan, my entire body aching. I sit up and reach for the trash can. John pats my back.
     "It was so cool to er uh, watch you  run like that!"
     "Yeah, um... thanks, I guess. The encouragement really helped."
     "Hey, you seem like a smart kid, right?"
     "... yeah, I guess so."
     "Think you can do me a favor?"
     I pull my head away from the trash can and look at him in surprise.
     "Since I helped you out in gym," John starts, not breaking eye contact with me, "maybe you could uh, help me too."
     I hesitate, squinting at him, "Help you with what?"
     "I'm takin' an art history class. It's so boring! But you're an art dude, so I was uh, thinkin' you could help me study!"
     "Art history?"
     "I had to take an art related elective for the uh, advanced diploma. Clone State loves that on a résumé!"
     I felt like I was gonna hurl again.

     So, John and I exchanged numbers, he said it was so we could plan a time and date for a study session. Why am I always giving up my time for others?