Status: 36/51 chapters!
Music Girl
The Track Meet
Detention wasn’t as bad as I thought. All I had to do was sit there silently, so I ate my meager veg-head lunch and then figured out lyrics for a new song. I left the detention feeling a lot calmer than when I entered it. Go music.
I was I the kitchen cleaning up dinner when Aravic finally came home. He was still in his track uniform, shorts and a sleeveless shirt, splattered with mud and soaked in sweat. He stumbled into the kitchen and collapsed onto a stool, nearly tumbling to the floor. I sighed, agitated. “I just cleaned this floor, you dumbass,” I commented as I began to pull out the wet vacuum. Aravic just shook his head.
“Icy Hot…” he groaned, trying to life his arm.
“What?” I asked over the vacuum as it sucked up the mud.
“Icy Hot,” he said a little louder.
I understood now. “Get it yourself,” I snapped.
“Sam!” he whined, and I sighed.
“Oh bloody hell,” I growled, and dug though the medicine drawer until I found the tub e of extra-strength pain reliever. “Here,” I said, chucking the tube at him. Aravic caught it with the tips of his fingers and began to rub the strong mint-smelling substance all over his arms and legs.
“Thanks,” he said once he was recovered. “Couch about killed us today, we have a home meet this Saturday.”
I snorted. “Fun.” He closed his eyes and nodded as he yawned. “Well, leftovers are in the fridge, help yourself,” I told him before I left for my room, the smell of Icy Hot lingering in my nose.
-
The week passed in a sort of invisible tension. Not the kind you could cut with a knife, but more the kind where you don’t quite know where it is, and it makes you paranoid. I felt like I was being followed, but in a sea of students, it’s nearly impossible to tell these kinds of things.
For some reason, Aravic’s track meet Saturday morning became a priority, and Father insisted Tomas and I go watch. Tomas didn’t mind; I did. I wished like no other that Cynthia was awake so she could come with me. She was good at keeping me out of trouble.
I had a hard time falling asleep Friday night. Something in the back of my mind was nagging me.
“Don’t go tomorrow, Sam,” the imaginary voice told me. “Something’s going to happen.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I told it. “You know I have to go, and nothing’s going to happen. For Darwin’s sake, it’s a track meet!”
I was wrong, as usual.
I seem to have a knack for being wrong.
-
It took a few moments after my alarm went off to drag my lazy ass out of bed. I yawned wildly and my eyelids drooped as I entered the kitchen to start up breakfast. The clock on the stove read 6:28. “Damn,” I yawned as I opened the fridge. Three and a half hours of sleep. Not the least I’d ever had, but I was hoping for more. I cooked pancakes for myself, Tomas and Father, and bacon, eggs and toast for Aravic.
We left the house around 7:45. I was sticking to my iPod as usual, and that didn’t change when we got to the field. Aravic was off to the locker rooms, Father to the sponsor’s seating, and Tomas to go find his friends. I found a deserted section of bleachers and plopped myself down in the corner, music blaring. I was currently immersed in “Let The Monster Rise,” from Repo! The Genetic Opera. I closed my eyes and let the lyrics that I connected to so well flow through my brain like the cool autumn breeze that now ruffled my short black hair.
“Don’t help me anymore Dad,
You are dead, Dad,
In my eyes
Someone has replaced you
Dad, I hate you
Go and DIE!”
“What are you doing here?”
It’s just amazing how some people’s voices can penetrate even the loudest music. Sighing, I opened my eyes and pulled out one headphone. Standing a few rows down from me, glaring up with her arms crossed was Bree, dirty blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail with a bright purple ribbon. I snorted at her, and she got pushier.
“Hey! I asked you a question! Why the hell are you in our spot?”
“The fuck are you talking about? I don’t see any sign saying, ‘Whore Section – Reserved.’”
Her face flushed and she opened her mouth to retort when Aravic walked up in his track uniform and a bag slung over his shoulder. Bree’s expression immediately changed. “Hi Aravic,” she said in a fakely-shy voice, batting her eyelashes.
“Hey,” he said dejectedly, not even glancing at her. When he looked up and found me however, he immediately smiled and took the bleachers two at a time to come stand over me. I had to crane my neck back to see his face. “Hi Sam, can I leave my bag here while I warm up?” His sudden politeness took me aback.
“Sure, whatever,” I shrugged, and he plopped the bag down at my feet.
“Thanks Sam,” he finished before trotting back down the bleachers and onto the track. Bree shot me one last ferocious glare before walking away to find her friends. I simply rolled my eyes.
By the time warm-ups had finished, the stands were filled. Bree and her clique took up the first two rows on my set of bleachers, but other than that, I was alone. The rival school, Bolder Canyon Mountaineers, was seated on the opposite side of the field. Aravic separated himself from his team and jogged up to my bleachers shirtless. Bree’s posse giggled madly as he ran up past them and stood over me again. I threw his shirt up in his face. He stank of sweat. “Aw, come on Sam, you know it’s hot,” he teased, grinning.
“Shut your face and put on your damn shirt,” I retorted, unfazed. He plopped down beside me, still grinning. I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re in a good mood,” I pointed out. He just nodded kind of slowly.
“Yeup. Today’s a good day, I guess.” I snorted. That boy was impossible to understand some days.
-
Aravic stood behind the start line of his last event that day: the one hundred meter dash. He bounced from foot to foot in a nervous jitter. He would be racing his captain, Maxwell Wilkmore. Maxwell was a highly competitive senior who didn’t much like anyone. He walked up to Aravic, a growl already planted on his face.
“I’m going to win this race, Mines, and you’d better not do anything to fuck that up,” Maxwell started harshly. Aravic just nodded numbly, pretending to agree. Something else had caught his mind, and that was the loner up at the top of the near-empty set of bleachers; Sam. She was looking his way, headphones trailing from her ears as they always were. But what Aravic noticed was something deeper. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it sooner. All the girls he knew, almost all of them were a clone of his ex-girlfriend, Bree. They were all glossy, sophisticated, and yet… fake. And while Sam seemed drab and grungy, there certainly wasn’t anything fake about her. She didn’t care what anyone thought, and she wasn’t going to be caring anytime soon. Aravic found himself envying her. Envying her ability to be herself, despite what society told her to do. He wished he could be like that.
“In your lanes, please,” rang the head official’s voice, disrupting Aravic’s thoughts. He took his place in lane 5, trying now to think of his race. “Take your mark.” Aravic got into position, muscles tensed. And in that moment between mark and start, he made up his mind the he would no longer be pushed around. If he ever wanted to be anything like Sam, he might as well start now.
BANG!
The gunshot began the race. Aravic’s muscles leaped into action, almost of their own accord. He didn’t feel the need to breath, and just as his legs and lungs began to burn, he passed the finish line. It took a moment or two for Aravic to slow down and finally stop. He looked up at the score board, and his jaw dropped as his heart stopped.
The score board read, “ARAVIC MINES – 1ST – 10.694.” Aravic had just not only broken his own personal record, but quite possibly had beaten the school record and won the one hundred meter dash. He grinned to himself as he made his way back over to Sam. He knew this was a good day.
But coming over to spoil it was Maxwell, who met him at the foot of the bleachers. He looked livid. Aravics’ smile fell a little. “I thought I told you I was going to be winning that race,” Maxwell said loudly, getting in Aravics’ face.
“Well, you would have, if you had been faster than me,” Aravic replied coolly, trying to keep the same you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look on his face as Sam usually had. Out of the corner of his eye, he was Maxwell tighten a fist.
“Is there a problem here?” asked the hard voice of Sam next to Aravic. He had to control himself not to jump; she was like a freaking ninja sometimes. She was now scrutinizing Maxwell with her usual frown. “I wouldn’t advise punching him. Whatever he did, I’m sure he deserves it, but he never shuts up. And I’m afraid I’d have to beat your ass if you did end up hitting him.” Maxwell was taken aback for a moment; Aravic didn’t think a girl had ever spoken to Maxwell like that. But he soon recovered, and his face went red with anger.
“How dare you, you bitch –”
He went to uppercut her, but he never made it that far. Sam somehow pushed his fist over his shoulder and sent him sprawling effortlessly to the ground. Maxwell laid on the ground, shocked and out of breath. Sam just rolled her eyes at him.
“Come on Aravic, Father’s waiting for us,” she said, walking away while nearly everyone in the immediate area’s eyes followed her. Aravic fetched his bag and followed her too, wondering how the hell she’d done that.
I was I the kitchen cleaning up dinner when Aravic finally came home. He was still in his track uniform, shorts and a sleeveless shirt, splattered with mud and soaked in sweat. He stumbled into the kitchen and collapsed onto a stool, nearly tumbling to the floor. I sighed, agitated. “I just cleaned this floor, you dumbass,” I commented as I began to pull out the wet vacuum. Aravic just shook his head.
“Icy Hot…” he groaned, trying to life his arm.
“What?” I asked over the vacuum as it sucked up the mud.
“Icy Hot,” he said a little louder.
I understood now. “Get it yourself,” I snapped.
“Sam!” he whined, and I sighed.
“Oh bloody hell,” I growled, and dug though the medicine drawer until I found the tub e of extra-strength pain reliever. “Here,” I said, chucking the tube at him. Aravic caught it with the tips of his fingers and began to rub the strong mint-smelling substance all over his arms and legs.
“Thanks,” he said once he was recovered. “Couch about killed us today, we have a home meet this Saturday.”
I snorted. “Fun.” He closed his eyes and nodded as he yawned. “Well, leftovers are in the fridge, help yourself,” I told him before I left for my room, the smell of Icy Hot lingering in my nose.
-
The week passed in a sort of invisible tension. Not the kind you could cut with a knife, but more the kind where you don’t quite know where it is, and it makes you paranoid. I felt like I was being followed, but in a sea of students, it’s nearly impossible to tell these kinds of things.
For some reason, Aravic’s track meet Saturday morning became a priority, and Father insisted Tomas and I go watch. Tomas didn’t mind; I did. I wished like no other that Cynthia was awake so she could come with me. She was good at keeping me out of trouble.
I had a hard time falling asleep Friday night. Something in the back of my mind was nagging me.
“Don’t go tomorrow, Sam,” the imaginary voice told me. “Something’s going to happen.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I told it. “You know I have to go, and nothing’s going to happen. For Darwin’s sake, it’s a track meet!”
I was wrong, as usual.
I seem to have a knack for being wrong.
-
It took a few moments after my alarm went off to drag my lazy ass out of bed. I yawned wildly and my eyelids drooped as I entered the kitchen to start up breakfast. The clock on the stove read 6:28. “Damn,” I yawned as I opened the fridge. Three and a half hours of sleep. Not the least I’d ever had, but I was hoping for more. I cooked pancakes for myself, Tomas and Father, and bacon, eggs and toast for Aravic.
We left the house around 7:45. I was sticking to my iPod as usual, and that didn’t change when we got to the field. Aravic was off to the locker rooms, Father to the sponsor’s seating, and Tomas to go find his friends. I found a deserted section of bleachers and plopped myself down in the corner, music blaring. I was currently immersed in “Let The Monster Rise,” from Repo! The Genetic Opera. I closed my eyes and let the lyrics that I connected to so well flow through my brain like the cool autumn breeze that now ruffled my short black hair.
“Don’t help me anymore Dad,
You are dead, Dad,
In my eyes
Someone has replaced you
Dad, I hate you
Go and DIE!”
“What are you doing here?”
It’s just amazing how some people’s voices can penetrate even the loudest music. Sighing, I opened my eyes and pulled out one headphone. Standing a few rows down from me, glaring up with her arms crossed was Bree, dirty blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail with a bright purple ribbon. I snorted at her, and she got pushier.
“Hey! I asked you a question! Why the hell are you in our spot?”
“The fuck are you talking about? I don’t see any sign saying, ‘Whore Section – Reserved.’”
Her face flushed and she opened her mouth to retort when Aravic walked up in his track uniform and a bag slung over his shoulder. Bree’s expression immediately changed. “Hi Aravic,” she said in a fakely-shy voice, batting her eyelashes.
“Hey,” he said dejectedly, not even glancing at her. When he looked up and found me however, he immediately smiled and took the bleachers two at a time to come stand over me. I had to crane my neck back to see his face. “Hi Sam, can I leave my bag here while I warm up?” His sudden politeness took me aback.
“Sure, whatever,” I shrugged, and he plopped the bag down at my feet.
“Thanks Sam,” he finished before trotting back down the bleachers and onto the track. Bree shot me one last ferocious glare before walking away to find her friends. I simply rolled my eyes.
By the time warm-ups had finished, the stands were filled. Bree and her clique took up the first two rows on my set of bleachers, but other than that, I was alone. The rival school, Bolder Canyon Mountaineers, was seated on the opposite side of the field. Aravic separated himself from his team and jogged up to my bleachers shirtless. Bree’s posse giggled madly as he ran up past them and stood over me again. I threw his shirt up in his face. He stank of sweat. “Aw, come on Sam, you know it’s hot,” he teased, grinning.
“Shut your face and put on your damn shirt,” I retorted, unfazed. He plopped down beside me, still grinning. I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re in a good mood,” I pointed out. He just nodded kind of slowly.
“Yeup. Today’s a good day, I guess.” I snorted. That boy was impossible to understand some days.
-
Aravic stood behind the start line of his last event that day: the one hundred meter dash. He bounced from foot to foot in a nervous jitter. He would be racing his captain, Maxwell Wilkmore. Maxwell was a highly competitive senior who didn’t much like anyone. He walked up to Aravic, a growl already planted on his face.
“I’m going to win this race, Mines, and you’d better not do anything to fuck that up,” Maxwell started harshly. Aravic just nodded numbly, pretending to agree. Something else had caught his mind, and that was the loner up at the top of the near-empty set of bleachers; Sam. She was looking his way, headphones trailing from her ears as they always were. But what Aravic noticed was something deeper. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it sooner. All the girls he knew, almost all of them were a clone of his ex-girlfriend, Bree. They were all glossy, sophisticated, and yet… fake. And while Sam seemed drab and grungy, there certainly wasn’t anything fake about her. She didn’t care what anyone thought, and she wasn’t going to be caring anytime soon. Aravic found himself envying her. Envying her ability to be herself, despite what society told her to do. He wished he could be like that.
“In your lanes, please,” rang the head official’s voice, disrupting Aravic’s thoughts. He took his place in lane 5, trying now to think of his race. “Take your mark.” Aravic got into position, muscles tensed. And in that moment between mark and start, he made up his mind the he would no longer be pushed around. If he ever wanted to be anything like Sam, he might as well start now.
BANG!
The gunshot began the race. Aravic’s muscles leaped into action, almost of their own accord. He didn’t feel the need to breath, and just as his legs and lungs began to burn, he passed the finish line. It took a moment or two for Aravic to slow down and finally stop. He looked up at the score board, and his jaw dropped as his heart stopped.
The score board read, “ARAVIC MINES – 1ST – 10.694.” Aravic had just not only broken his own personal record, but quite possibly had beaten the school record and won the one hundred meter dash. He grinned to himself as he made his way back over to Sam. He knew this was a good day.
But coming over to spoil it was Maxwell, who met him at the foot of the bleachers. He looked livid. Aravics’ smile fell a little. “I thought I told you I was going to be winning that race,” Maxwell said loudly, getting in Aravics’ face.
“Well, you would have, if you had been faster than me,” Aravic replied coolly, trying to keep the same you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look on his face as Sam usually had. Out of the corner of his eye, he was Maxwell tighten a fist.
“Is there a problem here?” asked the hard voice of Sam next to Aravic. He had to control himself not to jump; she was like a freaking ninja sometimes. She was now scrutinizing Maxwell with her usual frown. “I wouldn’t advise punching him. Whatever he did, I’m sure he deserves it, but he never shuts up. And I’m afraid I’d have to beat your ass if you did end up hitting him.” Maxwell was taken aback for a moment; Aravic didn’t think a girl had ever spoken to Maxwell like that. But he soon recovered, and his face went red with anger.
“How dare you, you bitch –”
He went to uppercut her, but he never made it that far. Sam somehow pushed his fist over his shoulder and sent him sprawling effortlessly to the ground. Maxwell laid on the ground, shocked and out of breath. Sam just rolled her eyes at him.
“Come on Aravic, Father’s waiting for us,” she said, walking away while nearly everyone in the immediate area’s eyes followed her. Aravic fetched his bag and followed her too, wondering how the hell she’d done that.