Exhale

The cry of my alarm cuts through my dreams and pulls me to reality. It's 5:15, but instead of rolling over in my bed and getting another hour of sleep my body wants, I force myself up. It's the first day of real power lifting practice and I couldn't be happier. It's my senior year and I've been building up to this for three years now, watching my weight and lifting, lifting, lifting until I'm strong enough. The thing is, there's no such thing as good enough.

Which is why I'm up right now, preparing to start another year of pushing my limits. Some people will never understand the feeling you get lifting heavy, but it's the same feeling I get when I'm running cross country or throwing or vaulting or running track. I'm not an all out athlete that does every sport and is the best at everything, but I like to think of myself as a good athlete. I do only individual sports, cross country, power lifting, and track. That way I can rely on myself and myself only, exactly how I like it.

Looking around my room I realize I might be late if I don't hurry, so I start sifting through my clothes to find an outfit for today. I look through my jeans and my eyes are met with an array of colors. I have what some people call a colored skinny jean fetish, but it's honestly not that bad. I like colored skinny jeans. That doesn't mean I'm obsessed with them. I have a neon yellow, mustard yellow, orange, peach, pink, red, lime green, forest green, purple, turquoise, navy blue, royal blue, white, grey, and black, not to mention five pairs of regular jean colored skinny jeans.

Okay so maybe I'm a little obsessed.

Obsessed or not, I like my collection and it gives me an endless supply of outfits to wear. Today I decide on my mustard yellow jeans paired with a beige shirt with brown decoration on it. I hold the outfit up to my body, satisfied with what I see, and throw the jeans and shirt into my bag and grab my brown combat boots to finish off the outfit. Perfect.

Pulling my hair back into a pony tail I pull the big sleep shirt over my head and grab the sports bra, cut off tshirt, and shorts off of my dresser. Running to my bathroom I brush my teeth put my contacts in, pausing a moment to apply a little make up. Sure, I'll shower again after I lift so the make up will wash right off, but people are going to see me before then. I have to look presentable.

It's 5:35 now, and I need to be ready to lift by 6. I have a ten minute drive to school, so I have no time to spare. Creeping through the house as quietly as I can, I stop by the kitchen to grab food for the day. Coffee and a bagel for after I lift and a nutella-peanut butter sandwich with grapes for lunch. It's going to be a good day.

When I get to the school I'm ten minutes early which gives me just enough time to weigh, meet my partner, and warm up before we start. Stepping on the scales I squeeze my eyes shut, afraid of the number that's going to be displayed. 125.8lbs. Not perfect, but good enough for this early in the season. I turn to find my lifting partner, but instead I'm met with the sight of my best friend, Grace.

Grace is the valedictorian of our class, the cross country and power lifting manager, an actress, a debater, and most importantly, my best friend. The one person I actually tell everything to, the person who sees the real me under everything else. She's looking a little tired, blonde hair pulled back into a French braid and a pair of baggy sweats on. All of us lifters had to come get maxes the two days before Thanksgiving break, but this is her first time waking up early since cross country ended a few weeks ago.

"Grace!" I yell, running over and jumping on her. She takes a few stumbling steps backwards, surprised by the sudden force of my weight pulling down on her. "It's wonderful to see you this morning!"

"You," Grace says with a yawn, "are too much of a morning person. How do you have so much energy?"

"Because it's a great day! It's an absolutely wonderful, great day Grace. Get excited!" As soon as I tell her to get excited she gasps, letting go of me, letting me slide back down to my feet.

"I am excited!" She exclaims, a new fire in her eyes "And you should be too! Today starts auditions!"

Ahh, yes. Auditions. For One Act Play. For something I agreed to do in a moment of weakness that I haven't done since middle school. Honestly, I don't want to do this. I only agreed to do it for Grace. Like I said, she's my best friend and when she needs something I'll do just about anything for her. This whole acting again thing? I'm not too sure.

"About that," I start, but Grace's puppy dog pouty face stops me short "Grace, I don't want to!" I whine.

"You promised me. And I can't just be alone! Do it please please please? Just for me?"

So it's kind of true if I don't join she'll be without any real friends, which would really suck. This time last year both of us were dating two best friends, David and James. David was big in theatre, getting all the lead rolls, as it had been as long as I can remember. He started dating Grace our freshman year and convinced her to join theatre, where she fell in love with acting.

Last spring when we made our schedules Grac eput in for theatre again. The only problem was that last May David and James graduated. James and I, while liking each other, didn't see the relationship going anywhere so we called it quits. Grace amd David on the other hand, stayed together, so now she has a boyfriend but nobody to act with at school. I kind of feel sorry for her, especially with thay look on her face.

"Fine. Whatever, I'll do it. But I'm gonna suck and be stuck as an extra." Grace hugs me again, yelling me thank you a hundred times to where I can't help but laughing. I love my best friend.

Grace starts to tell me more about the play we're doing, but just as she tells me it's called Her Senior Year which sounds like some kind of cheap porn of a good girl gone bad or something, other lifters start filing into the weightroom so she leaves to find coach fir her assignment.

"Good morning Bentley," a voice calls. Turning around I realize it's my lifting partner, Maegan. "You ready for a kick ass year?"

"Heck yes!" I say, giving her a high five. This is our year. We make our way to the squat rack to start our workout, moving through the lifts and talking about our chances at making it to state. When we finish lifting we agree to run some sprints, going outside to meet the cold morning air. The cold makes my nose go numb and start to run and my fingers are freezing, but I feel alive. I can't explain the ferling, but it's exhilirating. We work through our sprints quickly though and before long we're making our way back to the lockerooms to shower.

After getting out of the shower I squeeze a dollop of mousse onto my hand and flip my hair upside down to smooth the mousse through it. My hair is naturally a soft red, but I dye it and take it from strawberry blonde to bright, in your face red, just how I like it.

Loud.

Everything about waht I wear is loud, and I like that. The crazier you look the harder it is for people to see through the clothes to look at the person, and looking at the person me is something I don't want to happen.

My hair changes every day, ranging from loose barely there to waves to ringlet curls. Today my hair seems pretty tame, ablessing I wilk take. I put my clothes on while quietly laughing and talking to the other girls in the locker room. I love my team. They're some of the craziest and funniest people I know, and there's never a dull morning while we get ready for school. When it comes time for make up I plop down in front of the full length mirror, pushing a small freshman to the side.

One layer goes on, one mask down, a few more to go. When I'm satisfied with my make up I sigh and rise frim the floor, dusting myself off.

Makeup? Check.
Hair? Check.
Shoes? Check.
Outfit? Check.

I might look (and occaasionally act) loud and crazy and out going, but inside I'm more reserved. A lot more reserved, really. I'm just a simple simple girl hiding in plain sight behind make up and hair dye and colored skinny jeans.

I give myself another look over and sigh, hating the slight difference in brown in the shirt and boots. Sure, it's nothing major, but I have to look good, especially today.

I take a small sip of coffee, opening my eyes wider and gathering my 1st period stuff. I have try outs today for the first time since I was fourteen. I smile in spite of myself, thinking about how much fun middle school OAP was. I have tryouts today.