Kanna-sama: Hello, I’ve returned with the next one-shot. I warn you – this story may move slowly. It was a random thing I posted for fun. Instead of doing separate, romantic drabbles and one-shots, this felt like it would be a better idea. Who knows when it could end?

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II: Gym Class

He never would have noticed her if she merely passed him in the hall. He never would have seen in her in math, in that small corner with her small group of acquaintances and friends that she spoke to. He never would have invited her to play cards on the last day before winter break, nor would he ever have teased her, talked with her, if he hadn’t had gym with her.

She was a month older than him, a junior while he was a sophomore. She had the dishwater blonde hair that, when down, seemed to glimmer when sunlight hit it. Her eyes were a light, light green and that was what he noticed first about her, up close. Despite the confidence in her step, she was quiet and reserved.

He wouldn’t have noticed her in gym except that she had been put on his football team. Mostly, she hung back with the other female of their team – there were only six girls in the entire advanced fitness gym class – and made herself as unobtrusive as possible. He was never close enough to her to see her actual features, so he never paid any attention to her. That seemed to be her goal anyway.

But then, during the football tournament, his team ended up in the semi-finals. That was when she started to try. She darted past everyone to get to the end of the field so that he could hand her the ball for her to score two more points than a guy would; she would leap up to block the ball and a few times, her blonde hair would tumble from the rubber band she tied it in and she would scowl. He was finally able to see, up close, who this girl was that he had, at the time, no idea was in his class.

And he fell in love with those soft features of hers.

Her face wasn’t angular like most girls he liked. Instead, the planes were soft and more cute and cuddly than beautiful and seductive. She wasn’t petite or incredibly skinny, either, which was another startling difference between her and the other girls – her and his girlfriend, for that matter. She managed to have a slender figure while possessing curves in every correct place.

After he had her on his team in football, everything began falling into place. His relatively normal world was ripped from his hands. He was one of the athletic males who was competitive, but refused to play school sports. He smoked, he drank, he did all the things that normal high school boys did. He was cocky, mouthy, and yet nobody seemed to actually hate him. Although his personality never changed, everything else did. His girlfriend’s looks didn’t attract him anymore. Her hair (which had been bleached blonde and was actually a natural, dull, brown) reminded him of a softer blonde on a different girl. Her body, tiny and thin, repulsed him. Her eyes, dark brown and strangely greedy to him, caused him to avert his own gaze.

In math, he would watch her and sometimes she would look up and meet his eyes. She was always the first to look away. In gym, he thrust himself forward and began making tiny, teasing comments that turned her cheeks pink and the other girls of the class glowered and hollered at him. But he didn’t care. That blush was promising.

They swept through the sports in gym. Basketball came along and he couldn’t count how many times he had accidentally knocked her away or down. She seemed steady enough, but it was clear that she was easier to blow away than the smallest girl in the class, Tanya. Every time he would hastily glance over his shoulder to see that she was fine, even laughing a bit at her own clumsiness.

Once again, she was on the team that ended up in the semi-finals and then, the finals. She and the girl on his team, Marissa, battled it out. He had played against her team before and she seemed so careless and at ease. Now, she blocked much better, plunged herself in the action, and even though it was clear to her and everyone else that she couldn’t shoot very well, she made attempts and some were even good attempts. Her team lost, but everyone was breathing hard and sweaty. The scores had been too close.

As he held the basketball, panting, he snuck a glimpse of her to see her and Marissa laughing, both wiping sweat from their brows. She was small compared to Marissa. And right then, with her face red with exertion and her hair poking out chaotically from her bun, he thought she looked beautiful. He wanted to kiss her and strip them both so their hot, sticky skin could touch.

Licking his lips, he called for her and she turned, raising her eyebrows slightly at him. As opposed to his earlier comments to her, he said, “Hey, nice game.” Her mouth curved slightly and he suspected she knew he was being sincere. But he could say no more, because his body was tingling, his fingers gripping the basketball because he wanted to touch her and drag her away so no one could see them – just so he could be alone with her.

If that moment hadn’t been enough torment enough for him, he received a shock the upcoming Monday that they were playing pickle ball – and she was his partner. There were murmured sympathies from the girls, because he was known as a bad loser. He admitted that it was true and he got pissed over the smallest things when it came to any type of game.

As they went to the court they were playing on, with her juggling her paddle, she informed him, “Just so you know, I really am terrible at this game.”

“What are you good at?” He asked. She smiled.

“Badminton. Tennis. I can serve good at volleyball.” She paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. “As long as I have a good partner or team. If not...” She trailed off and shrugged before settling into a corner of the court.

He learned that she couldn’t do well at pickle ball. She couldn’t serve, that is, and couldn’t hit the ball. At the beginning, he was suspicious because of how she had done things with other sports. But his problem was that she seemed as embarrassed about her actions as he was angry at them. Then he started flipping shit at her, but she seemed immune to it, responding airily as if it was no big deal. He was gone for one day throughout the sport and when he came back, it was the tournament. He should have expected it, but he was genuinely surprised at how well she was able to serve and hit the ball.

“Well, this is a change,” he muttered loud enough for her to hear. She paused in her serving and raised an eyebrow at him before tapping the ball enough for it to land in the corner of the opposing court directly across her. They dominated in the tournament, but there were no finals. The teacher never continued with the sport.

“We were doing really well, too,” she told him when they were seated in their squads at the beginning of class.

“It’s okay,” he replied, “we’re winners at heart.” He paused and gazed across her where she was sprawled on the gym floor. “And we would have kicked their ass anyway.” She grinned at him, her face seeming to sparkle up at him.

It was strange; after their partnership in pickle ball, they were on the same team in dodgeball, too. She was constantly being pummeled by the volleyballs that were being used as dodgeballs. He had watched one time, after getting out, with a horrified expression as she was hit three times in a row by three guys on the other team. He could see a red mark on her leg and he checked it later and was relieved to see no bruise. He learned that this was the one sport she cheated at. When a bit over half the team was out, he saw her creep over and pretend to be out. She could not seem to catch or throw a ball.

Winter break was coming around the corner and dodgeball was concluding in gym. On the last day of school before break, everyone was supposed to dress up. Most of the school was dressed up and he was in math before she came in, dressed in a skirt, high heels, and a combination of two shirts. Her hair, which was usually pulled up, hung around her face like a curtain. He kept his eyes down, fixed on her smooth legs and ankles. He tightened his jaw against the urge to snatch her, pull her on his desk and kiss all the way up her leg to the more intimate skin he hoped no other guy had seen.

In the middle of class, he and two other guys were settling down to play cards when they realized they needed another player. His eyes darted up eagerly and he was happy to see that she was sitting in her corner with her earphones in. “Hey!” She looked up and met his gaze. He nodded his head over. “You want to play?” She glanced at the cards.

“What is it?”

“Just come play.” She rolled her eyes and after tucking her iPod in her purse, stood up and walked over to sit in a desk to play. He watched, his body tight, as she walked, her hips sashaying, the thin material of her skirt flipping against her creamy skin. With slightly shaky hands, he dealt the cards and they played.

She was so open that day and it was as if there were no barriers between anyone in the class that day. The two of them, they were of two different worlds, two different cliques (if she was even in one) and that was what had always held him back from saying something that might have been incriminating. He didn’t want to know how much she saw in his eyes when he looked at her or what she heard in his voice when he spoke with her. He didn’t want to know what she had thought when they had clapped paddles during pickle ball. He didn’t want anyone to know how much he loved her, because it would ruin his carefully designed reputation and make him seem weak and foolish to the entire school. He wasn’t going to let that happen to him. He couldn’t.

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Spring swung around eventually, nearing the end of school. He had endured watching her get hit in the face with a soccer ball by one of their classmates (and had forced himself not to beat the shit out of him, either,) and endured continuous torture from her. She had no idea that every time their bodies had brushed against each other’s, every time she walked past his desk, every time he saw her in the hall, he wanted to kiss her and pour out every romantic word he knew just so she would know.

The worst time had been in basketball, shortly after badminton in the spring, when he had jumped to shoot a hoop and slipped and came crashing down on top of her. He would never forget how her tiny groan – one not quite of pain - had erupted a fire in him and he was certain by the slight blink of surprise she gave that she had felt his hard-on. His face had been blazing before from the heat, but when he stumbled to his feet, it was from shame. She never spoke a word of it, though, quietly going through everything as though nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t felt a thing.

However, the muted heat between them wouldn’t last forever and he realized, one day in math, while he was sitting with two boys that sat in her corner just why that was.

He was talking about math classes next year and she looked up from her paper to ask, “Oh, you’re going into Geometry next year?”

“Yeah, aren’t you?” He asked in return.

“No, I’m going into Al-Trig. It’ll be my only class at the high school next year.”

His insides froze and he felt out of breath, like he had returned from a two-mile jog. “What? Why?” He could hear the edge of panic and despair in his voice, but at that moment, he didn’t care. He was too absorbed in what she was telling him, too absorbed in how she kept her eyes from his. Her face seemed tense with the same emotions that were leaking through into his voice.

“I’ll be doing the Running Start program next year. All my friends are doing it at Eastern, so I figure that I might as well do it, too, now that I can.” She glanced at him and there was a brief moment of joy as he saw the barely suppressed pain in her lovely, jade eyes. She felt the same as he did! “So...I’ll be coming here for one class.” And that meant he wouldn’t see her. Ever. The joy deflated back into anguish.

He attempted a different tactic. “You should take gym, too.” He knew that she saw through his suggestion.

“No,” she quietly told him, meeting his gaze directly, “I shouldn’t.” In those words, he knew what she was really saying: that they needed to stop pretending. She was making his choice for him since he hadn’t been strong enough to do it.

“...I guess not,” he agreed faintly. The bell rang, signaling the end of class. As everyone collected their things and trudged out, he stopped and she did, as well. A small, sad smile tilted her mouth upward and she brushed her fingers over the top of his hand before leaving the room, as quiet and beautiful as she ever could be.

II: Finis

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Kanna-sama: The whole reason I don’t give the two main characters names in these kinds of one-shots is because it really isn’t necessary, as no one else is talking. A warning for y’all: none of these one-shots are going to have happy endings. This is all basically a collection of one-shots for love that, although it is there, can never really be celebrated. In any case, please leave a review on your way out to tell me what you think. Ciao!