Rule #9 by Sheri Duff
CHAPTER TEN
Vianna, Natalie, and I thought moving our strength class from first to zero period would be a good idea. Actually it was Vianna’s idea, and it made sense. Zero period is only open for gym classes for kids in athletics. We took it because then we’d have first period off, which would allow us to take the required gym class and then give us enough time to clean up before the rest of the day.
The three of us arrived early and are sitting in the locker room stalling. None of us want to run today. “Wendy’s in the hospital,” Vianna says, like it’s no big deal. It’s like she’s telling us she’s going to make a sandwich.
“Is she okay?” I ask. This isn’t something to laugh about, even when it’s about one of the stepmonsters.
Vianna looks around the girls’ locker room, and then uses one of the metal locker doors as a shield so nobody else can hear. “Her boob popped.”
Natalie takes a deep breath in, and then asks, “Isn’t that dangerous?”
“I guess. I really don’t know. I feel bad for my dad, he’s really worried.” Vianna shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s anything that can kill her, though. She’s more upset about her boobs being uneven. She won’t leave the hospital until they fix it. Them. Whatever. What should I call it—them?”
“I don’t know what to call them.” I shake my head. “When do they fix, um, them?”
“The fake boob that exploded. It is what it is.” Natalie ties her shoes and stands.
“My dad’s trying to convince her to come home. She wants the doctor to fix it today, but she has to wait a week.” Vianna slams her locker shut. “My dad actually wanted me to talk to her. There’s no way.” Vianna shakes her vigorously. “No. No. No.”
“That’s weird. Why would you talk to her about her boob explosion?” I ask.
Vianna shrugs.
Natalie pulls a sock out of her gym locker and shoves it in her bra to make her boobs look uneven. “Look at me I’m We…en…dee.”
Vianna sits back down and curls herself into a ball with her hands over her stomach while simultaneously crying and laughing. She lifts her head from her knees, “Stop, you’re killing me.”
“The musical’s over.” I pull the sock out of Natalie’s bra and throw it in her face. “Boley’s gonna kill us if we don’t move our butts out to the weight room.” The locker room is empty. We run out and sneak behind another group, barely arriving to class in time. I exhale.
“Close,” Boley says without looking up. He’s so serious. Moms may have eyes in the backs of their heads, but our gym teacher has them all over. The mirrors in the room don’t help us, either.
Mr. Boley doesn’t tolerate tardiness or unruliness in his weight room. We’re expected to show up on time and in blue, Stallion royal or navy blue. We can wear other colors if the shirts say Pine Gulch on them. He only wears Stallion Blue, and the only time he doesn’t wear sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a matching jacket is when he’s coaching basketball. Then he wears khaki slacks and a pressed Stallion polo.
I used to wear a pink Pine Gulch High t-shirt, because I could. But it only brought more attention, so I stopped. Now I wear a blue tank or t-shirt to class every day. This allows me to fold in with the rest of the class, especially on days I’m late. I’m still wondering why I agreed to waking up earlier.
Strength and conditioning class doesn’t require much athletic ability. The class consists of weights and cardio. Some of the serious sports nuts take strength and conditioning along with the power weights class, more for the conditioning than the strength. That explains Jack stretching in the front of the room. I face Vianna and give her a suspicious look. She smiles.
“Time to run, ladies.” Boley smirks at the three of us. The tone of his voice is mocking. Not nice. But he does have us pegged. The class walks to the outside track together. Jack is in the front. Thank God the mercury in the morning is usually between fifty and seventy degrees. It’s harder to run when it’s two p.m. and ninety degrees outside.
Even though the field is artificial, the surrounding area is not. The wild grasses and weeds are moist and the smell of the musky ash trees fills the air. It reminds me that winter is on its way. There’s this misconception about Colorado. Everyone thinks it’s cold and snows all the time. It doesn’t. The edges of the leaves are starting to turn from green to fall colors, but there isn’t any snow on the plains. The only snow is high on the peaks, and even though they look close, most of them are actually hours away from Pine Gulch.
Natalie, Vianna, and I huff in unison, which makes Boley grin more. Running for us means a fast-paced walk. I don’t even jog. By the time we make it out to the track the rest of the class has completed the first full lap, except for Jack. He trails behind. Not such a good football player after all. He’s gonna have to move faster than that if he plans on playing varsity.
“I should make you try and keep up with the new kid,” Boley chuckles. His arms are crossed. He stands confidently, watching the class circle the track.
“Bring it on,” I say.
Since Mr. Linebacker’s trailing behind I feel confident.
Natalie slaps my arm, and hard. “Ignore her, Boley. Massie doesn’t know it yet, but she’s so crushing on the new boy.”
My head spins. “I’m not and he can’t even…”
“Shut up, Massie. Take a look at the track.” Natalie slaps me again.
I slap her back, but then I look. My face sags forward and my eyes widen. “What lap is he on?”
Boley waits to answer until Jack reaches the starting point again. “His third. Still insist on…‘bringing it on’?”
“Nope.” I hightail my ass closer to the green and move my legs. The further you are away from the fake grass on the football field, the longer the walk.
Jack continues to pass without saying a word, barely breaking a sweat. I’ve never seen such drive and force.
After fifteen minutes of laps, Boley lets us off the hook. “Okay, for those who don’t want to run any more, back to class for your reps. Legs today.”
Most of the class casually leaves the track. Natalie, Vianna, and I speed toward the gym. According to Boley, this is the only time we move. You don’t need to tell us twice.
“Miss Bring It On. You can stay out here for the remainder of class, even if you walk. Your friends can go inside.”
Natalie and Vianna giggle.
“You both suck.” I stomp back to the track.
I can’t and won’t argue with Boley. He knows it, too. I won’t be able to call my parents to get out of this like my classmates can. It sucks having your dad as a football coach. If I protest, I’ll only end up running. I’d rather walk the entire class than face an even worse sentence.
I walk around the track while Jack and Laney Cavanaugh run laps. I look pathetic. Laney could’ve been the spokesperson for any of the weight-loss programs. She dropped at least thirty pounds over the summer. She’s not skinny, she’s fit.
I wait for Jack to make fun of her. He doesn’t. Only someone like Colby would sink to that level of pond scum. Jack runs past Laney. He saves the teasing for me, “Girl, you’re slower than molasses in January.”
“Am not.” I pick up my pace. I can feel the little balls of sweat forming around my hairline. But I can’t slow down, it will only show defeat.
Jack keeps his pace steady. He catches up to Laney, they say something to each other, and she giggles. Her laugh is cute and sweet.
“What, I’m your new joke?” I ask when he passes by me for the millionth time.
He ignores me. I feel stupid now. What if he likes her? She is quite adorable. Although I thought that I heard Rafe Torres had his eye on her. Rumors. When you want them to be true, they never are.
I speed up more, even though I’ll never catch up with him. But I can catch up with Laney, barely. I’m always nice to her. She’ll tell me what the jerk is saying.
Dang it! I’ve turned into one of those girls, the girls who only talk to the outcasts to sec
ure information. I pull back. This is not who I am. I’ve never considered Laney as an outcast like the rest of my class does. I could care less if her mom went off and joined some cult. At least her dad gives a shit about her. I’ve always been nice to Laney. We’ve never hung out or anything. But I’m not going to use her for information.
“I think he likes you.” Laney says. Somehow she’s either slowed to allow me to catch up or she ran another lap and caught up with me. Probably the latter.
“I doubt it,” I say, feeling stupid.
“Boys only pick on you when they like you. You told me that in second grade. I want to believe it, so don’t ruin it for me.”
“What?” Now I’m confused.
“I’ve had a few boys start to pick on me this year. And not like they did last year. I want to believe they like me,” Laney confesses. And, before I’m able to agree with her assumption, she jogs away.
I pick up my pace as Jack easily passes by me again. He turns and jogs backward. “I’ll slow down.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re slower than cream rising on buttermilk.” He moves sideways on the track. He’s light and fast on his feet.
If he doesn’t quit, I’m going to sock him. “I thought I was slower than molasses?” My arms coil together and I slow even more.
“In January. Or maybe like that turtle you were sketching at the coffee shop.”
“It wasn’t a turtle,” I say. I’m out of breath and I want to die.
“Then what was it?”
I don’t answer. Instead my eyes move to the bleachers. Blake is sitting on the top bench watching us. When Blake sees that I’ve spotted him, he stands and starts walking down the stairs.
“Looks like your boyfriend’s back.” Jack smiles and jogs past me. “I’m going in. Class is almost over. Coming, Laney?” She slows and they walk into the building together. I walk past Blake without saying a word. Jack doesn’t look back to see that I haven’t stopped to talk to Blake…but Laney does.
Vianna, Natalie, and I thought moving our strength class from first to zero period would be a good idea. Actually it was Vianna’s idea, and it made sense. Zero period is only open for gym classes for kids in athletics. We took it because then we’d have first period off, which would allow us to take the required gym class and then give us enough time to clean up before the rest of the day.
The three of us arrived early and are sitting in the locker room stalling. None of us want to run today. “Wendy’s in the hospital,” Vianna says, like it’s no big deal. It’s like she’s telling us she’s going to make a sandwich.
“Is she okay?” I ask. This isn’t something to laugh about, even when it’s about one of the stepmonsters.
Vianna looks around the girls’ locker room, and then uses one of the metal locker doors as a shield so nobody else can hear. “Her boob popped.”
Natalie takes a deep breath in, and then asks, “Isn’t that dangerous?”
“I guess. I really don’t know. I feel bad for my dad, he’s really worried.” Vianna shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s anything that can kill her, though. She’s more upset about her boobs being uneven. She won’t leave the hospital until they fix it. Them. Whatever. What should I call it—them?”
“I don’t know what to call them.” I shake my head. “When do they fix, um, them?”
“The fake boob that exploded. It is what it is.” Natalie ties her shoes and stands.
“My dad’s trying to convince her to come home. She wants the doctor to fix it today, but she has to wait a week.” Vianna slams her locker shut. “My dad actually wanted me to talk to her. There’s no way.” Vianna shakes her vigorously. “No. No. No.”
“That’s weird. Why would you talk to her about her boob explosion?” I ask.
Vianna shrugs.
Natalie pulls a sock out of her gym locker and shoves it in her bra to make her boobs look uneven. “Look at me I’m We…en…dee.”
Vianna sits back down and curls herself into a ball with her hands over her stomach while simultaneously crying and laughing. She lifts her head from her knees, “Stop, you’re killing me.”
“The musical’s over.” I pull the sock out of Natalie’s bra and throw it in her face. “Boley’s gonna kill us if we don’t move our butts out to the weight room.” The locker room is empty. We run out and sneak behind another group, barely arriving to class in time. I exhale.
“Close,” Boley says without looking up. He’s so serious. Moms may have eyes in the backs of their heads, but our gym teacher has them all over. The mirrors in the room don’t help us, either.
Mr. Boley doesn’t tolerate tardiness or unruliness in his weight room. We’re expected to show up on time and in blue, Stallion royal or navy blue. We can wear other colors if the shirts say Pine Gulch on them. He only wears Stallion Blue, and the only time he doesn’t wear sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a matching jacket is when he’s coaching basketball. Then he wears khaki slacks and a pressed Stallion polo.
I used to wear a pink Pine Gulch High t-shirt, because I could. But it only brought more attention, so I stopped. Now I wear a blue tank or t-shirt to class every day. This allows me to fold in with the rest of the class, especially on days I’m late. I’m still wondering why I agreed to waking up earlier.
Strength and conditioning class doesn’t require much athletic ability. The class consists of weights and cardio. Some of the serious sports nuts take strength and conditioning along with the power weights class, more for the conditioning than the strength. That explains Jack stretching in the front of the room. I face Vianna and give her a suspicious look. She smiles.
“Time to run, ladies.” Boley smirks at the three of us. The tone of his voice is mocking. Not nice. But he does have us pegged. The class walks to the outside track together. Jack is in the front. Thank God the mercury in the morning is usually between fifty and seventy degrees. It’s harder to run when it’s two p.m. and ninety degrees outside.
Even though the field is artificial, the surrounding area is not. The wild grasses and weeds are moist and the smell of the musky ash trees fills the air. It reminds me that winter is on its way. There’s this misconception about Colorado. Everyone thinks it’s cold and snows all the time. It doesn’t. The edges of the leaves are starting to turn from green to fall colors, but there isn’t any snow on the plains. The only snow is high on the peaks, and even though they look close, most of them are actually hours away from Pine Gulch.
Natalie, Vianna, and I huff in unison, which makes Boley grin more. Running for us means a fast-paced walk. I don’t even jog. By the time we make it out to the track the rest of the class has completed the first full lap, except for Jack. He trails behind. Not such a good football player after all. He’s gonna have to move faster than that if he plans on playing varsity.
“I should make you try and keep up with the new kid,” Boley chuckles. His arms are crossed. He stands confidently, watching the class circle the track.
“Bring it on,” I say.
Since Mr. Linebacker’s trailing behind I feel confident.
Natalie slaps my arm, and hard. “Ignore her, Boley. Massie doesn’t know it yet, but she’s so crushing on the new boy.”
My head spins. “I’m not and he can’t even…”
“Shut up, Massie. Take a look at the track.” Natalie slaps me again.
I slap her back, but then I look. My face sags forward and my eyes widen. “What lap is he on?”
Boley waits to answer until Jack reaches the starting point again. “His third. Still insist on…‘bringing it on’?”
“Nope.” I hightail my ass closer to the green and move my legs. The further you are away from the fake grass on the football field, the longer the walk.
Jack continues to pass without saying a word, barely breaking a sweat. I’ve never seen such drive and force.
After fifteen minutes of laps, Boley lets us off the hook. “Okay, for those who don’t want to run any more, back to class for your reps. Legs today.”
Most of the class casually leaves the track. Natalie, Vianna, and I speed toward the gym. According to Boley, this is the only time we move. You don’t need to tell us twice.
“Miss Bring It On. You can stay out here for the remainder of class, even if you walk. Your friends can go inside.”
Natalie and Vianna giggle.
“You both suck.” I stomp back to the track.
I can’t and won’t argue with Boley. He knows it, too. I won’t be able to call my parents to get out of this like my classmates can. It sucks having your dad as a football coach. If I protest, I’ll only end up running. I’d rather walk the entire class than face an even worse sentence.
I walk around the track while Jack and Laney Cavanaugh run laps. I look pathetic. Laney could’ve been the spokesperson for any of the weight-loss programs. She dropped at least thirty pounds over the summer. She’s not skinny, she’s fit.
I wait for Jack to make fun of her. He doesn’t. Only someone like Colby would sink to that level of pond scum. Jack runs past Laney. He saves the teasing for me, “Girl, you’re slower than molasses in January.”
“Am not.” I pick up my pace. I can feel the little balls of sweat forming around my hairline. But I can’t slow down, it will only show defeat.
Jack keeps his pace steady. He catches up to Laney, they say something to each other, and she giggles. Her laugh is cute and sweet.
“What, I’m your new joke?” I ask when he passes by me for the millionth time.
He ignores me. I feel stupid now. What if he likes her? She is quite adorable. Although I thought that I heard Rafe Torres had his eye on her. Rumors. When you want them to be true, they never are.
I speed up more, even though I’ll never catch up with him. But I can catch up with Laney, barely. I’m always nice to her. She’ll tell me what the jerk is saying.
Dang it! I’ve turned into one of those girls, the girls who only talk to the outcasts to sec
“I think he likes you.” Laney says. Somehow she’s either slowed to allow me to catch up or she ran another lap and caught up with me. Probably the latter.
“I doubt it,” I say, feeling stupid.
“Boys only pick on you when they like you. You told me that in second grade. I want to believe it, so don’t ruin it for me.”
“What?” Now I’m confused.
“I’ve had a few boys start to pick on me this year. And not like they did last year. I want to believe they like me,” Laney confesses. And, before I’m able to agree with her assumption, she jogs away.
I pick up my pace as Jack easily passes by me again. He turns and jogs backward. “I’ll slow down.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re slower than cream rising on buttermilk.” He moves sideways on the track. He’s light and fast on his feet.
If he doesn’t quit, I’m going to sock him. “I thought I was slower than molasses?” My arms coil together and I slow even more.
“In January. Or maybe like that turtle you were sketching at the coffee shop.”
“It wasn’t a turtle,” I say. I’m out of breath and I want to die.
“Then what was it?”
I don’t answer. Instead my eyes move to the bleachers. Blake is sitting on the top bench watching us. When Blake sees that I’ve spotted him, he stands and starts walking down the stairs.
“Looks like your boyfriend’s back.” Jack smiles and jogs past me. “I’m going in. Class is almost over. Coming, Laney?” She slows and they walk into the building together. I walk past Blake without saying a word. Jack doesn’t look back to see that I haven’t stopped to talk to Blake…but Laney does.