Playing with Forever

Chapter 4: Uniforms and Burns

My first volleyball game was the next afternoon. I sat in the locker room, staring stupidly at my bag of equipment.

Uniforms was our sleeveless jerseys, which weren't a big deal. I always wore an undershirt tucked in to make sure everything I wanted covered was hidden. The rest of our uniforms were tiny spandex shorts. Oh, those stupid shorts. How I hated them.

For practice, I always wore my jersey basketball shorts that came down to my knees. Everyone else usually wore their spandex, not a big deal to them. This was different. It was uniform.

And there were going to be people watching now. There were going to be boys. There were always those boys, and girls, and others, who came just to watch the sexily-fit volleyball girls strutting around in their spandex, entire strong legs on display.

It was like how the water polo boys were required to wear Speedos. At any swimming event, there were always a dozen boys just strutting around above ground, because it was kind of a requirement that if you had to wear a Speedo, you had to be proud of it. It could be distracting.

I didn't want anyone to be distracted by me.

"Abby, hurry up!" Mina called, pulling me out of my uneasy daze.

I had to go. Making a quick decision, I threw on my jersey shorts over my spandex and walked out to the gym.

"Why are you wearing those?" Hailey, prickly co-captain of the team, demanded.

"They're the right color." I shrugged.

"They aren't uniform."

"I don't want to traipse around in spandex," I admitted.

"It doesn't matter what you feel like doing," Hailey scorned. "Coach?" she called, referring to my shorts.

Coach Dunlap looked at them, considered, and then shrugged. "Just get out there."

We ended up winning the game, and even though I hadn't gotten any time on the court, I still celebrated with everyone as we changed in the locker room. While everyone else was filing out, I walked back to Coach Dunlap's office. "Coach?" I asked warily from the doorway.

She didn't seem surprised to see me. "What's up, Shea?"

I fiddled with the strap on my backpack nervously. "Is it okay if I wear my jersey shorts for games?"

"Not into flaunting your junk?"

I looked up, and saw understanding in her eyes despite her teasing. "Not particularly."

"It doesn't matter to me, Shea."

"Thank you."

With our first volleyball victory under our belt, I was beginning to feel confident with my new skills, and it carried over to other aspects of my life. Between Birdie, Nate, and Mina, I felt loved and welcomed, and I was starting to tiptoe into my new freedom. I was almost starting to enjoy my new life in Hartford.

Almost.

We had free time in third period AP English the day after the first volleyball game, and I worked on an assignment on a class laptop.

Halfway into the period, something suddenly felt off. My skin began to crawl and panic started to leak into my blood. I looked to my left and found Sam, head cocked slightly, studying me. Anxiety gathered in my gut, but I pushed against it. He was just looking at me, watching me work on the computer, as if trying to judge my character right in the middle of AP English. 

I put on a confident attitude and asked him, "Anything you'd like to ask me, or is your x-ray vision revealing it all to you?"

"Where did you say you were from?" he asked in return, light accent on display.

I hadn't. "Sacramento," I replied automatically. "Have you been?"

Sam shrugged. "I have visited. Mrs. Hansen said you needed help with the computer program."

"Oh, yeah," I said, turning back to the laptop. "I can get it all pulled up, but I can't log in."

Nodding, Sam leaned over and began typing on the keyboard. I couldn't help but notice his muscular arms and strong hands, and the red burn peeking out of his hoody sleeve.

"You're burned!" I exclaimed in surprise.

Sam looked confused for a moment, then pulled his sleeve down over his hands, fast. "It is nothing."

"No, that's a serious burn! Are you alright? What in the world were you doing?"

"Nothing," he said, ignoring me and continuing to hit keys on the computer.

"You need to go to the emergency room," I said anyways, continuing to push. I'd had burns before, and I knew how bad they hurt. They easily got serious, too. "It needs to be treated, and they can give you meds for the pain."

He snapped back at me, "I am fine."

I startled at the harshness of his dismissal, and after a few seconds, I looked away, hurt and scorned. I had only been concerned.

He cleared his throat. "But thank you," he added, as if realizing he had upset me. We sat in silence for a long time, then he did something strange. He tried to make small talk, as if trying to make up for upsetting me. "So, um, what teacher is this for?"

"Ms. Reynolds."

"Humanities?"

"We sit next to each other," I pointed out, staring down at my hands I held in my lap.

"I know."

He focused on the computer again, and after a few minutes he sat back in triumph, having solved the problem. Before I could muster anything but a "thanks," the bell rang and he left for break. How odd.

He surprised me again the next day. Sitting in Study Skills, Sam pulled out a sketchbook and a pack of drawing pencils, flipped to an empty page in the back of the notebook, and started to sketch.

"You draw?" I blurted in disbelief.

Sam didn't look up from his sketchbook. His hand glided with the easy air of someone who'd sketched many, many times. He obviously was someone who was comfortable with a pencil in his hand. Had I found another closet artist like me?

"Can I see your sketches?" I asked. His hands were really nice, I noticed. Strong, attached to arms with prominent veins. I didn't know veins could be so appealing, especially to someone who hated blood. He had graphite in his nails I hadn't noticed before, but his skin looked well taken care of. He must moisturize.

Sam didn't even look up, didn't even think about it. "No."

Fair. I wouldn't let anyone see my sketches either. Rejection still stung though. "Oh."