Star-Crossed (Hold)

Chapter Thirteen~Fair is Fair

Please let me know if you find any weird grammar stuff or anything like that, cause this is UNEDITED

Copyright 2011 Lindsay Covington

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Chapter Thirteen

~Fair is Fair~

~Accacia~

Physics was boring as hell. All you do is plug numbers into equations. It’s like taking another math class. I actually almost wished that Jason had been there to harass me. Almost.

I sighed and pushed the metal door to the women’s locker room open and stepped into the dismal space. The floor was concrete, stained with God-knows-what, to my right was a small bathroom with two yellowed mirrors--the third was shattered-- and three stalls. Two of which had hand-made out of order signs taped to the doors. I walked farther down the short hallway and was confronted with two squarish rooms (although not really since there was no fourth wall) that were lined with half-sized lockers on all three walls in each room. Benches were attached to the walls underneath the lockers. Across from the locker area there was a fake-wood door that led to a room with two windows looking out on the changing area. The blinds were closed, but light shone behind them. A small plaque proclaimed it to be the girls coach’s office.

I knocked lightly on the door. A throaty, “Come in.” Answered my knock. I turned the knob on the door and pushed it open.

There was a light-wood desk facing the door with a book case full of binders and files behind it. There were two cracked, leather armchairs near me, facing the desk. Behind the desk sat a fit-looking, grey haired woman. She was tall and thin, but you could see the muscles in her arms. She wasn’t thin because she ate little, she was thin because she worked out. The woman looked to be about fifty.

She looked up. Her gray hair was pulled back from her face in a no-nonsense manner. I distinctly got the feeling that a strand of hair wouldn’t dare come out for fear of her wrath. “Yes.” Her voice was throaty, I could tell that she’d probably been a smoker at one point or another.

“Hi...My name is Rose Jones and I am a new student here--” I began to introduce myself.

“Why weren’t you in class last Friday? My record shows that you were here for your morning classes.” The woman demanded. My eyes found a small nameplate on her desk: Coach Griggs.

“I got a tad sick during lunch and had to leave the school.” I was lying through my teeth. Again.

“You never signed out in the office.” Her statement was clipped: short and to the point.

“I wasn’t aware that I had to.”

“Miss Jones, do you honestly believe that you would be allowed to leave school grounds without signing out? That would be called ditching.” Coach Griggs leaned forward in her seat over her desk and looked me right in the eye.

“I honestly wasn’t thinking, Coach Griggs. I had gotten some sort of stomach virus or food poisoning or something. All I could think about was getting home and curling up in bed with a bucket.” I must admit, I am a pretty convincing liar. Coach Griggs leaned back into her seat and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’ll let it slide-just this once-Miss Jones, but don’t let it ever happen again. You hear me?” I nodded quickly to her thinly concealed threat.

“Um...Coach? I need a uniform.”

She grunted and stood up, walking a few feet to her right where there was a tall filing cabinet. The drawer banged open and she reached into it and roughly pulled a sealed, plastic bag out of it. Upon closer inspection, I saw that there were a few sets of gym clothes and a track suit inside. On the outside of the bag was a piece of duct tape with my name scrawled on it in barely legible chicken scratch.