THEY THINK MY LOVER IS STRANGE ; MILEVEN ONESHOTS.

p.e.

dt: @crazepancakejewl
requested.

el.
the butterflies in my stomach are raging, but they're not the good kind. not at all.

i'm sick. my pre-flu symptoms have been bugging me all day, and now i'm forced to go to P.E. class. my stomach nausea is at it's worst peak. i feel as if i could throw up at any given moment.

mike holds my hand as we walk to the middle of the gym, his eyes casting down at me, a concerned gaze wavering over his dark brown orbs.

"are you sure you're alright, love?" he asks.

i nod my head, slowly. it hurts if i move it too fast.

gym is the last class of the day. i'll be fine.

"yes," i lie.

mike takes his lip between his teeth and says nothing.

i close my eyes. it hurts to have them open for too long.

"meet at the middle, class!" mrs. baker, our obnoxious gym teacher yells. "we don't have all day!"

i stifle a groan as mike drags me to the middle, where the tiger in a circle with an H on top is engraved onto the floor, and then drops my hand.

i slightly frown. his hand felt nice against mine.

"for today's class, i'm splitting the class into teams for basketball," the gym teacher says.

a low groan came from the back of the class.

everyone whipped their heads around, only to have a state shot back at them by the one and only, dustin henderson.

"why basketball?" he groans. "you know, mrs. baker, if these legs get any more muscular, they'll tear open."

a round of snickers come from the class.

"keep quiet," mrs. baker says. "we don't need your opinion on everything."

dustin rolls his eyes, but keeps his mouth shut. i smile slightly.

"i'm dividing you up in teams by gym number. when i call your number, go to the side i point to."

she rattles off a list of numbers, and mike and i's come in the middle. we're on the same team. too bad it's  for something as stupid as basketball.

i hate this game so much.

mike runs over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"hey, el, i really think you should sit out this class. you look really pale." mike says, the worry in his eyes growing.

"no," i say, shooing him away. "i'll be f-"

the room starts to spin. i feel mike's hands under my armpits.

"yeah, you're sitting out," i hear mike say.

i feel a pair of arms guide me to the bleachers, and i sit down, putting a hand to my head.

well, at least i don't have to play basketball.

"starting positions! one, two, three!"

mrs. baker blows her whistle and the game begins, but i'm hardly paying attention. it's a quick, ten minute gym game anyway, so what's the use?