Belle and I quickly leave the class to go to College-Level English, which goes by in a blur since we're only turning in our final essays. After English we both go to Advanced Creative Writing, which also goes by fast since we're only reviewing the creative poems; we turned them in the day before. Then came the last period of the day, the one I always dread: Physical Education. I'm not bad at it, but I can never let myself play to my full limits since I built muscle and stamina. To get less attention, I always get "tired" when the average amount of people look worn out, as not to be looked at.
Once, last year, Mrs. Hanson told the whole class that she knew that I wasn't trying my hardest during class. I was still a good student in her eyes, but she couldn't understand why I never tried my hardest. I got better at masking it, but that day she gave me the baseball bat, blew the whistle, and Noah was to pitch to me. I was so mad at my classmates' jeers that I decided I might as well actually try for one day. I had played a lot of baseball with my family, and we play extreme, so I knew how it worked. Noah tried to be "smart" by pitching a very fast, powerful curveball. Everyone was shocked when I hit the ball, and I scored an automatic homerun.
But when the ball came back off the wall, the ball was squished and funny looking; even the seam had split after I hit it with enough force and accuracy that it had rebounded off the wall and gotten ruined. The whole class stared at me like I was a ghost, so I quickly ran out of the gym. From then on, Mrs. Hanson never questioned me, but my classmates still did. After I ignored them, and they knew they weren't getting answers from me, they left me alone with Belle, who always quietly understood.
We walk swiftly to the girls' locker rooms, and I quickly take off my sweatshirt, revealing my three other shirts I had on and a tank top under that. I keep everything on except the sweatshirt, and I throw my gym clothes on top. When school started, I got permission from my parents and Mrs. Hanson to put my gym clothes on top of my clothes. I am also wearing five pairs of leggings, so I just pull on some gym shorts on top. I look away while Belle changes, no one else was in the lockers yet.
The lockers are in rows against the walls, and there are mirrors and bathroom stalls on the opposite side of the room. There are concrete benches that we put our stuff on, and there are no windows, and a single door that led out into a small hallway and into the gym. When the other girls start coming in, Belle finishes, and we go to the gym. Right outside of the gym doors, though, stands Mrs. Hanson, and she motions for Belle to go into the gym while telling me to stay.
Mrs. Hanson is about four inches shorter than me and holds herself with a pride and grace I was surprised to see that a gym teacher would possess. She is the epitome of aging with elegance, since she is in her late sixties but looks like she's in her forties or fifties. She has short, wavy brown hair, with a few streaks of silver, and hazel eyes that gleam when she is proud. She usually wears fitness clothing with a jacket on top and has some muscle on her bones despite her age. I tense as she tells me something, something that I never wanted to happen in a million years.
"Vivienne, you are going to have to change into your gym clothes completely today," Mrs. Hanson quietly said, "Since it's practically the last day you have to dress, your parents said that they wanted you to completely put on your gym clothes."
"What?"