Chapter 39

"Remember me for centuries."

Fall Out Boy.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" I stammer, quite alarmed.

"There's no need to lie," Serenity smiles. "I know you're bi, I'm just wondering why you haven't come out yet."

"Why haven't you come out yet?" I ask.

Serenity shrugs, observing the volleyball game in front of us with a stern expression. We watch as the ball soars through the air, Wyatt raising his hand and thrashing it on the boundary line. Cheering, Red and Josh pat him on the back, thankful that he's earned our team another point.

"I'm afraid of judgment," she answers, her head bowed.

I nod, staring at her big eyes filled with sadness.

"And don't you think I had enough of that in my life? Don't you think the judgement I already receive is sufficient?"

Holding her hands up in mock surrender, Serenity retaliates with:

"I'm sorry, sis. I wasn't thinking."

Smiling weakly and shaking my head, I say:

"I'm sorry that we live in such a narrow minded town. It's the 21st century, we should be accepting people, not marginalising them," I sigh, disappointed.

"I know right!" Serenity exclaims. "I'm so tired of the absurd standards and idiotic expectations. I swear, sis, no one here is normal."

"So, why are you talking to me? Why are you being so friendly?" I quiz.

Raising an eyebrow, Serenity then rolls her eyes and smirks.

"Isn't obvious? You're different; for the first time in ages, I actually want to talk to someone. I actually want to make a friend," she admits.

"Am I dreaming?" I think. "Someone wants to be around me?"

"Now if you're done with your interrogation," Serenity giggles, "let's focus on the game, yeah?"

Taking a deep breath, I relax, deciding to see how this plays out.

"Yeah."

...

At twelve thirty, Coach Sanders blows his final whistle, indicating that it's the end of the lesson. Immediately, students dart right pass him, heading straight to the changing rooms and showers. Uttering a quiet 'wow', Sanders begins picking up the equipment abandoned by the class, grabbing a black bag to store them in.

Tying our shoe laces and handing Serenity her hair band, she and I proceed to slowly saunter to the girls' showers. The gym is practicality isolated, the squeak of our trainers and the tick of a distant clock the only audible sound. I am completely immersed in the story Serenity's rambling about , when I hear a voice boom throughout the hall.

"You girls wouldn't mind helping me, would ya?"

Beside me, I feel Serenity's body stiffen. Confused, I tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and for some reason, I've managed to mollify her. Staring back at me, I put a hand on her shoulder, asking what's wrong.

"Nothing," she answers, "it's just... I really don't want to be late for next period so..."

"I'll write you a note," Sanders interrupts, smiling. After, he pulls two late passes out of his back pocket, waving them at us.Taking a silver pen from his breast pocket, he scribbles some words onto the pieces of paper as I exchanged a look of perplexity with Serenity. When done, Coach hands it to us.

"Come on now, there's no excuse," he laughs. "I wrote you a note, the least you can do is help me."

A chill runs down my spine. The way in which he spoke in a slow, yet deep and sinister voice had all the hairs on my arms standing straight.

"Let's do it quickly," I say. "Maybe if we start now, we won't even need the notes."

Coach grins, displaying his pearl-white, pointy teeth.

"What about you? Is that alright with you, Serenity?"

"I-I don't know..."

"Don't you wanna help out old Coach Sanders?" He asks, tilting his head and sliding his sunglasses back on.

For a moment, I think I see Serenity's nostrils flare in anger.

Exhaling deeply, she responds with:

"Yeah. Okay."

"Good," Sanders smiles. "All I need to do is pack up the nets. Valentina..."

Coach throws me the black bag, containing the volleyballs.

"Go in the back and put them in the storage room," he orders. "Those go right next to the trampolines."

"Umm...alright," I mumble, staggering away.

"As for you, Serenity, you will help me with the nets."

"I prefer to help out Valentina," she mutters, glancing at the floor.

"Nonsense!" Coach exclaims. "Valentina's smart. She doesn't need any help."

Turning to me, Sanders says in a cheerful voice:

"Get going Miss Blue-Rose. And don't worry, take your time," he winks.

Gazing at Serenity one last time, she sends me a firm nod and I hastily scurry into the storage room, pushing past the forest-green door.

Inside, it's all organised. Hockey sticks, basketballs, footballs, gymnastics mats and tennis rackets. They are neatly placed on holders, racks, or in black bags like the one I am currently holding. Some of the  equipment is stacked upon each other, some lay in bundles in the corner and some are stored in plastic boxes, which are covered in dust.

Stumbling, I peep my head around corners, hoping to find the trampolines somewhere. Occasionally, I wonder whether I'm wasting too much time. Surely, Coach must realise that I've been here way too long?

I mean, shouldn't he be calling me to say why I haven't helped them with volleyball nets yet?

And that's when I remember.

Two years ago, a kid in the older years was asked to do a front landing on the trampolines. Long story short, he ended up severely hurting himself. After a couple more incidents, the school decided to stop educating children within that sport.

Meaning, there are no trampolines.

"So why did Coach send me here?" I think. "Hasn't he been working here for twenty years?"

"Don't worry, take your time."

"Take my time?! But why?"

I'm about to inform him (even though he should already know) when I hear the following:

"You know what's the best part about wearing these sunglasses, Serenity? I can ogle at you all I want and no one can tell."

Is that...

Coach Sanders?!

Wanting to hear more, I press my ear against the door.

"Please," I hear Serenity softly protest. "Please, someone could hear us, see us even..."

She's sobbing.

She's actually crying.

"But you like that, don't ya?" I hear Sanders whisper. "You like the thrill of getting caught, huh?"

"No. No I don't! Just please let me go! Valentina's in the next room!" Serenity whisper-shouts between cries.

"Oh, you mean Little Miss Fatty? Yeah, don't worry about her, love. She's too busy looking for the non-existent trampolines!" Coach chuckles. "Now, let me enjoy what's mine."

"You can't let this happen," my inner voice demands. "You have to do something!"

Frantically, I whip my head around in search for anything that is remotely useful in this situation.

That's when a plan forms in my mind.

Knocking over the bag of basket balls, I then grab the bundle of tennis rackets and throw them to the ground. Soon, I open the bag of hockey sticks, scattering them across the floor as I unload the gymnastic mats, making sure they land with a loud smack. I kick over the boxes, untie the bundles and hit them against the rack. At this point, the probability of then hearing me is inevitable.

"This should be enough to get Sanders' attention," I think. "This should be enough to get the whole of the P.E. departments' attention!"

"This should be enough, to save Serenity..."