Chapter 3: Gym Class

Hallways fall silent as students pour into their classrooms. The ring on the loudspeaker signifies the late bell. Two flustered cheeks swell with air and releases tension through a long sigh.

"We should be at gym," Crash protests with slight irritation. "Why are we at the front office?"

"Is that any way to thank your personal school guide?" Alex retorts with a smile.

Crash twists the corner of his lip upwards. He cannot disagree with an honest statement. 'Point proven,' he muses. 'I didn't want to be alone, anyways.'

The passive teenager's gaze shifts from his new friend to the surrounding décor. The school's office has chestnut furnishings. There is a large painting on the wall of a Spartan with a gold helm and purple robes—the mascot of Lotusville High School. Despite the quiet town, their educators prefer a surge of strength and wit.

"Well, if it isn't Alex Burns," a droll voice carries from behind a desk. "What can I do for you?"

An older woman in her sixties with permed hair sits at the counter. Her lack of enthusiasm suggests that the adolescent in question has a poor reputation with the faculty.

"Morning, Mrs. Sneed!" Alex greets with an abrupt tone. "I need another schedule. I don't have a printer at home and the one I received through the mail got misplaced. If you could print one out for me, then I'd be super grateful."

The receptionist casts a wary glance. Clearly, sarcasm does not sit well with her. She clicks away at her keyboard to locate the necessary file. The printer creaks as its old gears turn. Once the schedule is ready, Mrs. Sneed removes herself from the desk. She collects the page and hands the bright-eyed teenager his paper.

"What can I do for you?" she addresses Crash.

"Oh…" the other averts his gaze. "I'm with him."

"Is that so?" Mrs. Sneed remarks with distaste. "Don't take lessons from Mr. Burns here. He sets a poor example of academic effort."

"You're mistaken!" Alex retorts with his paper waving in the air. "Plus, I'm a decent people person."

Get to class, you two!" The receptionist demands as she plops in her chair.

"Gladly," the other begins to lead Crash outside. "Goodbye, Mrs. Sneed!"

"Good riddance Mr. Burns!" Mrs. Sneed calls peevishly.

The two teenagers walk down the halls. Upon another turn, Crash hears the sound of roll call. He stops at the gymnasium's double doors. He fidgets with his bag's strap while staring through the thin rectangular windows. A single bead of sweat drips from the boy's forehead. Alex notices his discomfort.

"You don't have to worry," he smiles. "They don't usually do much on the first day of school."

"What about the clothes?" Crash asks with an unusual amount of worry.

"The school keeps some," Alex replies. He places a hand on the push-bar. "The gym stores them in the office."

Crash nods his head in response. Slowly, he shuffles along Alex's lead. Upon seeing the late-comers, the teacher halts from reading his list and lifts a brow. His dark eyes pass from Crash to Alex. Green eyes glint and a curled lip insinuates an approaching snarky remark. Alex is momentarily silenced by a raised hand.

"Um, where's Miss Green?" Alex crosses his arms. "She's usually the morning P.E. teacher."

"Oh, so you must be Mr. Burns then," the man replies while checking off the student's name on his list. "My colleague has informed me about you."

"Is that a compliment or a warning label?" Alex teases with a grin.

Crash stands in line, watching the conversation with increasing embarrassment. 'Could he not…what's his problem with staying quiet?' His eyes retreat from the antics to the floor. 'As if being late wasn’t enough.'

Crash hears snickering to his right. Apparently, the students in formation are enjoying the show. After all, the more time that is wasted on conversation, then the less time will be available to explore the gym experience. An arm wrapping around the neck distracts Crash's spiraling thoughts.

"My buddy here needs to borrow some clothes, teach," Alex chimes. "May we be excused for a moment? I can show him the spares."

"Very well," the instructor responds with a narrowed gaze. "You should be familiar with the layout as a returning student. Just make sure that all bags and belongings are secured in the locker room."

"Thanks, teach," Alex replies while taking lead.

"The name is Mr. Randall!" the man corrects as a vein begins popping beneath his bald head. "Don't dawdle or else I will come back there and remove you both!"

Both of the teenagers nod in response. Crash follows behind his rowdy friend with his head low. They exit the gym floor and enter a t-shaped hallway. The office is on the right. Alex proceeds casually inside and starts perusing through a bookshelf lined with boxes.

"Why were you arguing with the teacher?" Crash inquires with a voice barely audible above a whisper.

"Huh?" Alex turns from the boxes. "Because it's fun!"

Crash raises a brow. 'Fun? He thinks it's entertaining to taunt the teachers?' The thought carries with an understanding of how the other boy gained the status as a returning Freshman.

Rather than dwell on the matter further, Crash concludes that setting it aside will be more beneficial. He only hopes to survive the day. His lack of a remark makes the other feel apprehensive. Yet, after a moment of silence, Alex rebounds with full energy.

"Small or medium?" he asks while picking up two pairs of outfits.

"Oh, small," Crash replies while accepting the clothes—a white t-shirt and gray shorts.

"You're lucky," the other smiles. "No sweat stains or ripped edges. The school must have paid for new uniforms over the summer."

With a sheepish laugh, Crash turns towards the doorway. He exits the office and peers to the right down the hallway. Large signs indicating the locations of both locker rooms provide an easy means of navigation.

Once inside the boy's room, the condition comes as a surprise. The various sections appear remodeled and are more modern than the average locker room. Crash rests his bag on a bench. He quickly changes to avoid wasting more time.

"Hey look!" Alex says excitedly. "They bought those fancy lockers which feature your own code!"

"It’s the little things that count, right?" Crash smiles.

"The ones in the main hallway still need an update," he remarks while storing his belongings. "I've noticed that on our way to the office. Maybe they will update those, too."

"Good point," fingers fidgets with the keypad. "I still have to find my locker. So much to do for the first day."

"It's alright. Change can be scary but it doesn't have to be all bad." Alex pats his frantic friend 's back. "Let's go before Agent Morgan kicks our butts!"

The fear of conflict stirs a quivering heart. Although his chatty friend continues to speak, Crash's mind doesn't configure what is being said.

'Mr. Randall does look intimidating.' His thoughts turn towards panic. 'Maybe he used to be in the military…or what if he was a convict that had to fight his way to survive jail and now wants to prepare kids like 'Scared Straight' or something?' Crash shakes his head. 'Don't be ridiculous, you're just thinking nonsense…' The stressed teenager sighs.

As the gym doors open, Crash's heart sinks. He sees the students divided into two teams. The teacher stands in the middle with a bag of…dodgeballs! Alex whistles and proceeds to take his position on the left. At first, the nervous one follows after the other as before. Yet, Crash is stopped by a raised palm.

'Sorry to break you two up, but," Mr. Randall provides a dramatic pause. "Folks can test their friendships with some good old-fashioned competition!"

"This isn't a Shonen anime!" Crash blurts out of frustration. As he senses the other's resolve, the teenager concedes. "…Sorry…"

Eyes pin onto the pretty boy as he takes his place. Crash notices the poor enthusiasm reverberating across his team. 'No one expected this turn of events.' He gulps. While catching the gaze of a female student, Crash gives a weak smile.

"We're going to lose," she tells her friend in a hush.

"It's not like we wanted to play, anyways," the other replies.

A whistle blares to sound the start of the match. Feet scramble across the waxed floor. Hands dart for ammo and players recoil to take their aim. Alex manages to nail his target. Two players on Crash's team are out. Crash prefers to focus on the 'dodge' aspect of the game. Alex takes another shot and hits his friend's ankle. Crash places his hands together and mouths the words: 'thank you.' The cheery blonde returns the gesture with two thumbs up. As Alex stands alone, another whistle blow rallies the preparation of a new round.

"Let's switch the teams up." Mr. Randall insists on a varied setup.

He motions towards the students to separate from their old comrades. Mr. Randall uses his pointer finger to indicate who is alternating sides. Although some players swap positions, others do not.

Crash remains on the opposing team. He meets with a harsh gaze from his teacher. Mr. Randall's expression appears to suggest: 'Don't get out so early!' When the students are in their requested stances, the whistle shrieks to initiate the round.

A change occurs in play. Having tasted defeat, some students are more serious than the first match. Shots are thrown and knees are pelted. With a natural reflex, Crash manages to catch a ball, thus getting an enemy off of the field.

"Good job!" one of the girls from earlier smiles.

"Thanks," Crash replies quickly.

He cannot fall for distractions. Otherwise, one of those projectiles will pound his face. With rapid feet, Crash shuffles across the floor. The game feels more dragged out due to the competitive nature in the players.

Crash finds himself with a new technique. He grabs a dodgeball and realizes its multiple functions. The frantic teenager swiftly becomes a master of deflection. While his friend plays offense, Crash is content with being defensive. After all, his desire to play is coming to an end.

Blood pulses feverishly. Blue eyes lock onto the next dodgeball. 'It's going to hit me!' Crash concludes. He drops his small shield. While opening his arms, Crash takes a lucky catch.

"Yes! We win!" a teammate celebrates.

Indeed, Crash manages to oust the best player. However, a booming voice demands that the ammo be brought forward and placed in the middle. Crash replaces the ball he caught. He sees bright green eyes and a smile.

"I guess we're tied," Alex remarks. "Ready for the last round?"

"Uh…" Crash's voice trails off.

The two take their placements alongside their teammates. Mr. Randall raises a hand then blows the whistle. Everyone now seems invested. Everyone except for Crash.

The sound of squeaky shoes grows louder. Players shout with excitement as they take their aim. Their voices begin to distort and waver. Dodgeballs are flown across the dividing line in a flurry.

"So close!" Mr. Randall exclaims. "Come on, give it your best shot!"

While the teacher rallies his troops, one cadet is wrought with an issue. With increasing speed, Crash's heart beats faster and faster. He begins to feel his pulse in his ears. The sound of the surrounding commotion appears to grow in volume until—A loud humming persists. His feet stop running. Crash's sight blurs and he is met with a familiar vision. Instead of the sound of dodgeballs, his mind fabricates the elements of a car accident. The crashing cars hit each other...over and over again. Sweat pours down his face. Soon, Crash's blue eyes flicker and close shut.