Progression

PE had never been my favourite subject, but today, it felt like some sort of punishment. The cold air bit at my skin as we stood outside, shivering in our rugby gear, listening to Mr. Wareham yell like he was leading an army instead of a group of Year 7 boys.

"Alright, listen up!" Mr. Wareham barked, pacing back and forth in front of us. "Today, you're going to learn the basics of rugby. I expect you to pay attention, follow instructions, and make an effort. If any of you think you can mess around, think again."

I rolled my eyes. Who liked rugby? It was cold, it was rough, and frankly, it made no sense. The idea of throwing the ball backward to go forward? Completely illogical. But no one dared question Mr. Wareham. His drill-sergeant demeanour kept most of us in line.

Callum Pridmoore, though, as always, couldn't resist cracking a joke. I didn't hear exactly what he said, but I could see him smirking and nudging the kid next to him, who chuckled.

"Pridmoore!" Mr. Wareham's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. "You think something's funny? Why don't you share it with the class?"

Callum, always quick to put on his cocky facade, looked up at Mr. Wareham. "Nah, sir. It's nothing."

Wareham wasn't having it. "Say that again, and you'll be back in your uniform writing lines in my office. Got it?"

Callum nodded, but you could see the smirk still playing at the corner of his lips. I couldn't help but grin a little myself. It was nice to see someone like Callum getting chewed out, even if it was just a little. It felt like a tiny bit of karma after what I saw him do to James Dean the other day.

After the telling-off, Mr. Wareham resumed his pacing. 

"You'll be split into two groups today, based on skill and physical ability," he announced. "Top group, bottom group—you know who you are."

Of course, I ended up in the bottom group. I wasn't surprised. Rugby wasn't my thing, and I had zero physical ability compared to the athletic types in the top group.

My group consisted of James Dean from 7C3 and some of his mates, Josh Myers from 7C2, and a few others I didn't know. Then there were the kids I recognized—Scott Fisher and Ollie Wincott from 7B2. They were in my form group, 7V, and we got along fine. They were a bit neurotic but genuine, and I appreciated that. It sucked that they were in a different class, though.

"Top group, get ready!" Mr. Wareham, who was overseeing them, shouted. I glanced over at the top group, filled with the usual suspects—the confident, athletic kids. Scott Thomas, who was tall and scrawny but deceptively good at sports, was there. Alfie Knighton and his brother Harry were in the mix as well, along with Tom Harris. They looked like they were born for this kind of thing, moving with ease and swagger. It was like everything came naturally to them.

Then there was Harry Smith from 7C3. He was the only one from that class who was in the top group. The kid had some reputation—there were rumours he was already growing facial hair, even though he was only in Year 7. He thought he had superpowers as well. He'd go around telling everyone about his "special abilities." I didn't know how serious he was, but no one argued with him. He had special needs, and people just let him be.

"All right, bottom group, listen up!" Mr. Regan called out. "We're going to start with some basic drills. You'll be working on tackling, ball handling, and defense. I want everyone giving 100%. No standing around!"

I sighed. This was going to be a long lesson.

As Mr. Regan explained the drills, I couldn't help but mutter under my breath. "Oh great, another thrilling PE lesson…"

Scott, standing next to me, heard and smirked. "Mate, you're loving this, admit it."

"Yeah, this is exactly what I dreamed about last night," I replied sarcastically, rolling my eyes. Ollie chuckled too, but our small moment of shared misery was interrupted by Mr. Regan's voice cutting through the cold air. "Miles, I heard that! Watch your attitude, or you'll be sitting out."

I threw my hands up in mock surrender. "Sorry, sir. I'm just really pumped for rugby."

Scott and Ollie snickered, but I kept my head down after that. The last thing I needed was more attention from the teachers.

We moved onto the field to start the drills. Everyone took turns holding the rugby pad while the others charged at them with the ball. The point was to practice tackling, but it felt more like controlled chaos.

I stood on the wing, blending in as much as I could. My strategy was simple—stay out of the way, and hope no one passed me the ball. 

Unfortunately, that plan didn't last long.

Suddenly, the ball came flying toward me. I froze for a second, unsure of what to do. I could hear Scott shouting from behind me, "Run, Miles! Do something!"

I hesitated. Was I supposed to pass it? Run? I had no idea. Before I could figure it out, I saw Josh Myers barrelling toward me like a human wrecking ball.

WHAM.

I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked me out of me. Everything felt blurry, and my head was spinning. I tried to stand up, but my legs wobbled, and the edges of my vision started to fade. I stumbled a bit, trying to shake it off.

"You good, mate?" Scott asked, looking concerned.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," I said, though the words felt heavy. I wasn't fine. My head felt like it was full of static, and I couldn't focus on anything.

A few minutes later, everything went black.

I woke up in the nurse's office, Miss Ince standing over me with a worried look. Her glasses were perched in her hair as usual, and she gave me a sympathetic smile when she saw me open my eyes.

"You took quite the hit, Miles," she said softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got run over by a truck," I muttered, sitting up slowly. My head was pounding.

"I've called your mum," Miss Ince continued. "She's on her way to pick you up. You probably have a mild concussion, so it's best if you go home and rest."

"Great," I mumbled. The last thing I wanted was to go home and deal with Mum fussing over me. I just wanted to lie down and forget this day ever happened. About half an hour later, my mum arrived at the reception, and to my annoyance, she'd brought Ronan with her.

"Why'd you have to bring him?" I asked, sighing as I gathered my stuff.

Ronan was bouncing with excitement, as usual. "Miles! You okay? Your head's huge now—like a watermelon!"

Mum ignored him, rushing over to me. "Are you alright? How do you feel? Maybe we should take you to the hospital just to be safe."

"Mum, I'm fine. It's just a bump on the head."

Ronan wasn't helping. "Yeah, Mum! His head's massive now! We should take him to the hospital."

I rolled my eyes. "Can we just go home?"

But of course, Mum insisted, and soon enough, we were sitting in the waiting area of A&E. I sat there in silence, staring at the white walls, wishing I could be anywhere else. Meanwhile, Ronan had found the emergency phone on the wall and was pretending to be some kind of secret agent.

"Agent Ronan, calling headquarters. We've got a code red, over."

I closed my eyes and let out a long sigh. This day couldn't end soon enough.