12 PE Chaos

The Bangkok sun blazed overhead as Kamon trudged onto the outdoor basketball court, shielding her eyes against the glare. PE class at Bangkok Horizons Academy wasn't just another period - it was a battlefield. The city kids, clad in sleek sportswear and the latest running shoes, bounced energetically on their heels, ready for action. 

Kamon, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably in her secondhand sneakers, already aware she was at a disadvantage. Back home, PE had consisted of leisurely games of takraw in the village square or helping her grandmother carry baskets of fruit to the market - practical exercise, not this structured athletic warfare. 

Her gaze flickered to Patcha, who was stretching effortlessly at the front of the group. Every movement was poised, confident, and undeniably superior. 

"You look like you're preparing for war, not PE," Prem teased as he jogged up beside her. 

Kamon sighed. "It might as well be. I already know how this is going to end." 

Prem grinned. "With you collapsing on the court?" 

"Probably," she admitted, groaning. 

The first drill was simple: dribbling across the court. Simple, that is, for people who had spent their lives playing basketball. Kamon, however, had the ball bouncing wildly out of control, nearly crashing into another student. 

"Whoa!" May yelped, dodging just in time. 

"Sorry!" Kamon called, fumbling to regain control. 

From the sidelines, Patcha crossed her arms, watching with barely concealed disdain. 

The next challenge was worse: a fast-paced game of half-court basketball. The teams were picked swiftly, and unfortunately, Kamon ended up on Patcha's side. 

"Don't mess this up," Patcha warned under her breath. 

Kamon nodded, though she doubted she had much say in the matter. 

The game started with a blur of motion - students dashing, passing, and pivoting with practiced ease. Kamon did her best to keep up, but everything moved too quickly. 

Then, disaster struck. 

Patcha dribbled past an opponent, aiming for a layup. Kamon rushed forward, intending to defend, but instead, her foot caught on an uneven patch of pavement. 

Before she knew it, she was falling - arms flailing, legs tangled. 

Right into Patcha. 

Both of them went down in a heap. 

A collective gasp rippled through the court. 

Kamon blinked up at the sky, momentarily dazed, before rolling over to see Patcha sitting up, seething. 

"You—" Patcha's face was a storm cloud of fury. 

"Uh—sorry?" Kamon offered weakly. 

"You tripped me!" Patcha's voice was loud enough to draw everyone's attention. 

"It was an accident!" Kamon scrambled to her feet, hands raised in surrender. 

Patcha scowled but got up, dusting off her uniform. The coach blew his whistle, signaling them to resume the game. 

Kamon exhaled in relief. "At least that's over."

She was wrong. 

Minutes later, Kamon found herself on the receiving end of a perfect pass. The ball smacked into her hands, and she had no choice but to react. 

"Shoot, Kamon, shoot!" 

Heart pounding, she aimed for a pass—but in her panic, she swung too hard. 

The ball rocketed forward - straight into the face of a girl wearing a full face of makeup. 

The impact sent her stumbling backward, crashing into the coach. 

Silence. 

Kamon's stomach dropped as the girl peeled herself off the coach's crisp white shirt, revealing a full imprint of her foundation, lipstick, and mascara on his uniform. 

The class erupted into laughter. 

The coach, looking somewhere between horrified and exhausted, sighed deeply before muttering, "Just… get back to playing." 

The girl shot Kamon a withering glare, her once-perfect makeup now smeared across her face like abstract art. 

"Sorry?" Kamon tried again. 

The girl huffed, storming off to fix her face. 

Patcha, however, was less amused. 

"You really are a country bumpkin," she snapped. "Do you even know how to play sports? Or did you just chase chickens back home?" 

The words sliced through the laughter like a blade. 

Kamon froze. The court fell quiet. 

Patcha's eyes were sharp, her tone dripping with condescension. 

Heat crawled up Kamon's neck, but she refused to lower her gaze. 

"I'm not a bumpkin," she said, voice steady. "And if you think I'm that bad, why don't we have a rematch?" 

The challenge hung between them. 

Patcha arched an eyebrow. "You want to embarrass yourself twice in one day?" 

"Let's find out," Kamon shot back. 

The court was reset. Students gathered, intrigued by the tension crackling between the two girls. 

Patcha smirked. "Try to keep up." 

The whistle blew. 

Patcha charged forward, dribbling with sharp precision. Kamon followed, gritting her teeth. 

But this time, she didn't trip. 

She moved instinctively, dodging and weaving, her body lighter than she had expected. She wasn't the fastest, but she was nimble. She ducked past Patcha's feints, darted into open spaces, and anticipated her movements. 

Then, the moment arrived. 

Patcha lunged for a shot, but Kamon reacted without thinking. 

She blocked it. 

The ball ricocheted out of Patcha's grasp, landing in Prem's hands. 

The court burst into cheers. 

Even the coach looked mildly impressed. 

Patcha, on the other hand, looked furious. 

But before she could say anything, Prem grinned and patted Kamon's shoulder. "Nice one." 

Kamon exhaled. Maybe she hadn't won completely, but she had proved something today. 

And from the way Patcha clenched her jaw, Kamon knew she had earned at least a shred of reluctant respect. 

As they packed up after class, Prem lingered by Kamon's side. 

"You surprised everyone today," he remarked. 

Kamon shrugged. "Surprised myself, too." 

Prem hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Hey, uh… can I ask you something?" 

"Sure?" 

He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed. "I need your help sending a letter." 

"A letter?" Kamon tilted her head. 

Prem sighed. "A *love letter*." 

Kamon blinked. "You? The school's resident smooth-talker needs help with *love letters*?" 

"It's complicated," Prem muttered. 

Kamon grinned. "This I have to hear." 

As Kamon walked toward the changing rooms, she realized something. 

Today had been chaotic, humiliating, and downright painful. But for the first time, she hadn't just been a struggling new student. 

She had fought back. 

She had laughed. 

And, in an unexpected twist, she had gained an ally. 

Maybe - just maybe - Bangkok Horizons Academy wasn't impossible after all.