Page 2 of Walk With Me
“Yo, UK,” I hear being called across the sea of teens. I’d love to ignore it, but considering I’m the only British teen here I can’t exactly feign ignorance.
Turning, I watch Bryce Buckley, the football captain, make his way over. He’s the quarterback, which I’m told is impressive. His ability to draw is more of an achievement to me, but each to their own.
“Yo, can I sit next to you? I need you to, like, decrypt what Ms Billings says into words I can compute, ya know.”
Honestly, I don’t. Ms Billings isn’t exactly explaining anything other than how to shade and use lighting. Not difficult to comprehend, but I can’t say that’s the same for everyone. If Bryce needs a hand I don’t mind helping. He’s okay for a jock. Lets me get on with my work and isn’t a complete caveman.
I shrug. “Sure.”
We walk to class in silence, which is preferable. My head is already on my art piece that is close to being finished.
We are the last to arrive, but it makes little difference. We have assigned spots and easels. Bryce disrupts the flow of the room by dragging his over to the spot next to me. Pia, Todd, and Bella all chuckle. Whatever, I just wanna paint.
The lesson goes off without too much disruption from my new neighbour. I spend some time talking to him about his piece and he impresses me. I seriously doubt he understands how talented he is. Bryce only thinks about football, which is a crying shame in my opinion.
Our next class is my nightmare. Gym. I mean, surely at my age I should be given the choice whether or not I want to exercise. That has to be a decision I am capable of making for myself, right?
No. According to drill instructor Mr Ass Hat Porter, I am not capable of making that choice, and therefore have to participate. It’s the only class I’m close to failing, to be honest. Simply because I refuse to do more than the bare minimum and in my regular school clothes.
As expected, the cheer squad is throwing themselves around the gym when we make our way out of the locker room. It defies my understanding of how anyone can bethatflexible. Bryce shoots me a smile and heads over to his bros and immediately starts lifting weights.
I make eye contact with Mr Ass Hat and smile before taking a lazy walk over to the treadmills. Walking is classed as exercise and there’s fuck all he can do about it as I set the speed. I’m barely walking faster than a shuffle, but it’s enough. He scowls at me but leaves me alone.
Pia and Todd join me, and we have a thrilling conversation about the new art exhibition starting next week in town.
“Hey,” a voice says far too close to my ear, causing me to stumble. Maybe Doc boots aren’t a good choice on treadmills.
Turning, I stare at Sloane Bishop, who is looking at me with a smile.
“Um, hi?” Smooth as always.
She grins and cocks her head. “Did you just say hi in the form of a question?”
“Probably.” As I said before, I’m no stranger to making a tit of myself in front of pretty girls. Now I just lean into it and deal with the embarrassment at a later date. Usually over a pint of ice cream.
“Okay then,” she laughs. “Mr Porter has made us gym partners.”
My eyes shoot to Mr Ass Hat. He’s grinning at me like a psycho. God damn him. Why can’t he just leave me alone? I truly can’t understand what his goal is. He’s tried for three years and failed to get me to become one with aerobic exercise. Like get the fuck over it, dude.
“Eden?”
My eyes snap back to an amused looking Sloane. “Right, um, okay.”
I watch her hand reach over the console of my snail’s pace walking machine. She hits the stop button. I cease moving my legs and let myself get carried off the belt by the last turn of the cogs.
“Want to do some stretches?” Sloane asks.
I look at her like she’s insane. I couldn’t stretch if I wanted to. I’m pretty sure all my muscles would just snap.Turning, I look for some support from my friends. Of course, I receive none because this is far too entertaining.
Time to get real. Facing Sloane again, I beckon her to follow. We arrive at the edge of the gym, and I can feel eyes on us.
“Okay,” I begin before waving a hand up and down myself. “You see this? This is not made for stretching, running, jumping, or anything other than leaning over an easel or snack table. Porter is out of his fucking mind, and I don’t want your grades to suffer because of me. Let’s just pretend you got me to jog or something and leave it at that, yeah?”
There, crisis averted.
Sloane bites her lip before answering, “No can do, sorry.”
What the hell does that mean? I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. “What?”
