Page 5 of We Shouldn't Be Together
Coach Oliver blows her whistle to a deafening level. “Now!”
Grunting, I cup my hands over my ears. Cammy puffs out her chest to get in another protest, but stops short at the sight of our teacher’s brick-red face.
With mutterings, eye rolls, and hair flips, the three of us start out on a jog.
“Knees up, girls!” Coach Oliver calls out with a bit too much glee in her tone. “Put some effort into it!”
“She’s loving this too much,” Cammy says between her pants.
“What was that crack she made about me being pretty?” I ask, already breathless after one length of the court.
“She’s completely freakish,” Yvie whines. “Like she throws a ball at you and then describes you? What is that?”
“She can’t get away with that, can she?” I question, enjoying my friends' support.
Camila turns to me with a wicked grin. “Why, Tabby? Did you like the attention?”
I almost trip. “What? No!”
“You seem unable to get over it,” Camila continues.
“What?” I gasp. “But…” My head hurts. “But we’re all talking about it.”
Cammy shoves me and then speeds up her run. “But we’re running because of you. Why is it, every time a teacher has a problem with me, you’re right there?”
Cammy and Yvie run ahead with a mixture of panting and laughter.
I should catch up, but I lag behind with zero effort.
I can’t win. Camila continually blames me for everything. We wouldn’t be running if she hadn’t said something so offensive and accusatory to Coach Oliver. Deep down, I know our teacher was trying to point out that I need to look after my safety.
Ironic.
I only went along with Camila because I thought taking on another target would keep me out of harm’s way.
Camila isn’t dumb. She knows going after a teacher is an uphill battle. Especially when the accusation is desperately flimsy.
The bell rings, and I slow my jog.
“No way, Miss Jones!” Coach Oliver calls out. “That was only four laps! Get moving!”
“But Coach…”
She blows her whistle, halting my whine.
My friends jog toward the exit. “See ya, Tabby,” Cammy sing-songs, followed by a chuckle.
I groan and continue my jog. I put more effort into this last lap, but I’m winded. Hmm, maybe I should take up a sport. I probably shouldn’t be this out of breath. I’m sure I felt fitter when I was taking dance classes. As I awkwardly run, I feel Coach Oliver’s eyes on me, and it only makes my form less graceful.
Her whistle blows, followed by, “Okay, Jones. That’s it for today.”
I blow out a hard breath, holding my sides as I make my way to the exit.
Coach stops me before I leave. “I know you’re better than this, Tabitha. You’re better than a follower. Just count to three before you speak. Think about how you want your tone of voice and your words to best represent you.”
I don’t make eye contact with her. I huff a breath, feeling clammy and horribly red-faced. “I need to get changed.”
Coach Oliver steps out of my way, and I make it across the hall to the locker room as other girls leave in their regular uniforms. I might not be that quick today. I’m so gross I might actually use the dreaded showers in this place.
