Short scene

I’ve never understood why we have field day in high school. During elementary and middle school this was the greatest day of the year…but in high school? It’s like a long day of outdoor gym class where the sporty types get to be competitive and show off to the pretty girls who sit on the sidelines watching. It’s probably my least favorite day of the school year. I hate those types of guys. I’ve never fit in with them. The only good part of field day is being allowed to bring out own lunches and eat outside. All I brought for lunch today is an apple and a turkey sandwich on wheat bread with a little mustard and mayo. I didn’t want anything too messy or that would attract the seagulls. Why are they called seagulls, anyway? We’re nowhere near the sea.

“GRYFFIN, ARE YOU LISTENING AT ALL? GOSH, YOU ARE SUCH A NERD!” I was suddenly snapped out of my musing on the origin of seagulls when I heard Riley shouting at me. Riley is your typical sports loving idiot type. For that reason we’ve never really gotten along and ever since he found out I’ve been trying to teach myself to play hockey he’s been relentless in his taunting.

“I’m sorry, what did you want?” I asked him, hoping the apology would get him off my back so I could enjoy my lunch in peace.

“Didn’t you hear what Ms. Smith said just a few minutes ago? The three-legged race is starting soon, and unfortunately, you’re my partner.”

Great, I literally wouldn’t have cared if I would have been paired with anyone else in the entire planet. But why Riley? This must be some sort of punishment for something I’ve done in a past life, or something. He’s at least 6 foot 5 and built very muscular. With brown hair and blue eyes and perfect teeth, he’s basically the definition of a “cool” guy. He’s always attracting the attention of the girls, despite being a sport loving idiot jock. We’re exact opposites.

“ARE YOU COMING OR WHAT, IDIOT? LET’S GET THIS OVER WITH.” I set my lunch down and walked over to the field and took my spot next to Riley in front of the white starting line.

“Ms. Smith,” I asked, “do I have to do this?”

“Yes, Gryffin, you have to participate in at least one event today, and this is yours.”

I guess there’s no getting out of this. Riley stood on the left and placed his right leg in the brown sack and I stood on the right with my left foot in. The height difference between us isn’t very significant, maybe five inches, or so, but I’m nowhere near as athletic as this guy.

“If you make me lose this race in front of those girls that are watching, you’ll regret it,” he said to me which a menacing glare.

“Good luck to you, too,” was the best comeback I could think of. I am an idiot.

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