The Queerest [🗸]

spartans 'n punches

pls not me witnessing a teacher harassing a student about the length of her skirt (bc of 'dress code') when this is the exact issue i'm writing about >://

kneeways. favorite character in all of my books (that you've read) ??

***

I'm lightning.

A spark of white that slices through the atmosphere. A natural electrical discharge. A flash, high voltage. Really fucking fast.

I pierce through the atmosphere, and like fire, I keep moving and swelling and intimidating because somehow, my feet move faster than my mind does. 

So, every afternoon, I fly across the track field. Four hundred meters in 47 seconds. Coach Norman's christened me Spartan because of the fact. Spartans are relentless, so I've eased into the name pretty simply.

I'm bulldozing down the running track, and from my periphery, I can somewhat envision Coach Norman nodding from the sidelines.

Everyone else is in the dust.

No one expects me to love track, to breathe in it. After all, folks want me to fit into a box. A nice, little box that doesn't contain any other aspect of my identity. They want me to be the hummingbird. It's hard for my teammates to truly come to terms with the fact that I'm the eagle, too.

The first day I'd shown up for track tryouts freshman year, I was a fucking joke. Not even Coach Norman could take me seriously. I was asked if I was lost nothing short of a million times. After all, I'm noodle arms, make-up boy, Aspen High's residing fairy.

Sports weren't supposed to belong to me. Talk less of the most strenuous-ass sport that is collectively hated by most athletes. Hated and loved. Hella difficult, tiring.

When they'd all laughed, I hadn't done much. Instead, fourteen year old me lined up during the 100 meter run, and readied myself to show everything I had. And I ran. Fuck did I run.

Ran so quick I smashed school records.

Needless to say, no one asked me if I was lost the next time I showed up on the field.