The Detention Slip

Gym Class. 

Another name for torture. 

We'd just run 20 kilometres, full sprint of course. I listened to my pulse, the sound thrumming through my head like a bee buzzing, and a faint voice, calling my name. I ignored the calls, and focused on regaining my breath.  My breath coming out in short spurts, my eyes squeezed shut as I clutched my side. Suddenly, air began to fill my lungs, and I was slightly aware of my pulse slowing to normal, allowing my brain to concentrate once again.  

I slowly lifted my head towards a faint sound of someone shouting Holly. I fumbled for my glasses, remembering I had tucked them into the collar of my fitted gym shirt. I plucked them out, pushing them onto my face. My eyes flickered to where the voice came from, my eyelashes brushing against the lens' of my glasses. I located the source of the sound, with my gym teacher, Miss Arbatross, a plump red cheeked woman who nagged us about staying active but didn't look like she'd done an hour of exercise in her life. She made a 'come here' motion with her finger, and I nodded solemnly, hitching my glasses up my nose as I walked towards her, sure that my face was as red as beetroot. I dragged my converse clad feet, across the drought-ridden grass. I stop a few inches in front of her, lifting my eyes from the floor to meet hers.

"Yes, Miss Arbatross?" I say, squinting as the sun bore into my eyes.

She smiled sickly, glancing at her stop watch, before clicking her pen irritably and noting down my time, I had finished last of my entire year group of course. 

"You don't seem to be trying very hard Miss Talbot, any particular reason why that is?"

I shrugged feebly, feeling my gym shirt stick to me with perspiration. 

Anger flickered in her eyes, as she opened her hand palm upwards towards me. I looked from her face to her palm, seeing a detention slip there. I accepted it, and nodded solemnly.

"Try harder" she muttered as I stalked to the changing room.

 I hate Miss Arbatross. She does this on purpose. She gave me a bad grade for gym class last year, a D!!!  Just because I'm not athletic. I mean seriously, not everyone can be expected to be an Olympic gymnast or world famous sprinter. What is wrong with being average at gym class? 

My train of angry thoughts were interrupted by the school buzzer- a loud piercing trill that made your brain seem as if it were shaking inside your skull.

I quickly showered, waiting for other to leave before I undressed. When finished, I quickly dried and tugged on a pair of jeans, a   navy t shirt and a light pink v-necked jumper. As the last of the girls  left, I gathered my belongings,  shoved my gym kit inside my satchel, draped it across my right shoulder, and headed back towards the sinks and shower area. The area was secluded from the rest of the changing rooms. The floor a mixture of sludge grey tiles and cracked white linoleum. The walls weren't much better, painted a dismal brown, scribbled with graffiti and love messages inked in scrawled handwriting. I wrinkled my nose, before moving towards the nearest sink, where I checked my reflection in the mirror that hung above. The mirror was fogged up from the steam, and I pulled down the sleeve of my jumper so it covered my hand and wiped it away. I blinked, adjusting my glasses as i peered at my reflection. I bit the corner of my bottom lip, as I anxiously flattened my hair. I delved inside my bag, pulling out a make-up kit. I quickly removed my glasses and applied a coat of mascara and a little eyeshadow. I replaced my glasses, and set the kit back inside my bag.

When my appearance seemed less bedraggled, I gave myself a slight smile tugging on my grey knitted hat, letting it slouch at the back. I glanced down at my watch- one thirty- time for detention. Yay.