I don’t want to talk about the Pirate Ship.
Let’s just say, I screamed. I thought I was going to fall to my death.
Lloyd sat on the sidelines and thought it was hilarious.
It was nothing like Johnny Depp’s ship in Pirates of the Caribbean.
I thought it was supposed to be considered lucky when you step in dog poop.
Or is that when a bird poops on you?
I don’t want to talk about the dog poop.
Dogs aren’t even allowed in Summerville Park.
And it certainly wasn’t lucky for me.
In fact, the only thing that went right today was the giant bar of chocolate on sale in the gift shop.
But I have learned my lesson.
Next year, Debs and I will look at fish.
CHAPTER 13
My most hated day of the school year? Sports day. Without a doubt.
It used to be fun in primary school when we only ever used to do egg and spoon races, but in this school, it’s horrible. It’s actually about sports. Ugh.
We can take our pick between two hundred metre runs, four hundred metre runs, long jump, discus, javelin throwing and obstacle courses. It’s all so energetic. The worst part is that you have to compete in at least two events. There’s no such thing as optional. There’s no backing out. The teachers are determined that on this one boiling hot July day, a few days before you break up for the summer holidays, you are going to sweat.
I tried to get out of it, I really did. As we walked up to the field with our forms this morning, I pretended to fall down an imaginary pothole and sprain my ankle, but Miss Raine just pretended she hadn’t seen me. Because she didn’t see it, she would’ve thought I was faking it like I do to get out of any other sporting event.
So I’ve chosen to do javelin and long jump, because these require the least amount of running. Debs is doing discus and javelin.
I think I might have actually found something athletic that I’m good at. Well, maybe good is too strong a word, but something that I’m not completely rubbish at, at least. I can throw a javelin. We had it for games earlier this week, and I actually threw mine farther than anybody else in the class, including the boys. And, as an added bonus, I didn’t accidentally stab anyone with it. It’s just a shame that Lloyd Layton wasn’t in our group to see my achievement. I hope he’ll be there today. I think he will. He’s a total sports freak so will undoubtedly be competing in every event.
I’m right about that. Debs, Ewan and I work our way around the field where all the events are set up and I spot Lloyd and Darren’s names on every single sign-up form. Even the four hundred metre race.
That boy is insane.
I don’t know why boys are so attracted to sports. How can anyone actually choose to go running and jumping instead of sitting on the grass and watching? Besides, don’t they say that being a spectator is an event of its own? All that cheering people on should be classed as exercise.
Javelin, long jump and discus aren’t until this afternoon so Debs and I have the whole morning to lounge around on the grassy banks of the field and pretend that we’re cheering the others on, when really we’re planning what we’re going to do over the summer holidays.
It’s only just after nine in the morning and the first event of the day is the two hundred metre race. I keep my eyes firmly on Lloyd as he lines up at the starting point with all the other idiots who choose to run at this time of day. I bet none of them have a chance against Lloyd with his long legs and affinity for sports in general. He must be really fit. And he looks extra good when he’s all hot and sweaty.
Mr Hursh is standing in the middle of the track with a whistle, and as soon as he blows it, the six runners take off. There are a few groups of six, whoever wins each group gets five merit points, and whoever has the fastest overall time gets the prize. I have no idea what the prize is because obviously I’ve never won an event, but I think it might be vouchers for fitness equipment. Our school should make the prizes more desirable and then maybe more people would compete. I might even compete if the prize was a voucher for shoes or make-up or something even remotely interesting.
Lloyd is going like the clappers around that track.
“I’m worn out just watching,” Debs says. “They should at least hold sports day in the winter when it’s not so hot.”
I agree. But then I guess it would be wet and muddy instead. Perhaps we should suggest holding it in the springtime to Miss Raine as a compromise.
Lloyd and Darren are neck and neck as they reach the finishing line, but Lloyd just makes it and wins the race.
Wow.
He’s so good.
“I told you he’d win,” I say to Debs.
“Bigger isn’t always better, you know,” she mutters.
We both lay back on the grass, worn out from shaking our fists and yelling, “Come on!” at the runners.
“Hello, ladies,” says a very familiar voice.
Yikes. I sit up too fast and turn my head around.
I don’t believe it.
A very hot, very sweaty Lloyd Layton has sprawled on the grass near us, drinking out of a water bottle and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, which is either very gross or like something out of a Diet Coke advert. I can’t decide which.
“Hi,” I mumble.
I turn around and stare straight ahead, pretty much frozen to the spot.
Debs winks at me and nudges me with her elbow.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
It’s true. I cannot pluck up the courage to speak to him, even though he’s sitting mere feet away, and he’s not surrounded by a gang of boys like he usually is.
I look terrible today. My thighs feel fatter than normal, my face feels spottier than normal, and my glow-in-the-dark pale legs are on show because we’re stuck wearing our gym kits all day, even if we have no intention of working up a sweat. My hair is frizzy from the heat, and I know that I have a particularly huge zit on the side of my nose.
Debs nudges me again.
I turn around and smile awkwardly at Lloyd. “Congratulations,” I stammer. “You were good out there.”
“Thanks,” he says with a smile.
Then he does something unexpected. He scoots closer to us.
He actually voluntarily moved across the grass for the sole purpose of sitting closer to me.
“That was tough going. I really thought Darren was going to beat me.”
“We were rooting for you,” Debs says.
“Cheers.”
If he thinks we’re insane stalkers he doesn’t show it.
“So, what else are you competing in today?” I ask as casually as I can when I’m nearly hyperventilating from this close proximity. As if I don’t know perfectly well what he’s competing in.
“Oh, everything,” he says, smiling again. “I love sports day.”
I’m glad he told me because I would never have known otherwise.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do great.”
“What are you two doing?”
“As little as possible,” I say. “I’m doing the javelin and the long jump.” But please don’t come and watch the long jump because my boobs will probably escape from my bra and hit me in the eye.
Now I come to think of it, maybe long jump isn’t such a good idea if you’re anything over an A cup. Oh well. I want Lloyd to be around when I have to throw my javelin, but I really hope he’s caught up in his own event when I have to do the long jump.
I have no idea what to say to him. I don’t want him to get up and leave, I want him to stay and talk to us, but I have no idea what to say. There is nothing remotely clever or witty inside my head. Debs must sense it, because she says, “So, what’s next?”
“The four hundred metre race,” Lloyd replies. “We’ve got half an hour to recover from this one, then we get to do it all over again for twice the distance.”
“Sounds like fun,” I say.
“I tell you what, I
will be so impressed by whoever wins this one.”
“Don’t you think it will be you?”
“Not a chance. Darren nearly beat me just now and that was only two hundred metres. This one is gonna kill me. Whoever can run four hundred metres will get my respect for life.”
Talk about handing it to me on a plate.
I will be so impressed with whoever wins this one.
… Will get my respect for life.
I know what I have to do.
I have to win the four hundred metre race.
Ewan comes back and plops down on the grass next to Lloyd.
“Oh good, I was waiting for you,” Lloyd says.
Suddenly I feel disappointed. I thought he might’ve come over here just to see me. He scooted closer and everything. I thought he might have actually wanted to talk to me.
“Good luck with your events.” Lloyd looks me directly in the eyes as they both get up and go to leave. “See you around.”
“We’ll be cheering for you,” Debs says, waving as he walks away.
The disappointment gives way to excitement. I’m going to win Lloyd’s admiration. Soon enough he will come to sit by me because he actually wants to sit by me.
“Wait here,” I say to Debs, and I get up and jog down to Mr Hursh.
“I’d like to add my name to the sign-ups for the four hundred metres,” I say.
“Fine.” He hands me the clipboard.
I scribble my name on the form.
“You’re in the second group.” He looks me up and down somewhat distastefully. “Make sure you do some stretches first to warm up.”
“Thanks, I will.”
He gives me another look that makes me think I must have ‘non-athletic’ stamped on my forehead or something.
But, on the bright side, that turned out exactly as I wanted it to, because Lloyd is in the second group of runners too. I know because I checked his name this morning, just so I knew when to run to the cafeteria for a flapjack and when to stay on the field. I am going to be racing Lloyd Layton. And somehow I have to beat him.
Oh.
That might not be so easy.
Well, maybe he’ll consider that it’s the taking part that counts and not the winning.
Maybe if I could even come second or something, because he sounded quite impressed that Darren had nearly pipped him to the post.
I flop back down on the grass next to Debs.
“Chessie,” she says. “I think I know what you just did, but maybe you could confirm the insanity for me?”
“I just signed up for the four hundred metre race.”
“I hate to ask, but what on earth would possess you to do something like that?”
“You heard what Lloyd just said. He’ll be really impressed with whoever wins this race. It’s my chance to show him that I’m good enough for him.”
“Chessie, you’re more than good enough for him anyway.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But I’m obviously not, am I? Because he hasn’t looked twice at me all year. I need to show him that I’m his type of girl.”
“How do you know what his type is? He doesn’t seem interested in anyone in particular, it’s not just you.”
I suppose that is one thing I should be grateful for. I’d be devastated if Lloyd started going out with someone else. I guess I should just be thankful that he hasn’t yet.
“That means I have to move quickly. I have to make him like me before he starts liking someone else.”
“That’s insane.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Chessie, the reason he’s not into you or anyone else is because he’s like all the other boys our age, he’s into cars, sports, and college girls. We’re too immature for these boys, and they’re too immature for us.”
“Lloyd’s different. Besides, Ewan would’ve said if he had an older girlfriend.”
“Pfft.”
“Anyway, Mr Hursh said I need to warm up or something, any idea how I do that?”
“You really are insane. You’re going to kill yourself, you know that, don’t you? You get out of breath running for the bus.”
“I do not,” I start to protest then realise that she’s actually right. “Well, maybe a little. But I can run. I just have to do it for a bit longer than usual.”
“You have to do it for four hundred metres.”
“If I’d have thought of it before I’d have tried the two hundred, but sign-ups are closed now. Besides, Lloyd is only going to care about the four hundred. He’s already won the two. Anyone can do it.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Look, even that little kid from 9A is doing it, and he looks like he hasn’t seen the sunlight in two years.”
Debs laughs. “So, what warm ups do you have to do? Stretches and stuff?”
I shrug. “I guess so. Do you know how to do any?”
“I think you just, like, stand with your legs apart and, um, push down on one knee and then the other.”
I try to remember how I’ve seen athletes warming up on TV in the past. What do people running the London Marathon do? Apart from a lot of training, obviously.
It’s not my fault I don’t have time for training. If Lloyd had said what he said about three months ago then I could’ve gone for a jog every day and have been in good shape by now. It’s not my fault he leaves it until half an hour before the race begins to tell me that if I win he’ll love me for life. Well, maybe not those exact words. But still.
And there’s no point in starting training now, because I’ll wear myself out before the race.
Nothing else I’ve attempted in the quest to get him to notice me has worked; why not give this a go too? I suppose if the worst comes to the worst I can pull out half way round and look like an idiot in front of the whole school.
If I even make it half way.
No. Stop doubting.
I can do this.
I think.
I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever tried to run four hundred metres before. It’s not like I’ve ever tried to run anywhere before, other than that time the Welsh teacher didn’t hear the buzzer go and we all nearly missed our buses home.
Mr Hursh blows his whistle and everybody in the field turns to look at him.
“Four hundred metres: groups one, two, and three, minus five minutes. Line up please!” He yells at the top of his voice. He will never require the use of a loudspeaker.
“Oh, bollocks,” I say to Debs. “I haven’t done any warm ups.”
“Chess, no offence, but I don’t think warm ups will help you here. I don’t think anything will help you here.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You’re welcome, I’ll be cheering for you.”
“Thanks, wish me luck.”
“Good luck.”
I start to make my way down the bank we’re sitting on.
“Oh, and Chessie?”
I turn around and Debs chucks her bottle of water at me. “I think you might need this.”
I thank her and get into line quickly with the other five runners in our group. Lloyd is on the end, then Darren, then two boys I don’t know, then Laurie, a girl from our form, and I’m on the other end. I wave at Lloyd overconfidently.
“I thought you were doing something else,” he yells across the heads between us.
“I thought I’d give this a shot instead,” I call back.
“I didn’t know you ran.”
“Enough to get by,” I say. What the hell is that? Enough to get by? He might as well have asked me if I knew any Spanish.
He nods somewhat uncertainly, like he’s not sure whether I’m pulling his leg or not.
“Well, good luck,” I call.
“You too.”
I notice that the other five in this group and the six in the group in front of us are sort of working themselves up by jogging on the spot and shaking their arms around. In fact, I’m the only one standing dead still and wishing it was lunchtime al
ready.
I could really use a flapjack.
I decide to try a little jogging on the spot, but then I think better of it. They’re all just wasting energy. If I reserve mine for the actual race, I will probably do better than them.
Maybe.
Mr Hursh blows his whistle and the first group set off.
Wow. They’re fast. They’re like greyhounds on a racetrack.
I don’t think I can run like that.
I’d be more like a hippopotamus on a racetrack.
“Three minutes,” the teacher yells at us as we move up to the starting positions.
I wonder if we should crouch down and set off like real runners do on the TV, but Lloyd and the others are just hanging around waiting. I decide to follow their lead. I don’t want to look like a complete amateur, after all.
“I thought you and Deborah were doing the least athletic events today,” Laurie says to me.
“I thought I’d give this a go. You’ve gotta try new things once in a while, right?”
I just wish that ‘once in a while’ wasn’t in twenty-something degree heat, and that ‘new things’ was more along the lines of a hairstyle or bronzing powder.
I wave at Debs, who has been joined by Ewan on the bank.
God, it looks comfortable up there.
Not like down here where you are surrounded by sweaty people and a miserable teacher.
“Group two, line up. Minus sixty seconds,” Mr Hursh yells.
Oh crap.
I don’t think this was the brightest idea after all.
I suppose I am kind of unfit.
Well, I think I am. It’s not like I ever do any exercise to find out whether I’m unfit or not. I guess we’ll know soon enough.
Mr Hursh blows his whistle. “Thirty seconds. Get ready.”
The whistle blows again.
We’re off.
Oh crap.
Crikey, the others are fast.
“Clemenfield, I said GO!” Mr Hursh yells.
Oops.
I start running too.
Oh, this isn’t so bad. I mean, at the moment. I’m only a few paces around the track so far, and I have to go round the whole thing four times, but I can probably manage it. Maybe.
Now, to catch up with the others.
Not Pretty Enough Page 6