There was only one teacher who didn’t have any prejudice against Oliver, and it was our physical education teacher. Well, it wasn’t much of a surprise. Oliver was tall, and so well-built, it was almost insane.
Whenever I caught a glimpse of him in the changing room, my eyes glued to his body in a way I’d never felt before, staring in disbelief at his well-defined back muscles, moving in response as he put on his gym shirt.
His sleeves tightly hugged his arms, his triceps was enormous and his body, in general, just intense. His shoulders were so broad, it made his waist look all the smaller, and his abs, every now and then, would poke through the shirt’s fabric.
Whenever he lifted his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead, all the girls would forget how scared they were of him, blush and giggle in response as they enjoyed the immaculate view.
I, too, had to force myself to look away when all I wanted was to continue watching the muscles on his entire body. How could his body be so perfect, so well-built, so athletic?
And meanwhile, I … Staring down at my rather skinny arms, I felt embarrassed, and gulped all the harder. He was only a year older than me, and yet, his body was on a whole other level.
Our gym teacher entered the hall with a loud clap, rubbing his hands against one another. A whistle dangled off his neck, and the gym hall had already been prepared with a volleyball net dangling from wall to wall.
I already dreaded what was to come, as sports really weren’t my thing. I was barely active, which I should probably change, but I enjoyed being in my room, watching movies or shows after studying.
“Alright, then, boys and girls. Teams of two for a warm-up!” The class turned wild, all friends meeting up to be in a team. Of course, Matt and I did the same, and I’d already run over and grabbed one of the volleyballs in the large metallic basket, but the whole team thing was an entire mess.
There was a rather obvious problem with us being a perfectly evenly numbered class: someone had to group up with Oliver, and as much as the girls enjoyed his muscles, he was still a scary guy with a never-ending frown stuck to his face.
Keeping to himself, he stood within the gym, a ball in his large hands as he bounced it off his forearms. Only one girl was left. A friend group of three had decided with rock-paper-scissors, with Sophie being the loser.
With a shy, incredibly awkward smile, she walked over towards Oliver, and asked in an obvious stutter: “W-Would you like to team-up…?”
His dark eyes fell upon her, and I watched intently, only for him to not react at all. He slid away from her, fleeing in a large step, and they both didn’t talk, and simply awaited for the groups to be ready, and for the teacher to announce our first warm-up exercise.
“Man, I can’t look at them,” I sighed. Poor Sophie was trembling all over, and with Oliver being double her size, it was no wonder. “Hey, Matt, do you want to be in a team with Sophie?”
My best friend flinched. “W-W-With Sophie? Why—Why would I want that? Ha, ha, ha…”
My head bobbed to the side, eyebrows lifted. I never realized my best friend was head over heels for Sophie, who was a petite, brown-haired girl in our class, hung out with every other girl, but was quite shy herself.
Maybe this was fate, then. I grinned from ear to ear, and pulled Matt with me. At first, he protested, but as soon as we arrived before Sophie, he was as quiet as a mouse.
“Matt would love to team up with you,” I smiled, pushing my best friend towards Sophie, who gladly accepted with shimmering eyes and a bright smile herself.
That whole time, Oliver had simply watched, ball tucked beneath his arm, and even now, in a sudden team together with me, he had nothing to say. He practically glared at me, almost in a hateful manner, and I wasn’t sure what to think.
He totally, totally hates me. I tried myself at a smile, but it only made him frown even harder. Was I that unpleasing to him, did I annoy him that much?
The class began with passing and hitting drills, where we were supposed to pass the ball either above our heads or with our forearms; all without dropping it, trying to reach exactly fifty passes. Oliver was strong and controlled, with his balls coming towards me at rapid space, reddening my skin as I caught it to the best of my ability.
It banged off my arms, but I was uncoordinated and weak, and it forced the ball towards the oddest directions. Effortlessly did Oliver run towards the volleyball, and pass it back towards me with incredible strength.
“Go a bit easier on me,” I mumbled with a slight chuckle, trying to strike up some kind of casual conversation. In the loud gym class, it was too awkward to be the only two people so dead-silent. “I’m not that good, sorry.”
Oliver didn’t answer, but his passes did soften afterwards, lessening the burden upon my arms, and somehow, that surprised me and joyed me all the same. So he did listen, after all, and didn’t ignore me all the time. Somehow, that was comforting, though I still felt a cold breeze coming off of him, forcing goosebumps and shivers down my skin.
“Do you like volleyball?” I asked him, and at the same time I wondered why I even bothered.
His eyebrows raised, he caught the ball with one hand, his gaze darkening as he watched me. Our warm-up ended, and we were about to build teams for an actual game. “I guess.”
“What’s your favorite? Is it basketball?”
“…” Oliver stared, endlessly, as if he couldn’t believe I’d ask such a thing. Because I’m tall, I must like basketball, his gaze screeched, and through the embarrassment I felt, I was forced to look away, cheeks burning hot.
“Finn?”
“Y-Yeah.” He remembered my name! The way he spit it out sent me down a confusing spiral, a deep scratch running up his throat as he did so.
“Why are you talking to me?”
“Eh—?” I faltered, confused as though what this question meant. Oliver avoided my eyes, playing with the volleyball in his hands, instead, fiddling it back and forth. “Should—Should I not? Do I need a reason?”
“Guess not,” Oliver buzzed, turning away — and with that, our conversation had come to an end. What went on in that head of his? Just what was he thinking, and what did he think of me? Why did it bother me so, and why couldn’t I stop watching him, awaiting some kind of reaction that would tell me the truth?
“Alright, let’s make teams! I want to see some actual volleyball today, alright?” the teacher announced, whistling once more. Teams found themselves rather swiftly, with two teams about to play, and two teams on the bench awaiting their turn.
I chose to keep track of the points, and to be frank, it was for one reason and one reason alone: so I could have an excuse to be watching the game so intently when all my eyes did were wander towards Oliver.
He hadn’t had any trouble finding a team to play in, with most boys practically fighting over who’d have him on their side — they were competitive, after all. They wanted to win, and for fun, bet some sodas and cheap treats out of the vending machine.
It was a loud, heated back-and-forth of the ball, and it was obvious these two teams were much better than the two teams that would play right after.
“Go! Go! Go!”
“Pass!”
“Hell yeah! Awesome, Oliver!” They even gave him a high five after he smashed the ball onto the ground on the opposite side of the net, with so much force it was impossible to stop for anyone. Hell, even I’d be scared of such a ball coming for me, and I’d probably dodge instead of going for it.
My eyes were glued to his body whenever he jumped and his shirt lifted, exposing his muscles, when he lifted his arms, and honestly, all the damn time. Squeaks beside me made me rush to not miss any single second of him wiping his excessive sweat off his face, and my god …
How did he have such an Adonis body? He had so much stamina, too — there was no way he smoked, was there? How could he be so active, run around so much if he did? I never smelled any smoke on him, anyway; except for that other day.
At some point during the game, I began conversing with some of my friends, Matt included. I was just about able to keep track of the points, and we laughed and joked together, only for things to take a turn.
A loud began, the beginning of another play, but instead of flying over the net and towards the other team, a shadow rushed towards me at incredible speed. Gasps followed, and a dull pain haunted my head. I’d been standing on the bench to see the game better, and that thing hit me right in the temple, bouncing off my face and dribbling across the ground.
It throbbed. It hurt.
Tears flooded my eyes, my cheek and ear burning hot. The room was silent, and as I twisted my head about, there was none other than Oliver behind the field’s line. He had given this powerful serve, and I already know how perfectly he controlled the ball, so why?
Why did it hit me right in the face? Why? What did I do to you?
Oliver was frozen when I approached him, his mouth slightly opened as he breathed through it, his eyes rather widened. I snatched the volleyball off the floor and rushed towards him, only for him to stumble backwards as if he wished to flee. “I—“
“Tsk!” Pushing the volleyball right into his chest, I clicked my tongue. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“That wasn’t … on purpose.” I could barely hear him, my ear peeping in disappointment. Tears blurred my vision; how embarrassing.
“You think this is funny?”
“No, I—“
“Watch it next time! That seriously hurt…” My chin began to tremble, and I was quick to twist around on soles and flee before I had to say another word, or before he tried to do anything else.
I was hurt, but mainly because I didn’t understand what his problem was. I’d been nothing but forthcoming towards him, and yet, he’d already made his own opinion about me, disliking me for whatever reason, and now …
He didn’t even try to apologize. Just stared at me with that expression, wide agape and confused as if he himself didn’t understand what had occurred. “Seriously, so rude…” I pouted, and barely understood a thing. Why did I even care so much?
Comments (6)
See all