There's just one swear in here. If you don't like it, just kinda..skip over it. Or don't read this. I dunno' XD Hope you guys enjoy~
You had been competitive for as long as you could remember. For you, it hadn't really mattered what the competition was. From seeing who could run across the park the fastest, to more serious events like school debates and projects, you took each one of them with complete and utter seriousness, never wanting to give up until you had absolutely won. This, along with many other things that had happened in your life, had its perks and flaws. Because you were so serious about things, you could stay more in control and get things done alot faster than normal people could. But the only downside was small, yet overall very effective.
No one wanted to hang out with you.
So when the new exchange student from Canada had come strutting in like it was no one's buisness, instantly becoming a big hit, it had angered you. After many days of observing the boy, you had relized he wasn't much different from you. Besides the fact he dressed such as a lumberjack would and looked like he had just came out from a weeks long journey in the forest, he was much like you. Yes, perhaps your language with people was a bit more...clean than his was, but you couldn't see how that would change much. He, although didn't look it, was one of the smartest kids in the school. Dare you say even smarter than you? It also didn't help that he was in about every single one of your classes. After awhile, you started to wonder if god was just playing a cruel joke on you.
His name was Matthew Williams. Though he was the same age as you, he was taller than you by a rather large amount, making him even better than you in sports. This was one of the rather large things that made you peaved off at him. The Canadian had gym with you fifth period, and for whatever reason, always tried to show you up. It didn't matter what you were doing that day; He always beat you at it. Even if you wern't even playing a game, just a simple afternoon exercise, he always had to be better than you at it. The day your P.E. teacher made you go out and do laps around the school, he was always a few feet ahead of you, peering back at you with a smug look on his face, dazzling amethyst colored eyes squinting at you through black sunglasses. When your class had went swimming in the pool across the street, he always swam faster than you, occasionally intersecting his feet to your gut, causing you to swallow un unhealthy amount of chlorine. The latest episode was when you had played volleyball and his serve 'accidentally' missed the gym floor and socked you in the fourhead, giving you a rather large, painful headache.
Today, however, was the day your class transitioned into floor hockey, and you were bound determined to finally beat him at something. Although a little part of you was worried, him being from Canada, the 'Hockey Country', you were going to make sure he came crawling back to you with tears in his eyes. Just the sheer thought of the popular Matthew Williams admitting to you that you were better than him at hockey sent a persed smile to crawl upon your lips.
Walking into the gym, binder gripped tightly in your arms, the first thing your eyes settled on was the red and black plaid shirt worn by no other than the Canadian you hated with a firey passion. His figure leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed over his muscled chest. After a moment or so of staring at him, his purple hued gaze wandered away from the gym door and over to you. Instantly stiffening, the confidence that you had seemed to have not two seconds earlier was overpowered by his cocky smirk. Matthew winked an eye at you, a sneer coming to his face.
You could feel your cheeks get warmer, a light pink tint coming to them. Eyes growing, you shook off the sudden feeling, giving him a slight scoff to show that he couldn't get the better of you. You set your binder down on the bleachers, taking a seat next to it as a few more kids started to pile in.
Did you seriously just blush at him, _______?! You silently scolded yourself out, keeping your gaze down at the scrunched fists that you held tightly in your lap.
Your breathing became hitched, your nervs getting the better of you. It was only when your rather unnerving teacher walked into the gym and blew his whistle, signalling you to get changed, did you snap out of your dazed state. Taking in a deep breath, you climbed out of the bleachers and headed towards the changing room. Once inside, you walked towards your locker and put in the combination you had recieved at the beginning of the year. Your locker opened with ease, revealing the neatly folded clothes you had washed not two days earlier. Quickly changing into a (f/c) shirt that was labled with your school logo and a pair of bright orange shorts, you headed back out into the gym. When everyone was out of the changing rooms, your teacher once again blew his whistle. The twenty plus kids that were in your class lined up on the red line that streaked the floor, not wanting to get chewed out by your strict german teacher.
"Okay." Mr. Beilschmidt barked, crossing his arms across his grey, tanktop covered chest. "Ve, as you all know, vill be starting a new unit this veek."
You rocked back and fourth nervously on your heels, hands held tightly behind your back.
"Ve'll be transitioning into floor hockey. But let me just start off by saying that if you hit the puck anywhere above zhe waist," He continued, adding extra enphasis on the 'anywhere' as he motioned towards his waist. "Zhat you vill be sitting out the rest of zhe period, automatically getting an 'F' for zhe day."
His whistle dangled in the air as he bent forward, staring directly into Matthew's cocky, mocking like eyes, as if he knew the canadian would be the one to get out first. But you knew that wouldn't happen; He liked the sport too much to get out as soon as the game started. One by one he went down the line, assigning each person a color, signifying what team they would be on and which hockey stick they were supposed to grab. Once he got to you, he stared at you for a moment, seeming to ponder where to put you.
You couldn't help but look at the scar that marked his cheek, though you averted your eyes once you had a feeling he thought you were staring.
"Blue team." He said simply, moving onto the next child.
Giving a simple nod, you turned around to grab the colored hockey stick from the bin they were contained in. But that's when you saw your rival, red hockey stick gripped tightly between a whitened grip. You once again smiled, walking right past him and grabbing a blue hockey stick.
Once everyone was divided onto their teams, your P.E. teacher went over a few more rules, hockey puck held between his hands. Soon after he was done, one person from either team came into the middle, ready to face off against each other.
"Okay. Ready, set.." Mr. Beilschmidt said, holding the puck in the middle of the gym, one red teamer and one blue teamed standing hunched in the middle of the gym, hockey sticks at the ready. "GEHEN!"
Letting go of the puck, the two in the middle each attempted to hit it, causing their sticks to clash together with a loud clack. The puck sped across the floor and over to the blue team's goalie. Quickly making your way infront of the net, you smacked the green puck as hard as you could without lifting your stick, causing it to race towards the wall and rickashay off of it. Within two seconds flat it made its way over towards the red team's net, snaking it's way past the goalie and into their net. Giving a triumphent smile, you shot your head towards Matthew, who you caught looking your way. His shades were down over his eyes, signalling to you he meant buisness. You simply stuck your tounge out the slightest, causing him to flinch. Giving you another one of his famous sneers, he raced towards the middle to face off with the next player who dare to challenge him.
The score was tied seven to seven, and the class period was nearing its end. When your teacher announced that this would be the last point of the game, you knew that you had to make the final shot before Matthew could get the chance. You made your way to the middle of the gym, waiting to see who you would face up against. Having a feeling who it would be already, you just stould hunched over, hockey stick gripped between your hands as tight as they could go, the most serious expression you could muster up placed on your face. The canadian strutted up to the middle, hunching over so your faces were only a few inches apart. Matthew lifted his sunglasses up so you were staring into his stunning purple eyes, nothing but determination casted in his gaze.
"You sure you're ready for this, (Last Name)?" He mocked, his warm, syrupy textured breath wafting into your face. You simply slitted your eyes, a small smirk growing on your face.
"As ready as i'll ever be, Williams." Your replied, re-adjusting your sweaty grip on the plastic hockey stick.
Once the puck was sitting between the two of you, your gym teacher once again uttered the words 'Ready, set, GEHEN!'
Both of your sticks mashed together, the green object still caught between them. The tension began to grow so thick, you could practically slice it with a knife. Not letting in, you pushed the stick harder, sending the puck whizzing once more against the smooth floor. And for a moment, it had seemed the only two people in the world had been you and your rival. The feeling was overwelming, adrenaline pumping through your veins as your steps grew faster, chasing after the only thing that sepperated you from victory. The thought about the rules hadn't even crossed your mind as you raised your stick to shoot the final shot of the day into the goal. You hadn't even noticed the red eyed, shaggy haired brunette that held his stick up to block your shot, shock crossing his face as your weapon, held high in the air, came down to stike the final blow.
If it wern't for the prominent swear word that echoed through the now silent room, you would have still been in your glorious, daydreamed state.
"Son of a-" The groaned voice slurred.
Your eyes widened, the horror unfolding before your very eyes. There, Alfred F. Jones, Matthew's older brother, lay, hand clutched over his face. Red liquid seeped through his fingers, a tiny pool of blood forming underneith his hand. And in the pool lay a tiny, now red tooth, standing out beyond everything else. Inside the net behind him lay the green puck, still circling against the ground until it came to a complete stop. You had finally won.
But why didn't your victory seem as sweet as you thought it would be?
You turned your head towards Matthew, nothing but shock plastered on his face as he looked down to his injured brother.
"I-I.." Nothing wanted to come out of your mouth as your hockey stick slid out of your hands, landing with a clank on the floor. Quiet whispers soon filled the room as you stould there, stone cold. Mr. Beilschmidt shot you a glare so terrifying, it sent an immediate 'retreat' signal to your brain. You slowly backed away, giving the canadian one last look before darting across the gym and out the large doors that lead out into the football field. You kept running until you hit the fence, your knees giving out underneith you. Now kneeling on the plush, warm grass, you burst into hiccuped sobs.
Were you so dead set on winning that you had hurt someone just to get there?
You set your face in your hands, the blubbery tears streaming out of your tightly closed (e/c) orbs. Sitting there for what seemed like forever, just wallowing in not only yours, but Alfred's pity, you saw a rather tall, black shadow cover the sun that stould high above you. Wyping your nose across your arm, you looked behind you with a blurred vision. Yet again, the first thing that stould out against everything else was the plaid, red and black shirt. Matthew's sunglasses were tucked into his blond hair that was pushed back into a sloppy ponytail, his thumbs tucked lightly in his short pockets. Sniffing, you casted your gaze down to the yellow weed that was planted in the grass infront of you. In all honesty, he was the last person you wanted to talk to right now.
"That asshole deserved it, you know." He murmered, not moving from his position.
You shot your head towards him, eyes widened and full of surprise. What did he just say?
"E-Excuse me?" You asked.
"I said," Matthew started, staring down at you with a rather amused expression. "That asshole deseved what he had coming to him."
"H-How could you say that about your own brother?!" You squeaked, tears continueing to stream from your eyes.
He simply shrugged. "He's a jerk. Alfred's gotten hurt at least a million times already. Plus, he's tough. He can just suck it up and move on."
"But..I hurt him." Looking down, the same sick feeling washed over you. "I hurt him trying to win a stupid game. I..I don't know if I can get over hurting someone, even if it was an accident."
"Look, _______." He said, kneeling down to you, hands crossed and resting on his knees. "Don't beat yourself up over it. It wasn't just a stupid game. You gave me a run for my money, and that's really hard to find in someone. And to tell you the truth, I didn't think a girl like you would put up a challenge."
You didn't know what to respond to. The fact that he called you by your actual name instead of your last name, or that he had told you flat out that you were a tough opponent.
"But...all those other times in gym.."
"I was afraid you were gonna' beat me. I gave it my all so I wouldn't lose against you." He murmered. "I have to hand it to you, (Last Name), you're tougher than you look."
A small smirk came to your face as his hand came out towards you. Gripping it in yours, he helped you up off the green ground. So all those times that he had hurt you..that was on purpose. A slightly, less amused expression came over your face, your eyes baring into his purple ones. All he did was give a slight shrug, a tiny smirk coming to his face. Matthew, taking one last look at you, turned around on his heels, his back now facing towards you as he headed towards the school, thumbs still tucked limply in his pockets. You just stould there, pondering over what had just happened, when the same, accented voice broke through the silence.
"Hey." You heard Matthew's gruff sounding voice.
You blinked, staring out at the canadian that had stopped, his head turning back towards you.
Staring at him blank faced for only a moment, a big, toothy grin spread across your face.
Maybe...maybe this was the blooming of a new, slightly awkward friendship. A new beginning for the two of you.