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When we got to the end of the girls’ line, Coach Vasquez finally allowed us to stop while she strolled back to stand out front, like a general inspecting her troops.
Still looking straight ahead, I reached blindly for Kaitlyn’s hand and held it in my own. I saw her glance at me from the corner of her good eye uncertainly, as though she wasn’t sure what to think. But when I squeezed her hand, I felt her squeeze back.
You’re not alone! I wanted desperately to tell her. And it doesn’t matter what any of these assholes say about you—you’re my friend and you matter to me. I won’t leave you!
Unfortunately, I was forced to do just that only a moment later.
“All right now, class—enough wasting time!” Coach Velasquez bellowed. “We only have forty minutes of this period left and I intend to make the most of it. Boys—most of you are on the football team so go to the left side of the field, inside the track, and run plays. Girls,” she continued, looking at us. “We have the volleyball net set up on the right side—divide into teams. Soledad and Carmina—you two are captains,” she went on, pointing to two girls who were obviously Drakes. “Pick your players and let’s see some action.”
I was prepared to stay with Kaitlyn—no doubt the two of us would be picked last—but Coach Vasquez chose that moment to remember me.
“Latimer,” she bawled, glaring at me. “What are you still doing standing there? I told you to run laps all period and I meant it. Now go!”
She pointed at the vast, oval track which encompassed most of the left field and I knew I had no choice. With a last comforting squeeze of Kaitlyn’s hand, I had to let her go and jog towards the wide oval track.
The track was made of some kind of dark red rubbery material painted in chalky white lines and I soon found that Coach Vasquez had been absolutely right when she said that running in my school-issued Mary Janes would cause blisters. I hadn’t jogged around even one complete lap before I felt the stiff backs of my shoes rubbing my heels mercilessly. Meanwhile, I was also developing a stitch in my side and the sun climbing higher overhead was merciless.
I’d never been much of a runner, even in the nice cool overcast weather I was used to in Seattle. And running in Florida heat and humidity was like jogging through a sauna. Still, I had no choice but to keep it up. Around and around the red oval track I went, feeling the backs of my heels rubbed raw while I watched the other students perform the activities the Coach had decreed.
The guys were running football plays—which seemed to consist of huddling together for a minute, then breaking apart and throwing the ball around in some kind of pattern I couldn’t begin to comprehend—not that I wanted to.
In the meantime, on the other side of the vast oval, the girls had finally divided into teams and they were beginning to lob the volleyball back and forth over the net. I saw it all as I ran past them, pacing around the outside of the oval track and wincing with every step.
Coach Vasquez watched the two groups for a little while, blowing her whistle and shouting occasionally. But then she seemed to lose interest and went back to the stone wall of the castle, near the locker room entrances, where there was at least a little shade from the scorching sun.
I watched her enviously, wishing I could sit in the shade myself. I was dripping sweat by now and the stitch in my side had developed into a knife blade, stabbing me with every step.
Sanchez seemed to see the Coach’s retreat too, because as soon as she was preoccupied with a magazine, which she had picked up to read, he began to “accidentally” lob the football into the middle of the girls’ volleyball game at regular intervals.
This, of course, meant he had to go retrieve the ball, which he always seemed to get from the two blonde Fae girls who giggled when they passed it back to him.
The Edict might decree that interspecies dating was a big no-no but clearly interspecies flirting was alive and well, I thought dryly, clasping a hand to my side as I jogged slower and slower. I was nearly walking now—just hoping Coach Vasquez didn’t look up and catch me at it.
The Drake girls stared at Sanchez each time he came jogging over to get the ball back, obvious disapproval written large on their faces. But they said nothing, even as he threw and retrieved the football from the Fae girls again and again and again.
I wondered idly if there was some hierarchy among the Drakes that I didn’t know about. Was it a male dominated society because the males had dragons inside and the females didn’t? Or was it simply that Sanchez was the biggest and the strongest player on the field—with the possible exception of his friend, Reyes—so they all deferred to him? Were the Drakes like a wolf pack where the strongest ruled?
