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rainbowfic2015-07-29 06:05 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2015-07-29 06:05 pm
Navy #4, White Cross #16
Name: kay_brooke
Story: Unusual Florida
Colors: Navy #4 (breaststroke), White Cross #16 (Epitaph)
Styles/Supplies: Seed Beads
Word Count: 880
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Jaime gets an offer.
Note: Jaime, for those who don't remember because I rarely write this set of characters, is Hope's cousin on her mom's side. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Jaime counted in her head as the wall moved closer, her breaths coming in time with the numbers, and almost before she knew it she had touched the side of the pool. “Ten laps,” she panted as she gripped the edge. She let her legs drift where they would and tried to catch her breath.
“Not bad,” said Sabrina, looking bored while she dangled one foot in the water. She was sitting on her towel, her standard issue blue swimsuit still soaking wet from her turn in the pool. “There aren’t any more?”
“Nope, breaststroke’s the last.” Jaime hauled herself out of the pool and ignored Mrs. Fletcher’s glare. They were only supposed to get in and out using the ladder, for safety reasons or something dumb like that. But who had time to swim all the way to the other end of the pool? Not Jaime. Especially not after ten laps.
“Thank god,” said Sabrina. “I’m going to the shower.” She waved at Mrs. Fletcher, who frowned at them both and started making her way over. “Crap. What does she want?”
“You’re finished?” Mrs. Fletcher crossed her arms before she was even done walking over to them. “All three strokes? Ten laps each?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Jaime, which was snotty, but really, there was no reason for Mrs. Fletcher to pick on her and Sabrina the way she did.
Mrs. Fletcher held out her hand. “Let me see your times.”
Sabrina handed over her stopwatch and score sheet without rolling her eyes too much.
“Hm,” said Mrs. Fletcher, skimming over the sheet. “I’m inclined to take your word that these are your real times.”
“We don’t cheat,” said Jaime, bristling. Fine, maybe she and Sabrina had a bit of a reputation when it came to talking or passing notes in class, but cheating was something else entirely, and she was offended at the implication.
“I never said you did,” said Mrs. Fletcher, as if she thought they were too stupid to read between the lines.
“Can we go now?” asked Sabrina. “You said we could leave once we finished our laps.”
Mrs. Fletcher pursed her lips, but said, “Yes, you may go.”
That probably hurt to say, thought Jaime. She picked up her own towel and followed Sabrina toward the locker room.
“Jaime, if you could stay behind just a couple minutes,” said Mrs. Fletcher.
Sabrina turned and raised an eyebrow at Jaime. Jaime rolled her eyes and shrugged in response. Then she faced Mrs. Fletcher. “Yeah?”
Mrs. Fletcher brandished the score sheet at her. “These are really your times?”
“Yes,” Jaime said through gritted teeth. Was her gym teacher really going to accuse her of cheating?
But instead Mrs. Fletcher said, “These are pretty impressive.”
Jaime blinked. “What?”
“Have you swum competitively before?”
“No,” said Jaime. “I used to do gymnastics.” The way Mrs. Fletcher’s eyes lit up made her immediately regret saying it. She didn’t like to think about gymnastics and tried very hard to stay away from the subject, especially after last summer and that disastrous turn as an assistant coach to her old team.
“You’re a sophomore?” said Mrs. Fletcher.
“Yes?” Jaime narrowed her eyes. What was she getting at?
“We’re having tryouts for the girl’s swim team next week, you know,” said Mrs. Fletcher, and it was just as Jaime had feared. “I encourage you to try out.”
“No thanks,” said Jaime.
“You would almost certainly make the junior varsity team,” Mrs. Fletcher continued. “I think you’d find it fun. Make some new friends, have something positive to put on your college applications.”
Jaime bit the inside of her cheek, counted to ten, and said nothing. There went Mrs. Fletcher with those snide little implications again. That Jaime needed new friends. That Jaime needed something to productive to occupy her free time. That Jaime didn’t have anything to put on her college applications, even though she was still a good two years away from even starting to apply.
She opened her mouth, shut it, and counted to twenty that time.
“No thanks,” she finally said.
Mrs. Fletcher looked disappointed. “Are you sure?”
“Gymnastics kind of put me off sports teams,” said Jaime, which made it sound like she’d had a horrible time in it, but Jaime wasn’t about to go into that kind of detail. She’d loved gymnastics. She’d wanted to do it for the rest of her life. But life apparently had other plans for her. The decision not to get involved in sports again, though, that was all hers. She’d never liked the competition aspect, and if she would never be able to make it in a sport she was actually passionate about, what was the point of any others?
“Well, I think this would be quite different from gymnastics,” said Mrs. Fletcher, who had apparently never learned the definition of “no.”
“I’m really not interested,” said Jaime. “Can I go now?”
Mrs. Fletcher sighed, just as Tansy Bobek called for her from the other side of the pool. “If you change your mind, tryouts start next Tuesday and go the rest of the week.” She nodded to Jaime and went to see what Tansy wanted.
“Not likely,” said Jaime, stalking off toward the locker rooms.
kay_brookeStory: Unusual Florida
Colors: Navy #4 (breaststroke), White Cross #16 (Epitaph)
Styles/Supplies: Seed Beads
Word Count: 880
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Jaime gets an offer.
Note: Jaime, for those who don't remember because I rarely write this set of characters, is Hope's cousin on her mom's side. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Jaime counted in her head as the wall moved closer, her breaths coming in time with the numbers, and almost before she knew it she had touched the side of the pool. “Ten laps,” she panted as she gripped the edge. She let her legs drift where they would and tried to catch her breath.
“Not bad,” said Sabrina, looking bored while she dangled one foot in the water. She was sitting on her towel, her standard issue blue swimsuit still soaking wet from her turn in the pool. “There aren’t any more?”
“Nope, breaststroke’s the last.” Jaime hauled herself out of the pool and ignored Mrs. Fletcher’s glare. They were only supposed to get in and out using the ladder, for safety reasons or something dumb like that. But who had time to swim all the way to the other end of the pool? Not Jaime. Especially not after ten laps.
“Thank god,” said Sabrina. “I’m going to the shower.” She waved at Mrs. Fletcher, who frowned at them both and started making her way over. “Crap. What does she want?”
“You’re finished?” Mrs. Fletcher crossed her arms before she was even done walking over to them. “All three strokes? Ten laps each?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Jaime, which was snotty, but really, there was no reason for Mrs. Fletcher to pick on her and Sabrina the way she did.
Mrs. Fletcher held out her hand. “Let me see your times.”
Sabrina handed over her stopwatch and score sheet without rolling her eyes too much.
“Hm,” said Mrs. Fletcher, skimming over the sheet. “I’m inclined to take your word that these are your real times.”
“We don’t cheat,” said Jaime, bristling. Fine, maybe she and Sabrina had a bit of a reputation when it came to talking or passing notes in class, but cheating was something else entirely, and she was offended at the implication.
“I never said you did,” said Mrs. Fletcher, as if she thought they were too stupid to read between the lines.
“Can we go now?” asked Sabrina. “You said we could leave once we finished our laps.”
Mrs. Fletcher pursed her lips, but said, “Yes, you may go.”
That probably hurt to say, thought Jaime. She picked up her own towel and followed Sabrina toward the locker room.
“Jaime, if you could stay behind just a couple minutes,” said Mrs. Fletcher.
Sabrina turned and raised an eyebrow at Jaime. Jaime rolled her eyes and shrugged in response. Then she faced Mrs. Fletcher. “Yeah?”
Mrs. Fletcher brandished the score sheet at her. “These are really your times?”
“Yes,” Jaime said through gritted teeth. Was her gym teacher really going to accuse her of cheating?
But instead Mrs. Fletcher said, “These are pretty impressive.”
Jaime blinked. “What?”
“Have you swum competitively before?”
“No,” said Jaime. “I used to do gymnastics.” The way Mrs. Fletcher’s eyes lit up made her immediately regret saying it. She didn’t like to think about gymnastics and tried very hard to stay away from the subject, especially after last summer and that disastrous turn as an assistant coach to her old team.
“You’re a sophomore?” said Mrs. Fletcher.
“Yes?” Jaime narrowed her eyes. What was she getting at?
“We’re having tryouts for the girl’s swim team next week, you know,” said Mrs. Fletcher, and it was just as Jaime had feared. “I encourage you to try out.”
“No thanks,” said Jaime.
“You would almost certainly make the junior varsity team,” Mrs. Fletcher continued. “I think you’d find it fun. Make some new friends, have something positive to put on your college applications.”
Jaime bit the inside of her cheek, counted to ten, and said nothing. There went Mrs. Fletcher with those snide little implications again. That Jaime needed new friends. That Jaime needed something to productive to occupy her free time. That Jaime didn’t have anything to put on her college applications, even though she was still a good two years away from even starting to apply.
She opened her mouth, shut it, and counted to twenty that time.
“No thanks,” she finally said.
Mrs. Fletcher looked disappointed. “Are you sure?”
“Gymnastics kind of put me off sports teams,” said Jaime, which made it sound like she’d had a horrible time in it, but Jaime wasn’t about to go into that kind of detail. She’d loved gymnastics. She’d wanted to do it for the rest of her life. But life apparently had other plans for her. The decision not to get involved in sports again, though, that was all hers. She’d never liked the competition aspect, and if she would never be able to make it in a sport she was actually passionate about, what was the point of any others?
“Well, I think this would be quite different from gymnastics,” said Mrs. Fletcher, who had apparently never learned the definition of “no.”
“I’m really not interested,” said Jaime. “Can I go now?”
Mrs. Fletcher sighed, just as Tansy Bobek called for her from the other side of the pool. “If you change your mind, tryouts start next Tuesday and go the rest of the week.” She nodded to Jaime and went to see what Tansy wanted.
“Not likely,” said Jaime, stalking off toward the locker rooms.
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...wait. No. Especially not when she has Sabrina to be buddies with!
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Thanks for reading!
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no subject
Thanks for reading.
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no subject
Thanks for reading!