"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, not liking the tone. "I've played sports."
He shrugged. "If you say so. You don't seem like the athletic type. You seem too... neat."
I wasn't entirely sure if that was a compliment or not. "What's your sport?"
Trey held his chin up, looking very pleased with himself. "Football. A real man's sport."
A guy sitting nearby overheard him and glanced back. "Too bad you won't make quarterback, Juarez. You came so close last year. Looks like you're going to graduate without fulfilling yet another dream."
I'd thought Trey didn't like me - but as he turned his attention to the other guy, it was like the temperature dropped ten degrees. I realized in that moment that Trey just liked giving me a hard time. But this other guy? Trey completely despised him.
"I don't remember you even being in the running, Slade," returned Trey, eyes hard. "What makes you think you're going to take it this year?" Slade - it wasn't clear to me if that was his first or last name - exchanged knowing glances with a couple friends. "Just a feeling." They turned away, and Trey scowled.
"Great," he muttered. "Slade finally got the money for one. You want to know about tattoos? Go talk to him."
My thirty-second impression told me Slade was no one I wanted to talk to, but Trey provided no additional explanation. Class soon started, but as I tried to focus on the lesson, all I could think about was Amberwood's apparent obsession with tattoos. What did it mean?
When PE came, I was relieved to see Jill in the locker room. The Moroi girl gave me a weary smile as we walked outside. "How's your day been?" I asked.
"Fine," Jill said. "Not great. Not terrible. I haven't really gotten to know many people." She didn't say it, but Jill's tone implied, "See? I told you I would stand out."
Yet as the class started, I realized that the problem was that Jill didn't stand out. She avoided eye contact, letting her nerves get the best of her, and made no effort to talk to people. No one openly shunned her, but with the vibes she gave off, no one went out of their way to talk to her either. I certainly wasn't the most social person in the world, but I still smiled and tried to chat with my classmates as we did more volleyball drills. It was enough to foster the sparks of friendship.
I also soon noticed another problem. The class had been divided into four teams, playing two concurrent matches. Jill was in the other game, but I still occasionally caught sight of her. She looked miserable and tired within ten minutes, without even having done much in the game. Her reaction time was bad too. A number of balls went past her, and those she did notice were met with clumsy maneuvers. Some of her teammates exchanged frustrated looks behind her back.
I returned to my own game, worried for her, just as the opposing team spiked the ball into a zone that wasn't well guarded by my team. I didn't have the reaction time that, say, a dhampir had, but in that split second, my brain knew I could block the ball if I made a hard and fast move. Doing so went against my natural instincts, the ones that said, Don't do anything that will hurt or get you dirty. I'd always carefully reasoned through my actions, never acting on impulse. Not this time. I was going to stop that ball. I dove for it, hitting it into range of another teammate who was able to then spike it back over the net and out of danger. The volley pushed me to a hard landing on my knees. It was ungraceful and jarred my teeth, but I'd stopped the opposition from scoring. My teammates cheered, and I was surprised to find myself laughing. I'd always been trained that everything I did had to have a greater, practical purpose. Sports were sort of antithetical to the Alchemist way of life, because they were just for fun. But maybe fun wasn't so bad once in a while. "Nice, Melrose," said Miss Carson, strolling by. "If you want to defer your sport until winter and be on the volleyball team, come talk to me later."
"Well done," said Micah, and offered me his hand. I shook my head and stood up on my own. I was dismayed to see a scrape on one of my legs but was still grinning from ear to ear. If anyone had told me two weeks ago that I'd be so happy about rolling around in the dirt, I wouldn't have believed it. "She doesn't give out compliments very often."
It was true. Miss Carson had already been on Jill a number of times and was now halting our game to correct a teammate's sloppy form. I took advantage of the break to watch Jill, whose game was still in action. Micah followed my gaze.
"Doesn't run in the family, huh?" he asked sympathetically.
"No," I murmured. My smile faded. I felt a pang of guilt in my chest over exalting so much in my own triumph when Jill was obviously struggling. It didn't seem fair.
Jill still looked exhausted, and her curly hair was drenched in sweat. Pink spots had appeared on her cheeks, giving her a feverish look, and it seemed to take all her effort to remain upright. It was strange that Jill would have so much difficulty. I'd overheard a brief conversation in which she and Eddie had discussed combat and defensive moves, giving me the impression that Jill was fairly athletic. She and Eddie had even talked about practicing later that night and -
"The sun," I groaned.
"Huh?" asked Micah.
I'd mentioned my concerns about the sun to Stanton, but she'd dismissed them. She'd just advised that Jill be careful to stay inside - which Jill did. Except, of course, when school requirements made her take a class that kept her outside. Forcing her to play sports out in the full blaze of the Palm Springs sun was cruel. It was a wonder she was still standing.
I sighed, making a mental note to call the Alchemists later. "We're going to have to get her a doctor's note."
"What are you talking about?" asked Micah. The game was back on, and he shifted into position beside me.
"Oh. Jill. She's... she's sensitive to the sun. Kind of like an allergic thing."
As though on cue, we heard Miss Carson exclaim from the other court: "Melrose Junior! Are you blind? Did you not see that coming right toward you?" Jill swayed on her feet but took the criticism meekly.
Micah watched them with a frown, and as soon as Miss Carson was off picking on someone else, he darted out of formation and ran over to Jill's game. I hastily tried to cover both his and my own positions. Micah ran up to a guy beside Jill, whispered something, and pointed back at me. A moment later, the guy ran over to my team and Micah took the spot beside Jill.
As class continued, I realized what was happening. Micah was good at volleyball - very good. So much so that he was able to defend his spot and Jill's. Without seeing any blatant blunders, Miss Carson kept her attention elsewhere, and Jill's team grew a little less hostile toward her. When the game ended, Micah caught hold of Jill's arm and quickly walked her over to a shaded spot. From the way she staggered, he seemed to be all that was holding her upright.