Galahad sighed, spun the netball in his hands and bounced it against the ground once, catching it as it rose up again.
“Thanks for the help, guys,” he muttered to the storeroom at large, devoid of all human life except for himself.
This was supposed to be a team effort, taking all the kits and gear they’d been practicing with and bringing them back to the PE department’s storeroom. Everybody put everything into their respective receptacles, then Mr. O’Shea picked four guys at random to cart all of that into the storeroom proper. Simple enough when they were just doing athletics and the only things they had to carry were stopwatches and cones.
But they’d been doing rugby today, and carrying a bulky, heavy mesh bag of rugby balls was nobody’s idea of a fun time. Apparently the other three guys had all decided they didn’t wanna do that today, and had asked Galahad to shoulder that burden for them. And then they’d asked if, whilst he was at it, could he cart everything else back in as well, thanks very much?
Galahad had kind fumbled around and stuttered, trying to say that he really didn’t want to lug a load of rugby balls and dirty equipment off of the playing fields and into the storeroom and that Mr. O’Shea had specifically told them all to help each other out. What came out instead was something more akin to ‘Oh, uh, I guess I could do that but, um, I don’t, uh, y’know’.
Not that it would have mattered anyway. They’d all started walking away before they’d finished talking. Galahad had seen the smirks on their faces through the back of their heads. He’d stared after them for a moment, sighed, then traipsed off to go grab the stack of cones from the edge of the field.
And now said cones were all nestled in a little corner of cone stacks, and Galahad was mentally preparing himself to go and grab the rest of the equipment. What did he have left to get? The big bag of rugby balls and… oh, of course. The bag containing all of their mud caked, sweaty, fluorescent orange and yellow bibs. Great. At least they hadn’t been using the Scrum Machine today.
Man, they sure had a lot of rounders bats in here. Did anyone actually play rounders, like, professionally? Was it such a worldwide famous sport that they needed to dedicate an entire term of school to playing it? Or was it just a gateway drug to cricket, but without boring the socks off of everyone involved?
Ugh. He should probably just get this over and done with. Galahad put the netball back into its basket, turned to the exit – oh, hey, he didn’t realise they had another medicine ball on this side of the storeroom – and trudged to pick up the bag of stinking sports bibs.
The Man Who Wrote Thriller
Present Day - Open!
Freya had been supposed to meet up with Galahad after he finished. She was starting to grow impatient. The other members of the team were all slowly plodding out and heading to the rest of their days, all apart from Galahad. Some of them nudged each other and shot glances her way, sly smiles barely concealed. The reason was obvious, they found it funny. It was a little game they played, see how long they could delay Galahad and how long they could make her wait for him.
She didn't enjoy it. Not because they were laughing at her, she didn't give a shit about that. It wasn't fair on Galahad, that was what bugged her. They were taking advantage of him. That was what made her mad. She glared after them as they passed by but didn't do anything. She used to, she used to get mad and swear at them or give them the finger but she had eventually learned that was what they wanted. So instead she tried to give them as little as possible, but she wasn't very good at that. They still started laughing as they went past.
Freya pulled her headphones down from over her ears and adjusted the position of her backpack. Then she headed off to find her best friend. How they'd ended up being friends came down to complete chance. No one had wanted to work with her on a group project and Galahad, being the kind of person that he was had offered to be her partner. That was how they first met. He was the first real friend she had made in England and for a long time, he had been the only one she had.
So it was no surprise to Freya when she found him putting all the PE equipment away by himself. Didn't stop her being annoyed though.
"Galahad! Hurry the fuck up!" She called over to him.
She didn't enjoy it. Not because they were laughing at her, she didn't give a shit about that. It wasn't fair on Galahad, that was what bugged her. They were taking advantage of him. That was what made her mad. She glared after them as they passed by but didn't do anything. She used to, she used to get mad and swear at them or give them the finger but she had eventually learned that was what they wanted. So instead she tried to give them as little as possible, but she wasn't very good at that. They still started laughing as they went past.
Freya pulled her headphones down from over her ears and adjusted the position of her backpack. Then she headed off to find her best friend. How they'd ended up being friends came down to complete chance. No one had wanted to work with her on a group project and Galahad, being the kind of person that he was had offered to be her partner. That was how they first met. He was the first real friend she had made in England and for a long time, he had been the only one she had.
So it was no surprise to Freya when she found him putting all the PE equipment away by himself. Didn't stop her being annoyed though.
"Galahad! Hurry the fuck up!" She called over to him.
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Pippi
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The worst part about this was definitely the fact that Galahad was still in his PE kit. The top was tolerable; it doubled as a rugby or hockey strip for the school’s teams, so despite it feeling a touch itchy, it was at least warm, and fit him well. His lower half, however, was a totally different matter. He could already feel the chill hitting his legs and running up his shorts, which were providing a wholly underwhelming amount of warmth. The hair on his legs was standing on end, the mud on his knees was drying out and cracking, and he had to walk twice as slow as he normally would, studs on his football boots clacking against the paving stones.
And that was before he even got to the sports bibs bag. What it lacked for in weight it made up for in being rank. Around about 30 sports bibs, coated in varying amounts of sweat and mud. Great. The 5 minutes it took to get from the field to the storeroom would feel like 5 lifetimes. He was pretty sure most of them hadn’t been washed in that long, either.
Just as he was about to grin and bear it, and pick up the bag, Galahad heard someone yelling at him. If it had been anyone else saying those words, he would have flinched, nodded meekly, and mumbled out a ‘Sorry’ or something. But he recognised that voice in a heartbeat. Well, to be fair, a lot of people probably did as well. Only difference was that it was Galahad’s favourite voice in the world to hear.
He looked up at Freya and grinned at her, a soft, sheepish grin, but a grin nonetheless. It really was some kind of miracle how they’d ended up as firmest friends, one he thought about nearly every day. Calling them chalk and cheese didn’t cut it. There was literally nothing similar about the two of them, nothing in common in personality nor interests. A lot of people had told Galahad he needed to cut ties with her and get out as soon as possible, the things she said to him, things like what she’d just yelled at him.
Those were the once-in-a-lifetime moments when you could see Galahad standing up for himself and ignoring what other people told him, because he knew, through her… unique way of showing it, that Freya honestly cared about him.
“I’m doing my best!” Galahad called back, picking the bag up by its drawstring cords and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m, y’know… I’m doing the job of four people here!”
And that was before he even got to the sports bibs bag. What it lacked for in weight it made up for in being rank. Around about 30 sports bibs, coated in varying amounts of sweat and mud. Great. The 5 minutes it took to get from the field to the storeroom would feel like 5 lifetimes. He was pretty sure most of them hadn’t been washed in that long, either.
Just as he was about to grin and bear it, and pick up the bag, Galahad heard someone yelling at him. If it had been anyone else saying those words, he would have flinched, nodded meekly, and mumbled out a ‘Sorry’ or something. But he recognised that voice in a heartbeat. Well, to be fair, a lot of people probably did as well. Only difference was that it was Galahad’s favourite voice in the world to hear.
He looked up at Freya and grinned at her, a soft, sheepish grin, but a grin nonetheless. It really was some kind of miracle how they’d ended up as firmest friends, one he thought about nearly every day. Calling them chalk and cheese didn’t cut it. There was literally nothing similar about the two of them, nothing in common in personality nor interests. A lot of people had told Galahad he needed to cut ties with her and get out as soon as possible, the things she said to him, things like what she’d just yelled at him.
Those were the once-in-a-lifetime moments when you could see Galahad standing up for himself and ignoring what other people told him, because he knew, through her… unique way of showing it, that Freya honestly cared about him.
“I’m doing my best!” Galahad called back, picking the bag up by its drawstring cords and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m, y’know… I’m doing the job of four people here!”
"Well do it faster!" She replied as she moved closer.
Spotting a good bit of wall, Freya perched and took her phone out. She wasn't going to help him. Fuck that. She wasn't touching other peoples sweat covered gear. There was no way that was going to happen. Instead, she just perched and scrolled through her social media feeds. Not that there was any point in doing that really. She followed a handful of people from school to begin with and her own posts were treated like you would contract a disease if you liked them.
That didn't bother her though. She didn't care what the rest of school thought about her. She had her small group of friends and that was all she needed.
"Why didn't you make them help?" Freya asked, eyes still facing down at her phone. Her attention had shifted to checking up on the latest news from the various fronts. She liked knowing what was happening. It felt necessary to her. She assumed it was a result of her living through it.
There were other things she wanted to say but she wasn't sure what words would be correct. In the end, she didn't bother. Instead, she just waited to see what Galahad's reply would be.
Spotting a good bit of wall, Freya perched and took her phone out. She wasn't going to help him. Fuck that. She wasn't touching other peoples sweat covered gear. There was no way that was going to happen. Instead, she just perched and scrolled through her social media feeds. Not that there was any point in doing that really. She followed a handful of people from school to begin with and her own posts were treated like you would contract a disease if you liked them.
That didn't bother her though. She didn't care what the rest of school thought about her. She had her small group of friends and that was all she needed.
"Why didn't you make them help?" Freya asked, eyes still facing down at her phone. Her attention had shifted to checking up on the latest news from the various fronts. She liked knowing what was happening. It felt necessary to her. She assumed it was a result of her living through it.
There were other things she wanted to say but she wasn't sure what words would be correct. In the end, she didn't bother. Instead, she just waited to see what Galahad's reply would be.
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Pippi
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As Galahad trudged back towards the storeroom, he looked up hopefully at Freya, checking to see if she was gonna help him with the ball bag or something. His hope was instantaneously dashed as soon as he saw her leaning against the wall, face in her phone, a sure sign that whatever action was going on around her, she could not give a single shit about it.
Oh well. This was Freya, after all; Galahad really hadn’t expected her to pitch in and help him. It would, obviously, have been nice to get a little bit of help, but he didn’t mind too much. If he’d been anybody else, Freya wouldn’t even have given them the time of day – well, maybe aside from yelling “Get a move on, dickhead” at them – but she actively enjoyed spending time with him. He appreciated that, appreciated it a lot.
He could also appreciate that nobody in their right mind would actively want to lug a heavy bag of rugby balls around, and if Freya didn’t wanna do something, she wouldn’t.
“They’re all, y’know… they’re all bigger than me.”
Galahad had reached the section of wall that Freya was leaning against. He put the kitbag down, allowing himself a short break.
“It was all the actual rugby lads; Charlie, Nazeem, Mark, that lot. They wouldn’t have listened even if I’d asked them to help, and what else could I have done, chucked a bunch of plastic cones at them?”
He shrugged, picking the mesh bag up again. It was unfair, for a lot of reasons, not least being the fact that Galahad had absolutely zero interest in rugby. Yet all the lads who lived, breathed, ate rugby for breakfast, suddenly scarpered the moment they had to tidy up after themselves. Hmm. Strange, that.
“It’s fine, though. Somebody’s gotta do it, and I’d rather this than have Mr. O’Shea yell at us for leaving all the rugby balls in the middle of the field.”
His face twisted slightly in concentration, dredging up a memory from a few months back.
“Again.”
Oh well. This was Freya, after all; Galahad really hadn’t expected her to pitch in and help him. It would, obviously, have been nice to get a little bit of help, but he didn’t mind too much. If he’d been anybody else, Freya wouldn’t even have given them the time of day – well, maybe aside from yelling “Get a move on, dickhead” at them – but she actively enjoyed spending time with him. He appreciated that, appreciated it a lot.
He could also appreciate that nobody in their right mind would actively want to lug a heavy bag of rugby balls around, and if Freya didn’t wanna do something, she wouldn’t.
“They’re all, y’know… they’re all bigger than me.”
Galahad had reached the section of wall that Freya was leaning against. He put the kitbag down, allowing himself a short break.
“It was all the actual rugby lads; Charlie, Nazeem, Mark, that lot. They wouldn’t have listened even if I’d asked them to help, and what else could I have done, chucked a bunch of plastic cones at them?”
He shrugged, picking the mesh bag up again. It was unfair, for a lot of reasons, not least being the fact that Galahad had absolutely zero interest in rugby. Yet all the lads who lived, breathed, ate rugby for breakfast, suddenly scarpered the moment they had to tidy up after themselves. Hmm. Strange, that.
“It’s fine, though. Somebody’s gotta do it, and I’d rather this than have Mr. O’Shea yell at us for leaving all the rugby balls in the middle of the field.”
His face twisted slightly in concentration, dredging up a memory from a few months back.
“Again.”
“Not hard.” Freya said in response to Galahad’s statement about his size in comparison to the others. It was true, Galahad wasn’t the biggest guy in the world. He was one of the friendliest, but size wasn’t one of his strong suits. He was also a pushover, which didn’t help.
Despite that, he was still sorting everything out. It was more than Freya would have done. She would have just left it all lying wherever the other players had dropped it before wiping her hands of the issue. Being a team player wasn’t really something she did.
It was something that Galahad did though. Both because he was that good of a person but also because of the aforementioned fact that he was a massive pushover.
Freya looked up from her and at Galahad, her free hand absently playing with the end of her fringe. He looked liked he had recently stopped being sweaty. His hair was a mess from a combination of the sweat and the physical activity he had been taking part in. There was also some mud plastered across his neck.
Her eyes went from him, to the bag he was hauling and then back to him.
“Could you hurry up? That bag fucking stinks.”
Despite that, he was still sorting everything out. It was more than Freya would have done. She would have just left it all lying wherever the other players had dropped it before wiping her hands of the issue. Being a team player wasn’t really something she did.
It was something that Galahad did though. Both because he was that good of a person but also because of the aforementioned fact that he was a massive pushover.
Freya looked up from her and at Galahad, her free hand absently playing with the end of her fringe. He looked liked he had recently stopped being sweaty. His hair was a mess from a combination of the sweat and the physical activity he had been taking part in. There was also some mud plastered across his neck.
Her eyes went from him, to the bag he was hauling and then back to him.
“Could you hurry up? That bag fucking stinks.”
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Pippi
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“Oh, right, uh, yeah. Sorry Freya.”
He realised he’d kinda grown nose blind to the stench of the kitbag. Like, sure, he could tell it smelled bad, but after forty-five minutes of being tackled nonstop and dunked into the mud in every ruck and scrum, it just smelled like everything else around him. Honestly, it basically just smelled like he did right now.
Wait, hang on. That wasn’t a good thing. Smelling like a kitbag was never a good thing. Especially not when he knew that foxes crapped all over the playing fields. At least he could grab a quick shower in the changing rooms, so long as the Year 8 PE class scheduled for this period didn’t dawdle, but still.
He trudged forwards again, bag bouncing gently against his back with each step, glancing briefly over his shoulder to make sure Freya was still sticking around.
“I dunno what I’m supposed to do, though,” Galahad said, pausing as he pushed open the storeroom door, looking straight at Freya. “Like, if I tell Mr O’Shea about it, then they’ll know I’ve just dobbed them in, and if I ask them all to help, then…”
Galahad shrugged, kitbag jostling merrily at his action.
“I dunno. They’ll just call me a nobhead and laugh at me, or something.”
He realised he’d kinda grown nose blind to the stench of the kitbag. Like, sure, he could tell it smelled bad, but after forty-five minutes of being tackled nonstop and dunked into the mud in every ruck and scrum, it just smelled like everything else around him. Honestly, it basically just smelled like he did right now.
Wait, hang on. That wasn’t a good thing. Smelling like a kitbag was never a good thing. Especially not when he knew that foxes crapped all over the playing fields. At least he could grab a quick shower in the changing rooms, so long as the Year 8 PE class scheduled for this period didn’t dawdle, but still.
He trudged forwards again, bag bouncing gently against his back with each step, glancing briefly over his shoulder to make sure Freya was still sticking around.
“I dunno what I’m supposed to do, though,” Galahad said, pausing as he pushed open the storeroom door, looking straight at Freya. “Like, if I tell Mr O’Shea about it, then they’ll know I’ve just dobbed them in, and if I ask them all to help, then…”
Galahad shrugged, kitbag jostling merrily at his action.
“I dunno. They’ll just call me a nobhead and laugh at me, or something.”