Febbraio Quindici, 8:13 PM

Yay, it’s over! We won! We won the championship!

Lemme get to the details first.

I woke up exactly seven twenty in the morning, by the sound of my alarm clock. I procrastinated a bit, and bought breakfast, ate and took a bath. I hurried to school. I saw my team mates on their way to the nearest bathroom to change, I joined them, and when we passed the schedule board, we checked it, and saw the changes in our game. Instead of having it by nine am, we would have it one o’clock in the afternoon. Then I sat with my teammates, and I’m impressed because all of them made it so early. Crissie was pissed off because was really sleepy, and she forced herself to get up, just to see the schedule being moved. It didn’t affect me at all.

We just watched the teams playing, and studied the winning team’s moves. We decided to change because it was so chilly, and we don’t have anything to cover our bare legs. We’re wearing shorts, of course, but those weren’t enough.

You-know-what won, and they had been given a time to prepare for the next game with us. For the meantime, it would be men’s v-ball game. It was our men’s team, versus the men’s team of you-know-what. Our men’s team won, and that’s because of the number 8 dude. Oh my gosh. That’s all I could say. He is so hot. Unfortunately, he’s taken, because I saw him introducing this cute little chic as his girlfriend. The girlfriend was pretty, I think. When the people saw her, especially the girls, they looked like jealous. Me too, I’m jealous. Haha. Anyway, I was just adoring him because he was so skilled, and I love his eyes, but the rest of him wasn’t worth remarking on. It’s the eyes, man.

The Solis guy was good too. He’s my classmate in fifth-period English, and I love him. I mean, I love the way he plays, He’s good, but the number 8 was better. There’s this tall benchwarmer who sat, cheered and jeered with us. I was wondering why he wasn’t in the court. You know, he’s tall and all, and he could help the team win by blocking. The libero, who was also my classmate in fifth period classmate, went out of the game so that the tall benchwarmer could play inside. Man, when I saw him play, I knew it. I knew it why the coach keeps him on the bench. He messed up, sorry to say. He was always confused, and so slow towards the ball. Good thing he was tall, if not, he could never be accepted in the team. He sounds so corny too, by the way.

The coach removed him out, and he went back to where we’re sitting and went back to out business, which was jeering and cheering. We sort of bonded, if you ask me, because we wear same uniforms, and it felt like we know him for too long. Actually, my team mates knew him for so long, but me, I’m new, remember? He promised me that he’d watch our game later this afternoon, in exchange for us cheering his team.

It was so close, and the boys won. Thanks to the number eight guy. We left the gym to eat lunch. I only had cheeseburger because I don’t feel like eating, while the others ate massive meals.

As soon as we’re done, we went out of the caf, and saw the Solis dude with Jack and Greg. Honestly, I never knew their names before, but the games drew us closer. I don’t know what happened to me, and I’ve gone crazy, and asked for Solis’ autograph and picture. He wasn’t a beauty, though, and I was just doing that to push him to the edge. He seemed so flattered, and he was modest to sign for an autograph when I asked him. Unfortunately, I don’t have paper in my bag, so I took out my bandage and let him write on it. Greg stood up to get something, and when he got back, he was carrying sheets of tissue paper with him. He gave it to me, to give it to the Solis dude. His name was Alfred, it turned out. So then, I’ll stop referring to him as the Solis dude. He thought I was serious, but of course I wasn’t.

So far, it was very hard for him to write on the tissue paper, so when we had to left, his number was the only thing he accomplished writing.

When we got back to the gym, it was deserted, except for the boys who were playing v-ball. We borrowed a ball, and transferred to the tennis court, and played there. We changed in due time, and the people started to arrive. We did the warm-up routine, brushed up our reception skills and practiced position spikes. I asked Amy, Issah, and some others to sign an autograph for me, in the tissue paper. Amy took it seriously; she even wrote “thanks” in the tissue paper, while Issah just laughed at it, but signed anyway, and her message said that she just signed the tissue paper because she doesn’t want to upset a person who forgot to take her medications. It’s more likely a practical joke, but I know, some people won’t find it funny, but I’m just up to seeing their reactions when they were asked by someone for an autograph and picture.

The Miranda guy was sitting near the committee’s table, cuddling his girlfriend. The next game was theirs, you know. The other boys started to arrive, including Alfred, Greg and Jack. I gave the pen and tissue paper to Alfred to finish his autograph.

The game started, and I wasn’t included in the starting six. The first set was good for us; the force, the momentum, the luck and the Holy Spirit was with us. We finished the first set, 25-15. The next set was even better, but the coach replaced the middle-hitter and utility so you-know-what team almost reached an all-score with us. Well, almost.

I didn’t have the chance to play, because we finished the game early. If we had third set, probably, I could’ve got inside the court. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, as long as we’re the champion.

The score was 24-18, in favor of us, of course, and the other team was pressured, and I could say that because they’re messing up. I knew it because it happens to me. I got shaky all over everytime the opposing team scores. Just like last summer.

When the final hit was put out, we jumped out of joy, and paraded the whole court, while hugging each other, and slapping each other on the back. I saw Alfred, and asked for my pen and tissue paper back, and he said that Jack took it. I asked Jack where my things are, and Jack said it was with Greg. I asked Greg, and guess what; he said the pen and tissue paper were with Alfred. Man, I started a joke, and now, it’s on me. I was tempted to beg to them to return the pen to me because it was expensive, and I couldn’t afford buying a new one in next week’s allowance, but I realized, the more I beg, the more they’d think it’s funny keeping it.

I still continued asking for autographs, even though I don’t have a pen and paper, but I pretended to be digging in my bag for it. Crissie just laughed, and she thought I’m retarded. My own team mates refused, especially Liezel because there’s no way that somebody would idolize her. You know, because she was naïve.

Everybody changed, including me. I slipped on my Capri pants and gray shirt. I didn’t take off my shoes because I forgot my slippers at home.

The men’s v-ball game started, and the force was with the boys. Number 8 dude was so great. Someone cheered for him, and that’s how I learned that his name is Patrick. Patrick Miranda. The tall benchwarmer sitting with us went in on the game, someone cheered for him. His name was Patrick. Not again. We have two Patricks in the court.

The game ended, and we won. You-know-what team was twice to beat, so they we’re give thirty minutes to rest, before the second game begins. This time, instead of three, they’d have it five sets. Man, that’s too much. I prayed for them, and played with Issah, Joy and Krisel in the courtside while the gym was empty.

After thirty minutes, the game started. I nearly tore my throat cheering for the men’s team. The game lasted until five sets. Man, I was tired as ever. I accidentally touched a Chinese guy’s you-know-what because of clapping. I don’t know how it happened; he was just standing, and had his lower body very, very close to my head (I was sitting). When I clapped, my hand accidentally brushed his you-know-what. Ew. I hope he didn’t notice. I swear, I didn’t mean to do that.

During a time-out, I asked the Miranda dude if he could sign an autograph. He just laughed, as I pleaded over and over. He’s so nice. I couldn’t sense any arrogance, even though he flies (jumps) like a god.

Our men’s team won, and they did pretty much the same what we did earlier this day. You know, parading in the gym while hugging and slapping each other on the back. They took pictures, and the coach told us that we shouldn’t have changed, so that it would look good in the picture.

On my way home, I saw Charles, Bj and two of their gay friends. I stopped to say hi, and but they let me stay over to hear some scoops. Charles was pissed off with Kathy because of the Victor guy. I don’t care that much of it, because I don’t know that Victor personally, and I haven’t even met him. I just listened, as one of his friends, who was always amazed with my height pinched my arm over and over. I asked why he’s doing that, and he said, he wishes he could have arms like that. Yeah, right. I went to Charles’ house to retrieve my ball. We played for few minutes, and we stopped because I felt like pooping. Charles told me to do it at his bathroom, but I refused because I couldn’t do that. I told him about my day, and asked about his. It was fine, though.

I went home, wash and ate before going to bed. I didn’t sleep, because it was almost dinner. I just continued reading TribForce until Mom arrived. We ate dinner; I emptied the dishwater, and cleaned up the cat’s litter in our bedroom.

Technorati Tags: Misc Topics

Vote Result

Score: 0.0, Votes: 0