Hello. Today is Saturday. Not Friday. So far it has been an absolutely normal Saturday. But yesterday was Friday. The 13th. Everyone in my class at school had been going on about how we had a maths test on Friday and it was Friday 13th and everyone was going to fail the maths test because it was an unlucky day and bla bla bla bla bla. But I didn’t really believe in that stuff. At least I didn’t until yesterday.
Me and my friend from primary school had arrived at school, and we were dreading our first lesson: two hours of rugby. But, it turned out, we weren’t dreading it enough…
“Girls, be outside the changing rooms in thirty seconds!”
There was a last scrabble for hairbands and gum shields before we left for the field where we did outdoor PE in our mud-covered trainers. I never bothered to clean my trainers particularly well after PE because I knew it was a waste of time. They were bound to get even muddier the next week anyway.
Ok, let’s pause the story. I just want to warn you. This is where my day started to go bad. You can stop reading if you want, but here I go.
We got to the field, and the moment I stepped into the green-brown bog of mud, I knew that I wished I had never come into school. Within five seconds, the mud had soaked through my trainers and into my socks. Within ten seconds, my toes had gone numb. I could already tell that this was not going to be a good PE lesson. The one happy note was that the boys would be having their lesson separately. You do NOT want to meet the boys in my class.
The first game we played was maybe the worst. We were told to line up in two queues, and for each queue two people were given giant plastic hard block things. Sorry, I don’t know what they’re called. Anyway, the person at the front of each queue was handed a rugby ball. (In case you didn’t know, rugby balls are basically like footballs except oval-shaped.) Then they had to barrel towards the people with the giant plastic things and the people with the giant plastic things had to try and push them away before they could get to the end of the coned-off area. Great, now my PE teacher was telling my class mates to push me into the mud.
Even worse, we were all wearing horrible plastic gum shields. My mouth tasted bitter whenever I swallowed, and I could barely even say my own name. So I gripped the rugby ball in my hands (which, by the way, were starting to turn purple with cold) and then ran towards the people at the front. It was like being pushed around by a couple of giant red plastic monsters. The first time I did it, I barely stayed inside the cones for two seconds. The second time, after gulping down my fear of the plastic monsters, I resolved to not let them push me out of the area. I took a deep breath, running across the grass. I could do it. I could do it, I told myself.
They shoved me to the ground. My legs got splattered in mud, and I wanted to cry but, of course, there was a disgusting lump of plastic wedged in my mouth, so instead a small salty tear ran down my cheek. The person who had pushed me over got five merits and a cheer from the teacher. What a lovely PE lesson. I can’t wait till next week. Not.