The Girl With The Face.

I really dread most of my classes at school, but there is one more than others. And that comes around every other day on A days, 3rd period. Physical Education. It's for the reasons that you might think, and ones that you might not. First, I despise the physical part of Physical Education. I love the education part. You would think half and half wouldn't be so bad. But when one half is so awful, it makes the whole thing rotten.

One thing I must get out. I do not hate sports. Sports hate me.

I love being active. I love running around and playing games and feeling my cheeks grow all warm. But I hate doing this in front of my peers. I know, I know the self-conscious teenage girl is peeking out, but it's true. I really do hate it. But the things that I just said that I love to do aren't exactly what we do in P.E. There always seems to be a ball involved, and that ball always seems to be attracted to my face. No matter size or how fast it likes to fly through the air towards me.

My ball count is high. I don't know if I can name all of the times I have been hit. Once with a baseball [to my head] a volleyball [to my head] a soccer ball [to my head] a football [to my head] and the saddest of all a basketball x2 [to my head.] This was the saddest of all because one came to my head, almost knocking me over, and I looked around to see where the hell it came from when another came at the perfect angle on the other side.

There is something weird that snaps inside me when I am hit with a ball. My fears all come out, but only to me. My face still wears a perfect mask, with my eyes quietly and silently watering, usually not coming to a flow until the attention isn't upon my face anymore, or as long as I can hold it in. I feel small. Unable to run away or stand up to anything, and the many problems and weird unimportant things of my brain come spilling out my ears.

I loathe the girls who are good at sports. Who can look good in that horrible uniform they make us wear. It only drowns me. Who boys love to come and stare at by the door and watch them run up and down the court so attractively. I stumble and fumble. And try to stay out of the way. A.k.a. I hide.

Christmas is coming up, only a few days away. But I am not counting down for Christmas. I am counting down to the last day of P.E. And can I just say that I only have about 4 classes left? Then. The end. Forever. But the only reason I have made it this far is because of one thought that keeps running through my head. The thought that keeps a smile on my face when I look at those amazingly athletic girls, or see myself in a mirror in that costume they force me to wear, or when my eyes are watering and my nose and cheek feel frozen and plastered to my face. -- I am a dreamer. And that will love me more than basketball ever could.

-- I am a dreamer and I can dream forever.