YAY BIESTE!! ♥ ♥ I tried my best. Here you are, love. (:
All her life, Shannon had been sub-par: alright, but not nearly as great. She'd gone through childhood hearing "Good job, Shan" while her honor roll-status sister was worshiped and praised like a deity.
She had a best friend, once.
His name was Kyle, and they used to watch cartoons and make mud pies together. Shannon always secretly thought she'd marry him one day. Then she found Kyle kissing her younger sister.
Shannon's world was crushed quicker than a can of Slim-Fast. She told Kyle to screw himself and shoved his face into a puddle during free period, and from then on she was known as the Bieste.
Bieste did all she could to taste the sweet honey of success, and whenever she won a championship, of course she felt satisfaction. But she was waiting for more--waiting for that jostling slap-in-the-face epiphany of "Damn, I done good."
Bieste was tidying up the locker room one day after practice--because the janitorial staff, if they showed up at all, usually just littered the floors with cigarrette butts and gave the bathrooms a mediocre Windex-ing--when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She started with a surprised huff, nearly banging her head on the underside of the wooden bench. (The boys liked sticking their chew there, and while she wasn't nearly as kooky as that ginger counselor, the Bieste couldn't rest peacefully knowing her locker room wasn't in prime condition.)
When she turned around, she was face to face (literally) with Artie, the wheelchair kid. She frowned and stood, backing up a few paces for personal space's sake. "'Ey kid. What can I do you for? Practice ended nearly half an hour ago."
The kid readjusted his bulky glasses with an almost embarrassed smile. "Yeah, I know. But I just wanted to thank you for... well, you know."
Shannon didn't crack a smile. "You got on this team fair and square, kid," she said as she wiped her hands off with a dirty washrag. "The Panther doesn't play favorites, nor does she lower her standards for the handicapped."
"I know." Artie's face shone like the sun, and Shannon couldn't have been more puzzled. "No one's ever done something like that to me before. Not even my parents or my gir--" he corrected himself mid-sentence with a lemon-sucking pucker. "Ex... girlfriend.
"I've never been given a fair chance, just like everyone else, and... I wanted to thank you for being so awesome, Coach Bieste."
Artie offered her an embarrassed grin, and, completely speechless, Shannon watched as Artie wheeled himself out of the boys' locker room.
She'd never been called awesome before.
Shannon blinked for a moment before picking up some Goof-Off. It wasn't until she was halfway through scrubbing some X-rated Sharpie caricature of Sue off of a locker that she realized she'd been smiling like a loon for the past few minutes.
I tried my best. Here you are, love. (:
All her life, Shannon had been sub-par: alright, but not nearly as great. She'd gone through childhood hearing "Good job, Shan" while her honor roll-status sister was worshiped and praised like a deity.
She had a best friend, once.
His name was Kyle, and they used to watch cartoons and make mud pies together. Shannon always secretly thought she'd marry him one day.
Then she found Kyle kissing her younger sister.
Shannon's world was crushed quicker than a can of Slim-Fast. She told Kyle to screw himself and shoved his face into a puddle during free period, and from then on she was known as the Bieste.
Bieste did all she could to taste the sweet honey of success, and whenever she won a championship, of course she felt satisfaction. But she was waiting for more--waiting for that jostling slap-in-the-face epiphany of "Damn, I done good."
Bieste was tidying up the locker room one day after practice--because the janitorial staff, if they showed up at all, usually just littered the floors with cigarrette butts and gave the bathrooms a mediocre Windex-ing--when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She started with a surprised huff, nearly banging her head on the underside of the wooden bench. (The boys liked sticking their chew there, and while she wasn't nearly as kooky as that ginger counselor, the Bieste couldn't rest peacefully knowing her locker room wasn't in prime condition.)
When she turned around, she was face to face (literally) with Artie, the wheelchair kid. She frowned and stood, backing up a few paces for personal space's sake. "'Ey kid. What can I do you for? Practice ended nearly half an hour ago."
The kid readjusted his bulky glasses with an almost embarrassed smile. "Yeah, I know. But I just wanted to thank you for... well, you know."
Shannon didn't crack a smile. "You got on this team fair and square, kid," she said as she wiped her hands off with a dirty washrag. "The Panther doesn't play favorites, nor does she lower her standards for the handicapped."
"I know." Artie's face shone like the sun, and Shannon couldn't have been more puzzled. "No one's ever done something like that to me before. Not even my parents or my gir--" he corrected himself mid-sentence with a lemon-sucking pucker. "Ex... girlfriend.
"I've never been given a fair chance, just like everyone else, and... I wanted to thank you for being so awesome, Coach Bieste."
Artie offered her an embarrassed grin, and, completely speechless, Shannon watched as Artie wheeled himself out of the boys' locker room.
She'd never been called awesome before.
Shannon blinked for a moment before picking up some Goof-Off. It wasn't until she was halfway through scrubbing some X-rated Sharpie caricature of Sue off of a locker that she realized she'd been smiling like a loon for the past few minutes.
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Especially this: She'd never been called awesome before.
Love love love. *hearts Beiste and your writing forever*
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Yes, LONG LIVE THE BIESTE!!! ♥ ♥
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